LETTER: Not much bad luck with neighborhood black cat

Posted

To the Editor:

For anyone afflicted with mavrogatphobia, be warned. Our neck of the woods may not be for you.

A few years ago, some former neighbors moved away and left a cat behind. In the month's interregnum before new folks moved in, the little feline creature endeared herself to Robin and me. Unlike a lot of cats, she proved friendly, pleasant, approachable and playful. I'm sure the desire for, at least, semi-regular meals was a factor.

If you were producing a movie about ghosts, goblins and witches, set during, say, the Salem witch trials of 1692 Massachusetts, this little black cat with the translucent green eyes would be the one that central casting sends over. Just rub her jet-black fur a few times, ply her with a bowl of Friskies, and Salem would be ready for her close-up. Yeah, the name stuck.

Now for those of you afraid of black cats — mavrogatphobia — just relax. Early on, I discovered a stray collection of gray hairs on Salem's chest. Though not easy to see, and despite Robin's skepticism, I believe that's enough to supply an exception to the black-cat-bad-luck curse. The sprained ankle you might suffer a day after Salem crossed your path would surely have been a broken leg without that mitigating patch of gray hairs!

The new neighbors were at first sure the mischievous little feline came with their house. That's understandable as Salem spends ample time parked on their window sills staring inside. But we have settled upon an informal shared custody. As cat lovers know, that means Salem has custody of two families. With food dishes at two homes, she has cuisine choices: it's Friskies over here and, I suspect, something better over there.

Very early on, I took her to the vet to assure no future litters of offspring. On another occasion, we returned from vacation to learn that the animal-loving young lady next door had rushed Salem to the vet for stitches after being attacked by a stray cat.

A penchant for quiet stealth has led to predicaments for Salem. A couple of Decembers ago, she spent about 12 hours of Christmas Eve/Christmas day inside Robin's new vehicle after a surreptitious foray through an unwatched open door. Another morning she was discovered inside my pickup truck after we noted the emergency flashers. The resourceful Salem had managed to press the flasher button on the dashboard. We keep reminding each other that it was an accident.

Our neighbors report similar experiences with our shared furry charge. We've agreed that between our homes there is a small collection of motor vehicles that Salem counts as her very own.

Annie, our mixed-breed rescue pooch from a local shelter about 14 years ago, is less amused. She barks at every Salem sighting, sometimes emitting some strange howls. Annie is convinced that the lucky little feline is getting special treats and favors off limits to her. I've tried reading her lips during some of the barking sessions, but it's not repeatable in a family-oriented publication.

Recently, I spied Salem perched on all paws atop my driver's door mirror. Sure that I had rung the dinner bell, she gracefully sprung the four or five feet onto Robin's hood … strictly verboten. A small gate separated the barking Annie from Salem's carport. Salem seemed amused with Annie — but Robin is not chuckling.

One day Salem is going to be surprised when Robin opens that gate.

Douglas Smith
Rockingham