I have previously written in this space of Salem, a solid black cat with translucent green eyes, that we have been sharing with next door neighbors for about three and a half years. It's hard to think of the little creature as other than the perfect Halloween cat. Some former neighbors moved away and left her behind. Perhaps there wasn't room in the car, but thank goodness for backhanded favors.
Robin bestowed the "Salem" moniker. Something about her seems to evoke the colonial-era Massachusetts town, witches and mystery. Unlike so many of her feline ilk, Salem is friendly and personable to a fault. That's a good trait to foster if you suddenly find yourself cast off and would like to establish a source of regular meals.
In the four- or five-week interregnum before new neighbors moved in — and not desiring a litter of new charges — I arranged an appointment for neutering with our veterinarian. Our current neighbors, a young couple who are both medical professionals, are definitely animal-friendly. They landed with an indoor cat and dog of their own, and assumed that Salem came with the house. A friendly, informal shared custody arrangement has evolved.
When a stray feral male cat showed up next door one day, with a broken tail and, doubtless, an interesting history of his own, the young wife took him in. With a fund of patience that seems to rival that of the biblical Job, she has developed a real friendship with Tom.
I'm not sure what our neighbors call Salem, and she could care less as she enjoys plying meals from both homes. It's whatever is inside a $5 or $6 bag of Friskies over here, and, I'm sure, something equivalent over there. Once, while we were on a short vacation, Salem got into a fracas with another cat. The young woman next door scooped her up and carried her for the necessary stitches to her leg.
Salem returns the favors with charming mischief of her own. There are five automobiles between the two residences, and Salem is sure she holds title to all of them — sans responsibility for taxes and maintenance. She avails herself of any opportunity to leap in and extensively inspect any of them. On one occasion, she was discovered after 12 unexpected hours in Robin's prized Bronco, having made a bed of a jacket folded in the back seat. Fortunately for Salem, she left no evidence of the visit.
Salem loves the brick sills of our neighbors' windows as they permit an excellent perch for surveying inside doings. Our windowsills are not as conducive, but she has discovered a heating/air conditioning unit that affords a view into our den. Somehow, though, I suspect Salem has discovered things next door are much more interesting.
Now, our outdoor patio area is adjacent to the carport, and is separated by a small fence-and-gate combination. That patio, and the backyard, are the near-exclusive domain of Annie, our 19-year old black and tan canine mix that has been with us since late 2010. Yes, dog lovers, she is 19. A century or more to us humans. When we adopted her from the shelter, her intake card revealed an age estimate of 3-4 years.
As you can imagine, Annie has physical challenges at this stage of her life. She has an arthritic hip and a faulty thyroid, among other things, but canine medications have been good for her. She still enjoys lingering over a bowl of chow; she will nearly extract a finger that offers a tasty bit of scrambled egg, or meat; and, she still likes having her ears or tummy scratched.
Since Salem entered her life, Annie has discovered another raison d'etre. The mailman and the garbage truck can still get her started, but there is something about that "perfect Halloween cat" that really pumps her vim and vinegar.
There is no shortage of neighborhood cats that have made their way here, but nothing pulls Annie's barking trigger quite like that solid black, green-eyed creature. I doubt that things were quite as lively at Berlin's Checkpoint Charlie, or along Korea's 38th Parallel, even at the height of the Cold War.
Salem knows it, too. In her prime with her reflexes and agility, the youthful feline enjoys sashaying up to the patio gate as Annie barks and growls. Annie was fast and agile in her day, though, and you can spy a glint in her eyes, at times, that seems to convey: "If I was a decade younger and that gate wasn't there, you wouldn't be so sassy!"
She may be right, too, as in past times Robin and I enjoyed watching her give chase to squirrels — almost successfully.
On a recent morning, Salem was full of mischief as I was enjoying a book on the patio. I heard a sudden “thump” and looked to discover that she had made the five-foot leap from the roof of a shed behind our carport, across a chasm, and onto our patio grill. With a graceful leap and a couple of bounds, she crossed the patio and sprung another three or four feet onto another surface.
Stepping up even a single foot onto the upper patio is too much for Annie, now, but the old gal had spied her black feline nemesis. Salem seemed to relish alternating between preening and grooming herself, and returning Annie's stare. She didn't have to worry about any threat behind what is still a respectable bark.
But I could still see that glint in those ancient eyes, and it wasn't hard to understand. "Dear Lord, just for five minutes, can't you let me be 6 years old again?"
