Wednesday, May 04, 2005
Comfort and friendship
Emerson. That's his name. Actually, sometimes he's referred to as "Smudge". You can see why.
We met at the pet store across the road. He walked up to the edge of the bin, put his tiny paws on the side, looked at me and quite clearly said, "Meh!" I smiled, picked him up and he immediately collapsed into my arms, purring like a sewing machine. I couldn't budge him. What else could I do besides bring him home?
That was, by the way, one of the loudest meows ever extracted from him. (Except by the vet. He yowled then!)
His name was decided because he never had that kittenish, gangly, clutzy look about him. He has always sat perfectly upright, his fluffy tail wrapped tightly around his feet, his fur never in a tangle and viewed the world with an air of wisdom and decorum. I had to find a name befitting such an obviously with it cat. So I turned to my mentors in life and named him after the great writer and orator, Ralph Waldo Emerson.
Eight years later, he still maintains an impeccable coat, a sleek fit body and comes to purr on my lap. I will forgive him the "let's hide in the shadows! Mom'll trip on us!" games. The "I'll sleep in Mom's bathrobe" ploys and the thoroughly irritating, "I can't touch the cat litter" deal.
Mostly because when I come home, he walks right up to me and says quite clearly, "Meh!" Which interpreted is, "It's my friend! And I'm so glad she's home."