Big Tom, Our Alpha Cat

My beautiful black cat, Tom, is snoozing away on my desk while I eat a bowl of cereal, check my email, and do a little writing this morning. His big sprawling body, all eighteen pounds of him, leaves very little room for me to work. Thank goodness for my keyboard tray, which slides out from underneath the surface where he is relaxing.

He loves it here – the light above my desk produces a nice amount of heat, and his silky black fur is absorbing the warmth and glistening from the light. I reach over to stroke him and I can feel him purring and soaking in the heat from the lamp. He is the picture of contentment and comfort. It doesn’t bother him that underneath his belly are ball point pens, a ruler, a spiral back notebook and my address book. His only concern this morning, if he has one, is how much milk I am going to leave in my bowl for him to lap up. He waits patiently, but I know he’s thinking that he’s going to get a treat in a few minutes.

I love my Tom. He’s been with us for over eight years, when he showed up on our back deck hungry and alone. It took him over two years to decide we were worthy of his companionship and affection, keeping his trust and acceptance at a safe distance. He was very patient with us, and stayed around our house all that time, but took his sweet time in deciding that he liked us. During his getting acquainted time, I often remarked that the spirit of my mother was in Tom, and that he came to our house to keep an eye on me for her.

The reason I say this is due to his interest in my jelly making. My mother taught me how to make jelly and preserves, and I inherited all of her “stuff” that she used for making her wonderful jellies. After Tom came to live with us, his favorite place to sleep was my strawberry patch, which contained plants that I had moved over from Mama’s house after she died. The first time I made jelly following her death was after Tom came to live with us, and this was also the first time he even acknowledged that I was worthy of his attention. When I was washing the berries, preparing them for processing, Tom jumped up onto the counter and watched me. This was the first time he ever showed any interest in the kitchen except for his food dish in the corner. Not only did he sit on the counter and watch me wash berries, but he stuck around while I extracted the juice, cooked the jelly and filled the jars. It was only after the entire process was completed that he left his spot on the counter and went on to other interests. This routine went on every time I made jelly for the next few summers until he decided that I knew what I was doing! I feel like I am finally a Master Jelly Maker now, because Tom doesn’t bother to supervise me anymore! I like to think that Mama is pleased.

Tom is now about nine years old, fat and happy. When we moved out here to the barn five years ago and let him loose in the house for the first time, he circled its perimeter, explored the rafters and high places that we have here, and proclaimed this his domain. This is his barn, and he is beneficent enough to let us live here with him. This morning, aroused from his nap on my desk, he stretches, licks his paws, checks out my cereal bowl, and settles back down. During this brief exercise, I am able to pull my address book out from under him.

He seems unaware that it is missing and settles back down for the morning.