Who's Knocking?

My grandmother once told me that she didn't much like cats because they were too demanding. But I don't think she knew the character of all cats. It's true that some are a bit needy, though. But not Whiskers. He was purely just a yellow mass of fuzzy politeness and sincerity. And this story is about him; how he changed my life since meeting him early one unassuming and very ordinary Sunday morning in October.

At first, I had thought what I heard was from a dream I must have been having, but opening one eye and cocking my head up to accommodate better hearing, I heard the faint tap once more. Thinking, "who only taps once...usually it's at least a tap-tap-tap?" Anyways, I grabbed my robe and to the door I went. When in eyesight, I could see not a soul through the curtainless window panes, so I stopped in my tracks, thinking I'd just go right back to bed.

"Hmmm...they must have left already," I think I spoke that out loud. But as I turned to head straightway back to the comfort of the cushy mattress and cool sheets, I heard the tap again. In fact, this time, it startled me.

I edged up to peep out and over before opening the door. That's when I spotted a mass of yellow looking up at me, giving me a weak "Meow," and lowering his head. "What the heck???," I said as I opened the door.

"Hey, you! Are you lost?"

(Another meow, but he sat perfectly still, not trying to barge in uninvited.)

I offered my hand for him to smell and he gently caressed it with the side of his face. He appeared to be an old cat, had battle scars on his face, but didn't seem one bit afraid of me. So, I invited him inside.

"Come in, sir. Would you like a small bowl of milk?"

He walked forward and sat looking up at me, almost smiling, as if I'd asked him a trick question.

Once the milk was poured, he lapped it up and then rubbed against my legs, purring as I stroked his coarse fur. He let out another meow as if to say, "Thanks." Then he began giving himself a bath.

"Now what am I going to do with you, fine sir?" I sat on Grandma's big comfy chair, speaking to my new friend. "There isn't a house around for miles, you know. Where did you come from? I know you weren't Grandma's because she didn't like cats." (She had been more of a dog person, her Old Bessy, her mixed collie of eighteen years, had died three months before Grandma did. That's when and why I came to stay with her. We had both lost our best friends.)

Thinking about Grandma's sudden stroke and death suddenly brought tears to my eyes. (That happened a lot lately, even though it had been almost a month since Grandma's funeral.) "I've got to stop this! Feeling sorry for myself is such a waste of time," I said to the cat. "But if anybody had a right to have a pity party, well...maybe I deserve to? Not many people lose their spouse and only living relative within the same year, do they?"

Only a purr was the response to my question.

I hadn't noticed before, but this cat had the longest and whitest whiskers I'd ever seen. He kept looking at me, so I asked him if he'd like to sit on my lap. As if he understood, he jumped ever so softly onto my lap and curled up. "Okay, Whiskers. But just until I decide what to do with you."

Fact of the matter, it had been over a week since I'd even taken a shower or moved around the house with any purpose at all. I mostly got out of bed to go to the bathroom and then jumped back in it afterwards. I wasn't even sure if the milk I gave to Whiskers was any good. (It didn't look or smell curdled?) My life was filled with should haves and need-to-do lists, but my body wasn't going to have any of that.

Whiskers didn't seem to care how unkempt I was. No, he was reaching upward to my face with his outstretched paw, turned on his back, quietly begging for a belly rub. "Ok, old man. I hear you." (Even though he never let out a meow.)

We must have sat there for a good twenty minutes until I decided to shower and go into town to get a few items (including cat food.) I didn't discuss it with Whiskers, but my plan was to leave him outside until I got back and if he was still there when I returned, well...I guess he could stay.

He was delighted to see me come back, even trotting to the car as I got out and brought groceries in. To be perfectly honest, I was delighted he wanted to stay, too. So, that's how this all started, this healing process. Whiskers gave me love and encouragement and I was able to gain my footing again and begin to tackle my list, little by little.

You know, some say this: