Walking the Cat

One advantage of having a cat instead of a dog is that you don’t have to walk a cat.

In the retirement home where I live, residents with dogs get up early and take their dogs out. I am still asleep when my neighbor Leona passes my door on the way to the elevator with her collie. Laddie is a beautiful dog, gentle and a quiet.

Another advantage of having a cat is that cats don’t bark. Another neighbor has a little dog which yaps at me every time he sees my shadow in his window. No, I am not peeking in, just passing by on my way to the elevator, like Leona and her dog.

My big white cat, Charlie, meows softly to chide me when I have been away too long. He also jumps on the bed and whispers if he thinks I am sleeping too late. For Charlie, that means 7:15 on a Sunday morning!

Like all cats, Charlie sleeps most of the time. But he likes to get up early in the morning. Since he is the boss of the household (or thinks he is), he insists I get up, too.

Charlie is adjusting to living in this apartment. I think he misses the rust-colored arm chair where he used to sleep. I gave it away when we moved. Now he sleeps on a little green chair which he never noticed when we lived in the house.

This “retirement community” contains 100 individual apartments in seven buildings grouped around an irregular courtyard with big trees and a swimming pool. First floor apartments open onto covered walkways, which support long balconies which serve as hallways for the second floor. I live in the one building with a third floor. We call it the penthouse.

Until now Charlie has been reluctant to leave the apartment. He won’t even go near the door to my private balcony off my bedroom at the back of the apartment. When I opened the front door he would stand in the doorway and, extending his neck, look up and down the balcony which connects the five apartments on this wing. But he would not put a paw outside the door – until Sunday.

When I opened the door to bring in the Sunday newspaper, Charlie looked out, as usual. Then while I juggled with the plastic wrapping on the bundle of ads, he stepped out. I dropped the papers on the coffee table and followed him. I kept about four paces behind him as slowly he felt his way down to Leona’s. The door was closed; Charlie did not know a big dog was lurking inside. He sniffed at her aloe plant, then strolled on. He paused to look at Norman’s wheelchair.

As he looked down at the stairs to the second floor, I said sternly, “No!”

Slowly he turned around. To show me that he was not obeying my command but doing what he wanted to do, he paced leisurely on his noiseless furry paws, back towards our apartment. Notice: “our” not “my”; it belongs to Charlie and me. He stopped a couple of times to look through the railings at the leaves on the trees and poked his white fluffy head through the wooden bars to peer down at the green grass on the lawn far below.

I followed, keeping my distance like a discreet servant. When we came to the open door of our apartment, he walked right past. Charlie was exploring the World! He did not give me a backward glance, as if he did not care if I was with him. He went past Daisy’s and Paulette’s doors, as far as the elevator, where he voluntarily turned around and, at the same slow pace, walked home.

This morning it happened again. I opened the door. Charlie walked out. I followed him to one end of our balcony and back the entire length. At the elevator, from below I heard a sudden loud bang. I think Robert may have been emptying a garbage can into the dumpster.

Charlie turned and ran home. I didn’t know that middle-aged cat could move that fast!

Will he be afraid to go out again? I don’t know. If he decides to take another walk, I’ll be right behind. September in Texas brings perfect days, cool and sunny. It is good to be 80 years old and walking at a cat’s pace but without a cane.