Bear

My childhood home in the country lent itself to many miracles each spring as flowers adorned skeletal trees, birds acted as de facto roosters, and spring peepers serenaded those lucky enough to live within earshot of their collective voices. Another wonder of this season is new life- often in the form of wonderful tiny kittens. Sometimes our cats would give birth in the big barn and, at the appropriate time, bring them down to meet our family.

Our dear Cleo loved all and was beloved by both humans and her fellow felines. Her farsightedness meant that she would bound across the yard to you only to fall in the small pond as she got closer and things got blurry for her. From my big brother she was bequeathed with the motto “Heart of gold, brain of mold” because she was notorious for forgetting things... So she surprised us when she followed the normal cat routine and brought down a little black fuzzball early one memorial day weekend.

That was my first meeting with one of the greatest loves of my life. He was already crying nonstop at the edge of our long wooden porch which was in desperate need of a fresh coat of paint. My parents were amazed at how loud this one was and woke me up to try and get close enough to him to bring him inside. I cooed back to him the whole time as I inched my way ever closer, trying to speak in comforting tones. He stayed close to his mom and kept a keen eye on me. The voice and the discerning eyes were first impressions that would stay with him. Scooting on my knees, I continued my approach. My parents both peered out the window when they heard silence and saw me with this little life in my arms cuddling him and smiling ear to ear. We had no idea what we were in for… we had no clue one cat could encompass so many traits or live out so fully his nine lives all the while effortlessly enhancing ours.

Bear was always a wild spirit. All black and fiercely independent, he was content to spend his days hunting in the fields and occasionally bringing back mice. He was skittish at first about being held and preferred being pet on the ground, always on his terms. A perfect day would be complete by playing in the yard with his best friend, Rebel. A short romance with Lucky, our lady cat, was cut short (literally) by a trip to the vet, for which we are fairly certain he never forgave us.

His voice always preceded him and saved him when we moved to Jefferson. He escaped during the moving process and we would have probably never found him had he not been whining the whole time. His meow was his trademark and was a sign of his fierce intelligence as he learned to tailor them in a way that sounded like “hello” when he would enter a room. “Do you need to tend to that crying baby?” people would ask on the phone. “No, that’s just our cat.” I am fairly sure more than one telemarketer thought we were insane.

Moving during the summer makes for a lonely time as you have no school chums to spend the hot afternoons with. Bear was also adjusting to life as an indoor cat and the two of us could waste away the afternoon in the yard or inside watching The Price is Right. A few attempts to get him to go on a leash were about as successful as the Weimar Republic…

Over the years, he became less aloof and began sitting on laps and enjoying hugs. Dad and Bear had a special bond. Dad doesn’t like cats… he likes Bear. Bear isn’t a cat. That is what he always said when he “cat-tured” him after their game where Dad would chase him until it ended with Bear accepting the hugs, whining all the while.

Mom and Bear had a special arrangement whereby she would put a blanket down near herself and he would cuddle next to her or between her legs as they relaxed in the evening. Never on the couch would he sit, always on a blanket. Nor would he eat from your hands until very late in his life. He was a sneaky eater but had a profound weakness for KFC (who doesn’t?).
When he got bored, he would watch the birds outside and get excited or terrorize the frog. He always managed to escape outside and go on adventures for a day or so at a time. Once he got out for too long and got hurt. His leg needed stitches and we always wondered what he encountered on that outing. He overused the other leg, which in response became arthritic and as he aged, his leg became fixed in one position. He never let it stop him, and it provided much comic relief for us as he would stubbornly jump

As I came home from college, he would always be angry at me for a bit for having left but end up on my bed at night, purring nonstop and making me happy. He could almost never spend the night in one place though, he always had to patrol the house and make sure everything was in order. Little escaped his observation.

With age came a calmer disposition, as demonstrated on holidays he was tolerant of curious grabby children, dogs, and crowds. He was always a great comfort when things went wrong and even welcomed my Vinnie (also all black!) to live with him in the big house when I absconded to Italy. Letting Vinnie out of his cat carrier during my weekend visits home, the two would sniff at each other (you know where) and form a circle which I named the chocolate donut.

Bear lived a full and rich life which ended abruptly this week. If ever I were grateful for something, its for the peace he brought to us, for the laughter he elicited as he ran so fast on the hardwood that he slid into the couch, and for the joy that began that spring morning many years ago and never stopped. Bear rests now… perhaps for the first time in his many lives. Peace be with all of you.