Sammy would have been 23 today (if he were still with us). Sam was a wonderful cat. We lost him to old age 6 years ago.
Sam was the “child” of divorce. He had been raised by a family with children, other cats, and dogs. He found himself up for adoption when the family split up and couldn’t keep the pets. He was tolerant of everything. He introduced us to the world of cat ownership gently. He was our first cat, and because of him there have been five others.
He wasn’t much to look at. When we went to look at cats waiting for adoption, we had gone to see an elderly but beautiful long-haired cat. The adoption folks discouraged us because the cat we had admired had kidney issues. They didn’t recommend we take a sick cat for our first experience. They turned to motion towards a cage on the floor and said, “how about Sam?”
How about Sam? I remember looking at him and thinking, “THAT is a cat?!” My oldest son was almost 6 at the time, and he was with me. He looked at Sam and said, “OK!” He wanted him, and Sam (who was also 5 at the time) would become “his” cat for the next 12 years.
Sam’s favorite “toy” was a plastic drinking straw. He had several, and he “buried” them all over the house. I was still finding them years after he’d gone. There are probably still some buried under the bedroom rugs. He’d wait until we’d all gone to bed for the night. The house would be dark, and we’d be just settling in when he’d come walking up the hallway, straw in mouth, yowling at the straw. It cracked us up every time. He’d draw the syllables out. Sometimes it would sound like he was saying, “wohhhhhhhhhh, noooooooooooo.” I miss hearing him. He was so funny.
Sweet-tempered, patient, loving Sam. He was a big cat (22 pounds at one time), and he always wanted to lie on your chest. He didn’t realize that he made breathing difficult. Happy, friendly Sam who loved to lie on his back in the window sills so that the sun could reach his tummy.