A Tale of a Cat

Story ID:	442
Written by:	Carol J Garriott
Organization:	home/retired
Story type:	Musings, Essays and Such
Location:	Seadrift Texas USA
Year:	2003
Person:	Hobbes

He came into the family around 13 years ago, full-grown, maybe 2 or 3, already a full-fledged, card-carrying curmudgeon. He was named Hobbes, from the cartoon character’s toy tiger which comes to life in the boy’s imagination. This was inspired no doubt by his penchant for blasting through closed bedroom doors and landing in the middle of the bed. As if to say, “What. You thought a closed door would keep me out?”

He was large, long-legged, long-necked, with a glorious coat of long orange fur, weighing in at 30-plus pounds in his prime. He had these piercing green eyes that seemed to bore unnervingly into your innermost being.

Along with a certainty that he was the king of any domain came a nonchalance about other felines. He would just as soon not share, but if they persisted in staying around, he could adjust. However, if they got more attention than he did from the current humans, he was known to give them a bop on top of the head.

He had a deep-seated desire to curry favor with his people. During his years in Jonestown with CJ, he would daily bring large leaves and small twigs, heaping them by the door. A certain guttural meow signaled his approach with offerings carried carefully in his mouth.

After being relocated to Seadrift, he discovered the joys of a large tree-covered yard on the bayou that, wonder of wonders, was his all his, and all his favorite people were together. When the other felines from Jonestown arrived, he welcomed them with astonishing graciousness, leading them around the yard as if showing off the new place.

He did, however, maintain his position as Curmudgeon of 6th Street by skillfully placing himself in the path necessary for his folks’ little dog to navigate doorways and stairways, so he could hiss and growl at the disturbance.

Hobbes discovered a ready crop of locusts, dragonflies, and moths to bring in through the pet door to CJ. You’ve heard the phrase “It’s a jungle out there”? Try sleeping through the jungle inside, with buzzing locusts, crashing chases of dragonflies, and grasshoppers leaping about.

After numerous narrow escapes from large rude dogs in Jonestown, Hobbes developed a zero tolerance attitude toward same. He and his similarly-sized black-and-white buddy Whiskers caused the roaming dogs of Seadrift to regard South 6th as an area to be avoided. Hobbes, backed up by Whiskers, has been known to run the occasional trespassing canine completely off the property, the dog yipping all the way and ardently hoping no one had observed his humiliation.

We had to say goodbye to Hobbes last summer. He’s buried out by the woodpile on the bayou, one of his favorite lounging spots in the hot months. His county fair prize-winning photograph is a loving reminder of a most interesting and much-missed companion.