I first met Sultan in the way most visitors to the Pasadena Museum of History meet him: finding this sweet little cat spread across the stairs at the Museum's entrance to get cool. Since the little guy would also stretch body and tail long enough to practically block most of ten-foot width of the concrete steps, we know, Sultan, that it was just as much to get you noticed and a pat on the head.
My wife calls me the Pied Piper of Cats, so it's perhaps a bit surprising even to me that I settled to see him and pat him just every once in a while like most patrons did, rather than to have sat down and got to know him right away.
But still, I thought of him regularly and soon I, and then both my wife and I, started stopping by to see him.
There was something about his dedication, his passion for the place, and his love of people that got me right away. But then I noticed something else, which I later witnessed as I stayed longer --- as much as he was loved, he was spending an inordinate amount of time totally alone, sitting in the parking lot sometimes for hours, if not almost the entire day on occasion, with a lot less contact than people assumed.
Still, he loved the place.
One of my proudest and happiest photos with him is the one posted above, taken when I set up my MP-4 digital motion camera to shoot a video of the way he would rub me when I arrived. Why that one? Well it was taken before I started bringing him treats, therefore the attention was pure love of seeing a friend.
I began visiting him more and more, intending to spend forty-five minutes, but then staying for two hours. The visits became regular and much the same: I would pull in, Sultan would recognize the car by sound or shape, he would run at me meowing, and I would get out and grab my towel, some treats, and a good book to read. We'd then head over towards the garden, always stopping for him to stretch and scratch the trunk of the big Redwood tree before the path, and then we would walk over to the table and chairs, where Sultan would jump up, I would use a napkin or plate to pore a few morsels, he would gobble them down, and the I would throw the towel over my lap and he would start to step into my lap, stopping to first kneed the material and soften it (and often my skin - ouch!).
We would sit and listen and look. The breeze, the birds, the squirrels, the people, the bugs, even the occasional dog or cat.
We saw everything that many others missed due to their work loads. The odd people who might stop by after hours; the sweet people who had a story or agenda to relate; the Police helicopter and sirens that annoyed him even more than it did me; and the change of light and seasons in that wonderful if small oasis in the city.
There was the possum who climbed over the wall one night, causing both of us to freeze as still as could be; the small cat whom caused Sultan to leave the earth in flight when he chased him out of HIS territory; and the Mallard duck pair who flew low under the trees arriving in a setting-sun-lit spray across the tiny pond as they landed and began their mating ritual (Sultan and I both turned our backs).
I learned there was never a small creature he would not love to stalk, I learned there were plenty of big creatures he would rather pretend were not there, and I learned that when he saw a dog, he would watch carefully and just as soon raise up on his haunches in preparation for a charge of attack as he would slink down and hide, no matter what the mutt's size.
I also saw his love of people, in particular women, with who he would assert an instant affection. His eyes would blink, he would act shy, and then he would be showered in "what a handsome kitty!" and lots of pats.
I even saw him once pose - yes, pose -- when a European tourist came up to him and raised a camera in his direction. I couldn't believe it - he actually stiffened into a handsome formal sit, blinked his eyes in the most gracious of ways, and sat still for five full shots. What a HAM!
Often he would sleep, as cats do, on my lap, in the lot, or in the bushes, but usually with at least one eye ready to open at a moments notice. Soon, he trusted me enough to sleep deeply in my lap, to the point of twitching and shaking his little legs as he chased mice in his sleep.
Once, he was so exhausted in the hot sun that when I found him in the front corner, dead asleep under a truck tire against the curb, I thought he was indeed dead and felt my heart sink as I called and called him from just a few feet away without a single movement of his eyes, head or chest. Finally, in shock I yelled "Sultan" and his head shot up, half-asleep but happy to see me. "What if that truck had backed up? What if a coyote had walked up behind you?" I asked, in deep relief to see my friend okay.
And that's what we were, Friends. Buddies, I called us. I knew he trusted me as a friend and I found myself at a crossroads ---- did I spend more time with him to help this cat survive another few years of crossing that street, spending all hours, even overnight, in that lot... or did I start to wean myself out of his life so that he could continue whatever had somehow kept him alive all of those ten years?
He was - at that place - quite a cat....
No comments:
Post a Comment