by Marilyn Armstrong
Jeff and I got Mao as an 8-week-old kitten in the fall of 1965. We had just gotten married the month before, and of course we had to have a cat right away. Why a Siamese? I don't know. Maybe it was the color scheme; maybe it was just Karma.
From the very first day, Mao was Master of All He Surveyed. Although I have had many cats through the years, Mao was the first and by far the most utterly unique.
He was very smart for a cat. For instance, when we were out of town, we would have someone "housesit" for us. No matter who that person was, and no matter how much Mao ordinarily liked them, while we were away, Mao would attack him or her (or them) virtually continuously during our absence. He would hide behind the bushes and attack legs as they tried to open the front door. He would wait behind a corner and attack in the hallway. He would launch himself from the top of the bookcase, landing on his victim's head and causing sometimes serious damage.
The moment we returned, Mao ceased his attacks and commenced purring. He figured, I believe, that he needed to drive out the interlopers so that we could return. Since we always DID return, his belief was consistently reinforced!
Mao protected us from bed goblins. If you were on Mao's "family member" list, he would stop by your bedroom every night. You had to lift the covers so he could walk to the foot of the bed and back up. No goblins tonight? Good, I will go now, and he did.
Mao was the only cat I've ever known that perpetrated acts of vengeance hours or days after your offense. If, for example, you shooed him off the table during dinnertime, he would wait until you were sitting on the potty with your pants around your ankles (and thus could not chase him), and then he would drop by, casually bite your shins, and tail at attention, march off.
Mao patrolled the perimeter of the grounds like any good watchcat should. Every day of his life with us, he performed this, almost like a ceremony. During his last weeks with us, he began to patrol in the company of a younger feline, Mr. Manx. As if passing the torch to the next generation, he taught Mr. Manx to walk the perimeter, and inspect the beds, which Mr. Manx also did for all of his life.
In October 1978, Mao, who had been diagnosed with cancer some months before, disappeared. We never found his body, though we were sure he had gone off to die. For the last couple of weeks before his departure, we had noticed that he felt different. Where his muscles had been hard, they were now soft. He slept most of the day and moved ever so slowly.
It is so many years and lifetimes later. Jeff has passed too. I live far from that place where Jeff and I and Mao and all the other fur-people lived. But I remember him. And so do the others who were friends way back then.
Mao, I am sure you were there for Jeff when he came to the Bridge. I'm sure you will be there for me, too. Meanwhile, you were and will always be, unforgettable.
Marilyn Armstrong
Boston, Massachusetts
February 1999