Simon The Cat

We had a cat. A cat named Simon. Simon the cat, to some. He was a temporary resident. A favor to Maggie's friend while her house recovered from mold irradication, mold to which she was deathly allergic. For two weeks though, he was ours.

I didn't know if I liked cats. It had been so long since I had been around them regularly. Nineteen years or so. My memory of the cats my mom took in when her sister had to give them up when she moved is hazy at best. I remember one went blind, and one had only three legs. I think I remember teasing them but I'm not sure. I'll forgive myself anyway because I was young. There were others that I don't have any memories of. What I also don't remember is how they behaved towards me. I think they were nice. But for some reason I have been somewhat apprehensive towards them. I guess I didn't like that they were hard to read. Maybe it's because they're like ninjas. I can't recall any traumatic experiences with cats though, maybe I blocked them out. Maybe Simon was just a different cat.

When Simon first arrived he was in shock. Meow this. Meow that. He didn't know where he was, or why he was there. He found comfort in the closet, but that's no place for a cat. Simon stayed in the living room to avoid accumulating hair in the bedroom. It took awhile, but eventually he calmed down and warmed up to us. The first morning of his stay I emerged from the master chamber to check on him. He was on top of the refrigerator. Ninja.

Simon enjoyed attention. I had come to think that cats didn't really need, or even care for, human interaction. Most cats that I had been around, I had never really even been around because they would wander off, rarely to be seen. I've altered this perception and realized that they want attention, but only on their terms. If you hovered too long, Simon would let you know with careful advance baring his teeth or by batting his front paws. But he was always there to greet you when you got home, and he was always on the ottoman looking for a hand to pet him, or rub his belly. This negated one argument I had against getting a cat of my own.

I don't know if most cats enjoy bugs, but Simon, I was told, enjoyed eating crickets and spiders. I don't necessarily believe he enjoys eating them, but he does enjoy the hunt. I watched him stare down a cricket for roughly 5 straight minutes, about 4 minutes and 50 seconds longer than necessary, before he finally pounced and chewed him up. This one he ate, but some he spit back out. Dogs would go after something right away and with a ruckus. I enjoy watching that method, but cats have their own art. Silent. Premeditated. Ninja.

I think I've made it clear that my view on cats has changed. Maybe not all cats, but no being is perfect. Maybe Simon was just superior. But the experience was eye opening. Owning an animal who needs its space, and who knows how to use a toilet and can basically take care of himself, might be right up my alley. I still want to own a dog some day. They have their own quirks that fascinate me, and they make you feel more needed, but having a ninja in my home might be pretty badass.