Good night, Amos - Democratic Underground

nuxvomica

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Tue May-01-07 08:07 PM
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Good night, Amos

I remember when I first saw him. He was a tiny, skinny kitten, with a scratched-up bloody nose and ear, and huge eyes. He had been found on a rural road on a rainy summer day in Wilton, NY, by a co-worker who brought him to work to see if anyone could adopt him. He couldn’t keep Amos because he already had four cats at home. Having been a dog lover since childhood, I didn’t know anything about cats and I really didn’t like them and their furtive, emotionally distant ways, but I agreed to let Amos stay at my house until we could find a permanent home for him with someone who actually likes cats. He had fleas and ear mites and needed daily antibiotics for the cuts on his face but he was treated successfully and never had another flea or mite problem again.

In the early days of our life together, he was shut in the upstairs bathroom with his food, water and litter box whenever I was out of the house or asleep. I didn’t want him to sleep in my bed for fear that I would crush the tiny thing during the night. I relented after a few nights of his crying from the bathroom at bedtime and I would wake up each morning to his wide-eyed face only an inch or two in front of mine. Remarkably, I didn’t crush him.

We played the chasing game I had played with my dogs in the past. This involved running after each other and hiding behind furniture and surprising each other. The tension was too great for him one day. He was staked out behind a rocking chair and I was behind a coffee table. I kept taunting him until he could contain himself no longer. He ran to me on his hind legs screaming like some ancient Celtic warrior.

I could not eat anything without him joining in and he’d often get right up onto my dinner plate. If there were rice or barley in the meal, it would be flicked everywhere by his darting tongue. Once when I was eating Raspberry Newtons he stole a bite and fell in love with the flavor. He tried to take it away from me but I resolved to keep the cookies from him because I figured they were probably not good for cats. By this time he had the run of the house when I was at work, having proven he would not get into too much trouble. I would come home each night and he would greet me at the door, vocalizing wildly as though there were news to report.
One day I got home and he wasn’t at the door to greet me. My heart sank. I feared he’d gotten stuck someplace or injured or worse. I called his name but there was no answer. I looked around and discovered an odd thing: an unopened package of Raspberry Newtons I had left on the kitchen counter was now lying on a step halfway up the stairs to the second floor. I examined the package and found the corner had some small tears and something had attempted to eat one of the cookies. I found Amos curled up on my bed, sleeping the deep sleep of the totally exhausted.

Though he was a house-bound cat, I tried to bring him with me whenever I could while visiting friends or family or running quick errands. I worried that when he stayed in the car while I ran into a store that he might get stuck under the seats or bolt into the street when I opened the door so I had gotten a cheap slip-knot leash advertised as appropriate for kittens and tethered it to the passenger side headrest.

One day, while I was waiting in the checkout line at the supermarket and Amos was leashed inside the car, I suddenly had a feeling that something was wrong and I needed to get out to the car to check on him. An lonely elderly woman ahead in line was chatting incessantly with the uninterested cashier while my worry continued to build. When I finally got checked out, I ran out to the car as though I had just robbed the place. Amos had gotten his leash stuck, had fallen between the seat and the door, and the leash was tight around his neck. I carefully freed him and he made a few little coughs. Later that day, I bought him a small harness.

As the years went on, he remained as playful and curious as he was in kittenhood. When I was away, the people taking care of him said he would call out my name (“Joooooe!”) in the middle of the night. I cannot paint a picture of any important time in my life in the past 16 years, any time of great sadness or joy, that would not include his image. Without him the world is a less amusing place, a place less scratchy and bitey, too, but also a place less softly furry and without the easy engine idle of his purring, and, worse, a place that doesn’t seem to need me so much anymore. The bond between man and beast that we shared is not gone with him. I have just assumed full possession and locked it away in my heart. If the richest man in the world had lost all of his wealth and power and friendships in one moment, he could not feel so broken as I do now. I regret I never found a permanent home for Amos with someone who actually likes cats. Fortunately, he managed to find such a place on his own.

Amos
circa June 1, 1990-May 1, 2007