My Cat, Panda

copyright 1996, Dean Isaacson

It was a beautiful morning. I walked out the door and stood on the porch, surveying the landscape and breathing the morning country air. The farmers weren’t spraying the money this morning, so the air was pretty fresh. I was getting ready for my morning jog.

“It is so good to live in the country,” I thought.

Just then, my dog Jenny, no scratch that – our kids’ dog, but that’s another story – came up to get her early morning ear scratch. Now, here comes Spot, the cat. He’s jealous and wants attention too. Actually I didn’t spot (no pun) him in time and I made the wrong move. He’s big on protocol.

“You blew it Mr. Isaacson. Next time stay to form or you will lose again.” I could hear him say in his thoughts.

“Good-bye, your majesty,” I replied.

Spot looked just like his mother, Fuzzball, and grandmother, Panda. They were all black with white markings, only Spot had a little more black on the nose. Nonetheless, we named him poorly. Should have named him King, or Czar or something befitting majesty. Spot is no name for a cat with such arrogance.

We don’t see Fuzzball anymore – she’s gone somewhere, maybe adopted by some kids on a farm. As I jogged along, I remembered when I brought Panda home. I never liked cats. In fact, I hated cats. Nevertheless, my wife and son loved kitties and puppies and were pressing on me to bring a kitty home. They had already brought home a puppy, without my vote – she’s now a dog and you already met her – and she is another story.

Shortly after they brought the puppy home, I was browsing the pet store looking for a collar and leash when this store-cat began talking to me. She was loose and seemed to desire my attention. I didn’t mind, even a cat-hater can admire kitties. But she followed me all around the store, jumping from shelf to shelf, staying within eye-level of me and talking all the way. As I approached the check stand I just casually mentioned my son might enjoy a cat like that.

“Oh, she’s for sale,” replied the clerk.

I felt trapped. “How much is she?”

“Only twenty-five dollars.”

I looked at that plain black-and-white cat and wondered why her papers were not attached. I gave the clerk a questioning look.

“She’s had all her shots,” was the reply.

As I continued to jog and rounded the bend of the drive, my mind reviewed the years that had passed and the bond that had formed between myself and that cat, Panda. Just as she was talking to me in the store that day, she never seemed to lose her interest for me. Even now, when I am out in the pasture, she will call to me from the neighbors’ fields, where she’s rounding up mice and moles. She gives me a long-drawn “MEOWWW” and I will call “Come on, girl.” She would come, talking all the way and looking at me to make sure I had her attention. She’d let me pet her forever, if I had the time. She wasn’t that way with the kids or anyone else, for that matter but she was a pleasant cat.

I remember when we finally got Panda fixed. We had five acres and I thought that Panda did such a good job catching mice and moles that more cats couldn’t do any harm. Between her and and her daughter, Fuzzball, we had close to twenty cats running around. We had to do something because the brood was growing.

Robin, my wife, took her to the vet. My instructions were to get her fixed, no more, no less. The clerk convinced my wife to give her more shots. She tried to convince her to additional plans and services, but Robin knew that I would object. She declined though the clerk made her feel guilty, like my wife didn’t love her cat. As it was, the bill was over a hundred dollars for two fixes. If the clerk had her way, my wife would have left the deed to our house on the counter.

My jog was almost over now. Actually, I don’t really go anywhere. Our drive is about a quarter-mile long, so we go up and down a couple times and call it a mile. It is a beautiful run though because our drive is between two landscape nurseries. I especially love it when everything is in bloom. Furthermore, as I round the bend in the drive, looking toward the house, between the months of September and October, the geese always time it to be flying overhead during my run. Not kidding.

As I came to the end of my jog, I remembered the last time Panda went to the vet. Leukemia was the verdict. It would be expensive to save her and she would not likely survive. Without help, she would not live three months. The vet recommended that she be disposed of – it was going to cost sixty dollars. Robin left the cat with the vet and gave me the news at lunch.

“What!? I can kill my own cat!! If she is dying, let her die here. When she begins to suffer, I will put her out of her misery. The doctor doesn’t need to get her cut of that. Call the vet and tell them to do nothing, you will bring her home today.”

That was almost three years ago.

Finished my run. As I got up to the porch, I heard her long-drawn “MEOWWW.”

“Come on, girl.” She is in as good health as she has ever been.

Thank you, God, for letting me live in the country, thank you for cats – thank you for life.