I’ve always been a cat lover. I have vague memories of our family’s first cat - a gray tabby, who submitted to my will lovingly and dutifully. Alas, though, through her we discovered my allergy to cats and our house was made a no-cat zone well into my junior high years, when repeated stays at a friend’s house - where a long-haired prima donna Persian also resided - revealed my ability to build up an immunity. So at long last, our house harbored cats again, much to my gruff, dog-loving dad’s dismay. The first two cats met sad fates on the country road in front of our house. The next cat was, therefore, strictly an inside beast. He stayed on with my parents years after I’d moved on.
I coaxed my future husband into taking one, then another of a litter of cats my grandmother had come into. And then, a year or so later, I took on my own black, languid, furry-tailed feline and named him Sandoz. All three of these eventually 18-pound cats would become the first children of our marriage, cramming into the nooks and crannies of our bodies at night in our queen-sized bed. I remember one time early in the marriage, when Jeremy was out of town on business, the three cats stretched out on the bed in Jeremy’s place, with the top one resting its head on Jeremy’s pillow - it was as if Jeremy wasn’t even gone!
Unfortunately, our move to Korea necessitated leaving those laid-back, enormous animals behind, in the care of various family members. My black baby, Sandoz, survived my absence for about eight months, dying from feline fatty liver syndrome just one month before our first visit back to the States. Jeremy’s two monsters were passed between a couple of his siblings, before they had to be given away - just too much work for a single person in a small apartment. It broke my heart to lose these “children” and I felt so irresponsible for not managing the care of animals dependent on me by my choice in a more diligent manner.
So, when we ended up taking in a crooked-tail, orange and white, feral tabby cat in Korea, I knew he would be ours until he died, which would eventually mean he would be a very well-traveled kitty.
Cats in Korea are despised (no, not eaten). They are seen as dirty, troublesome, even evil in the deeper rural areas. But they were still found around - dirty, skittish, skulking, combative. I never got close to any one of them - and believe me, I tried. Until, one Saturday morning, while Jeremy was at work, I heard a terribly sad and lonesome mewing. Even though the voice was loud, I knew its owner was pretty small. I darted outside, wondering if I’d be able to find the distraught soul, hoping - with tears welling in my eyes - that I might be able to get close enough to it to help it, if I could find it.
It was pretty easy to find and, even though it did put up a small chase initially, it was not near as evasive as I’d imagined it might be. After a couple of darts away from me, he gave up as I slowly reached behind the air conditioning unit to pick him up. He fit in the palm on my hand, not quite at the weaning age and obviously starving. (I’ve often wondered if he wandered off from his mother, or was abandoned by her in that country that surely made fending for young kittens hard and dangerous work.)
He meowed almost constantly for the first two hours inside, even garbling through his bowl of milk. He was finally silenced and at peace when Jeremy arrived home, located the mewing under the dining room table, scooped him up and, sitting cross-legged on the floor of the sun-splotched living room, stroked the tiny animal to sleep in his lap.
And, he’s still with us today, five years and seven thousand miles later. We named him Chewie - for Star Wars' Chewbacca - in honor of the his roaring, insistent meow that's never lessened or softened from the first day. From the beginning, he’s been extremely dedicated to Jeremy and me. But he couldn’t care less about much of anyone else. Of course, he’s had to open his heart up a little to Gideon and puts up with much more from a child than we ever imagined he would. And the neglect he’s suffered in the wake of his demotion in the household has helped him warm up to other adults more than he had previously. But he still does not care for most kids. And he’s been banned from going outside, after our struggles with treating abscessed bite wounds from fights with neighborhood cats he surely instigated (I’ve seen him chase down other cats).
I know friends, family, neighbors have marveled at the trouble we’ve gone to for this mongrel of an animal and wonder about our continuing dedication to him, despite his decidedly grumpy, less-than-welcoming personality - no one will be writing about the greatness of this feline anytime soon. But I made a promise to have and to hold him, for better and for worse, the day I took him in and in honor of the cats we left behind, I plan to stick to it, through thick and thin (his and ours).
Note: I wrote this in November '08. Chewie has been temporarily shipped off to my parents' for a brief vacation from little boy and new puppy while we try to keep the house ready for showing and simplify our cleaning duties. We miss him, though, and plan on reclaiming him soon, house showings or not.
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