favorite memories, part 1

In the last few days, I've been smiling at some of my favorite memories of Miss Juliet. I may end up creating several entries, because there are a lot of good stories.

I've already talked about bringing Juliet home and some of my earlier experiences with her.

After we moved out of my husband's house, we lived in an apartment for a year and a half. Juliet never got to go outside while we lived there -- there were too many cars close to the house and it just seemed too dangerous for her. She did enjoy sitting on the window-sills, which were at about ground level, and watching the world go by.

One night, I'd gone to bed early for once and heard some commotion outside but ignored it. All of a sudden, there was a knock on the door and a deep voice saying "Maam? Could you please come outside?" I asked if there was time to get dressed, and there was. But there was a fire in the building (long story, but there was an alcoholic, overwhelmed, and too-young mother living on the third floor; she'd apparently set her sofa on fire when she'd nodded off).

I'd never been in this situation before -- you get dressed and select your most precious possessions to cart outside with you. I'm pleased to report that I grabbed Juliet's carrier, placed her inside, and took her with me. I left behind jewelry, photographs, and other items of monetary value. I imagine I took my house keys too. We waited outside with all the other tenants, except for the perpetrator, whom we glared at for a while. We then went back inside to catch some sleep on that now-shortened night.

In 1990, we moved to a real house on a quiet street with woods out back, the perfect place for a kitty to roam and play. Drawing on my previous training as a cat companion, I kept Juliet inside for a few weeks to give her a chance to become accustomed to her new home. I finally decided to let her out one day, and supervised her for a while. Then I went about my business in the house, and when I returned, she had vanished.

Just then, my brother (who was about to graduate from a local college) and his girlfriend came for a visit. Our plan was to go out for dinner, but I didn't want to leave until Juliet was back inside. So we went trooping through neighbors' back yards and through the woods behind, circled the little pond nearby, and called and called for Juliet to come. Of course, she didn't appear. I'm sure she was watching us the whole time and laughing, or doing the kitty equivalent.

I realized we were going to have to leave, and I had images of needing to go out and get a new cat. I felt horribly guilty and stupid. I worried all through dinner. We finally came home and there she was sitting by the back door, as if she'd been out for just five minutes. I opened the door, and she sauntered in, without a care in the world.

The back yard became one of her favorite places in the summer, and she'd stay outside from early in the morning until dark, when I insisted that she come in. She'd walk through the grass, looking so self-assured that I imagined her as a miniature panther walking through the grasslands.

In the winter, she hated going out and was very prissy about getting her paws cold. Occasionally, she'd get cabin fever and either ask to go out or be a little too energetic in the house. I'd open the back door and place her in the snow or even gently toss her if the snow was deep enough. She'd calm down immediately and keep things under control for a few more weeks, at least.

She loved to hunt, though I don't know how successful she was. I did see her nearly catch a rabbit once. She at least gave it a good run. I once noticed her sneaking up on a ground hog. Vegetarian or not, this beast was about three times her size and might have been dangerous if threatened. I yelled, startling both of them, and allowing the ground hog a chance to slip back into the woods.

Juliet hated other cats passionately. At first, she reserved the entire back yard for herself, vigorously defending our little lawn. As she grew older, she defended smaller patches, allowing other cats to traverse the further reaches of the yard.

But if those cats got too close, she'd react fiercely. Well into her elderly years, one vet said, with a twinkle in his eyes, that it was fine for her to remain outside and defend her territory. As long as the other cats took her posturing seriously, which they probably would, they'd never discover how tiny or weak she actually was.

One day, we were both inside but in separate rooms. I heard a horrible noise from her that she could only have made if she had suddenly been slit from stem to stern, her insides were now outside, and she was dragging them through ground glass. I rushed into the kitchen to rescue her and discovered her staring at a visiting cat on the other side of the sliding glass door. I shooed the cat away and praised her highly once she'd calmed down a bit.

to be continued