Our Girl Richard

 It seems odd to me that I have not written anything extensive about our cat, Richard Parker, because she is by far the most interesting individual in our little family. She came to us in her dreams one day last winter. That is to say, she was a shelter cat asleep in a Petsmart when she caught my boyfriend's eye. He wanted to assess her, but it took three people and a five page application form completed before they told him that the rescue would be in touch with him in a few days as to whether or not he could interact with the cat. The wait didn't matter, my boyfriend, Salt, was already attracted to her personality; the cat slept the entire time.

I was dubious about the validity of determining personality based on the ability to snooze in a crowded store, but he was right. I have never seen a cat like her. She answers when called (if she wants to). She obeys commands, and only issues a single protest "mah!" as she complies. "Get off the coffee table!" will cause her to jump to the floor and petulantly "mah!" "Don't claw the sofa!" will cause her to step away from the furniture and "mah!" "Don't use your claws when you play with me" results in her retracting her claws, "mah!"

Eventually, she was named Richard Parker after the Bengal tiger from "The Life of Pi." One night we were watching the movie about a young man stuck on a lifeboat with a Bengal tiger and the tiger had a look on it's face that seemed to say, "I could kill you, but not right now." Having seen that expression on our own cat's face so many times, her name was immediately settled. 

She does have other nicknames though. She is called "Thunderfoot" when she clomps down the stairs with a gate that sounds exactly like a large dog. She is called "Princess Stinkums" for the occasional litter box bomb. She indignantly ignores our teasing with all of the forbearance of a teenage girl.

We have come to think of her as our teenage daughter, beginning with the day we accidentally left the guest bedroom open. That afternoon we noticed the cat was missing. After a brief search we found her stretched across the queen size guest bed, enjoying a patch of sunlight and the feeling of a silk comforter. When I entered the room she lifted her head and glared at me with the perturbation only teenage girls can master. If she could have rolled her eyes, she would have. We made a rule not to bother her in her room.

Like any teenager, she does creep into the living room each evening to endure us. At parties, she will even sashay through the center of the room -- seeing and being seen -- before disappearing to her sanctuary again. 

With her position and domain well established in the household, one can imagine how disruptive the past month has been for her. Truly, I think the new dog, the move, and settling in have been harder on her than on any human or dog in the household. 

 The first thing to go was her private bedroom, which had to be stripped of furniture for the carpet cleaners. As the mattress was being removed she walked circles around the room mewing in protest. The mattress did not return.

Then Calicocoa arrived. Richard Parker has held her own with our chupahuahua, Griffin, since the first time she bopped him on the nose with such power I heard the thump ten feet away. With the arrival of our blue heeler, Calicocoa, Richard has made special effort to impress upon the large dog that she is the household enforcer by taking swipes at Calicocoa when the dog gets too near. She has also interfered in spats between the two dogs. Her intent is probably not to defend either of them, so much as to quash any rowdiness. She absolutely despises rollicking behavior among the dogs. For this reason we leave her in charge when we're gone.

Besides the increase in activity, Richard Parker has found that Calicocoa is competition for attention. Richard likes to have her attention, so it's no surprise that she's become even more affectionate with us and with house guests. Now instead of just making an appearance at a party, she picks a comfortable looking lap in which to situate herself. She's now more likely to spend most of the night sleeping next to Salt, tucked under his arm, purring contentedly. She has become more assertive about reminding us to play with her on her scratching post and to feed her ... now... right now... not in a minute, now. I am almost convinced she is saying "now" rather than "meow."

Obviously the ride over from the old house to the new house was horribly traumatic, as I reported previously in my running monologue about the move:

"Drop Richard Parker in her cat crate, and head off to the new house. The miserable wailing of the tortured begins immediately. Three blocks away Richard Parker urinates. Two miles away she begins trying to force her head through the wire mesh, scrapes her face badly, but only gets her nose out. Five miles away she begins panting and long ribbons of drool hang from her mouth. She defecates. She sprays. She claws at the cage. She drools more. She yowls desperately and then hopelessly the entire time. No conciliatory talk helps her calm down. She has to endure forty minutes of this hell. My heart is breaking."

She seemed to recover fairly quickly and took an instant liking to the finished basement, where Calicocoa will not venture and Griffin seldom goes. She found all of the sunny spots for napping throughout the house. She found the good perches and the good window views. Her food dish is secured on a ledge. Her litter box is in a bright corner.

Unknown to us, until last week, there was still something important missing. Richard Parker wasn't paying too much attention to the construction of the guest room bed frame, but when the box springs was set into place, Richard leapt upon it, circled it, and felt it with her claws, mewing all the while. We had to remove her to make the bed. She paced the room while we finished. Once she was set upon the completed bed, she immediately began to run. She circled the bed top three times. She shouted out her joy, "Mew! Mew! Mew!" as she ran. She was giddy. Finally, she threw herself on her back in front of Salt, inviting him to pet her, but she couldn't make up her mind if she wanted to rough house or be adored so she alternated between rolling and scratching.

Fast forward to two nights ago when we were snuggled together with the dogs on the sofa, trying to stay warm as a May snowstorm knocked into the house. Salt thought it would be nice to have Richard Parker join us and went in search of her. He returned a few minutes later, perplexed. She was not on our bed or on her perch in the bedroom. She was not hiding under the dining table. She was not on her bed.

It was unlikely that she would have dashed outside on the best of days, much less during a snowstorm, but one does worry about those things when the temperature drops. I checked the deck, but found no sign of her. I joined Salt to search downstairs. Her bedroom was very cold, but I crouched down to look under the bed. She wasn’t there either. 

I could hear Salt calling to her in the box filled room next door. I sat up just in time to see her head rise up from beneath the pillows of her bed. She looked at me with disgust. . . a teenage girl saying “Can't I have any privacy?"