Morris
This is the first time I've ever tried to write about this very special cat, so please humor me and ignore any mistakes. I don't have any pictures of him -- he wasn't the type. But he will always hold a very special place in my heart.
I don't know what his name really was, or if he even had a name. We always called him Morris, after the character in the 9 Lives commercial, because he was an orange tabby. He was a stray, and heaven knows how old he was. He already had cataracts and was missing a few teeth when we came to know him. Though it was not the politically correct thing to do, we never tried to tame him, or tie him down to our lifestyle. We respected his need for freedom, because we knew there could be no other life for him.
I was new to my husband's hometown, and I had just had a baby. Not having had any experience with infants, I was naturally very protective and nervous. Even leaving the room where she was seemed a risky proposition for me. There was a sliding door at the back of our apartment, where our own cats could enjoy some fresh air on the deck. On nice days it was left partially open for a few hours. One day, I went into the kitchen and noticed that a cat who was definitely not one of ours was helping himself to the dry cat food. I tried to pet him, which he cautiously allowed, but then he left before I could go any further.
This routine had gone on for a couple of weeks. Then one day when the baby was asleep, I left her to take a shower. When I emerged, I heard the most urgent yowling. Didn't sound like one of mine… it was Morris. I was nonplussed at this, especially when he seemed insistent on my going to the bassinette where the baby was sleeping. It took me a little while to figure out what he was trying to tell me, but then I caught on: she had kicked her blanket off. I covered her back up, and Morris, satisfied, went to the kitchen, grabbed a bite to eat, and went on his way.
A few months went by, and everyday Morris would plant himself wherever the baby happened to be if I had to leave the room at any time. He turned out to be even more of a fussbudget about her than I was. The least little thing, such as a blanket being out of place, would set him off.
But babies do grow, and mothers do gain a bit more confidence. Came the time when my baby was sitting up, cooing, babbling, even trying to crawl. Morris still came faithfully everyday. On that last day, I noticed that he did not stop to eat, and he looked even more worn and tired than usual. I thought briefly that I should try to consult a vet, but after stopping by the baby's swing, he was gone again.
Morris passed away in our front yard the next day. I wanted to say goodbye, but my husband said, no, it's bad. Remember him the way he was, he's already said his goodbyes to you (new mothers are emotional enough anyway, and I was a classic case). It was as if Morris knew his job was done…
A few years later, my daughter asked me my opinion on the subject of guardian angels, and did I think she had one?
Yes. His name was Morris.