A Valentine For Smokey

It was love at first sight. There are some who don’t believe in this phenomenon, but those of us who have experienced it know better.

He was just six weeks old—a fit-in-the-palm-of-my-hand grey kitten. His mew was as sweet as his breath on my cheek, his downy fur as soft as mink. I loved him the moment I saw him. And he loved me right back. Smokey and I bonded like mother and child.

He slept at the foot of my bed, and when I awoke each morning, he would stretch out his front and back legs, tucking his chin to his chest, and then yawn wide to greet the morning. “C’mon, Smokey,” I’d say, getting out of bed. He’d leap down to the floor and pad behind me, the little bell I affixed to his collar tinkling his enthusiasm. Up on the bathroom counter he’d jump where he’d cock his head while he watched me splash water on my face and brush my hair. Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle again, as he followed me into the kitchen where I’d fill his food bowl and freshen his water. I would then fix my cereal while he finished his food, and though I knew darn well I wasn’t supposed to (most cats are lactose intolerant to cow’s milk), I’d splash a small bit of milk in the bottom of his empty bowl as a treat each morning. And I knew how much he appreciated this small gesture because he would say, “thank you.” That’s right. My Smokey could talk.

I first realized he could talk when, guiltily, after giving him some of the aforementioned beverage, I said accusingly, yet secretly amused, “You are so spoiled rotten.” Smokey lapped up the tablespoon’s worth of dairy, licked his lips, then his paw, before looking up at me to say, “Moy-id rah-wren.” Can you hear it? That’s cat-speak, but he clearly was saying, “spoiled rotten.” Try to say it like a cat, and you’ll see exactly what I mean. His “thank you” was “mape-oo.” Amazing, it was.

Each morning when I left for work, Smokey would follow me outside and then spend the day outdoors. Being a bird lover, and finding that Smokey was adept at killing them, I bought the little bell for his collar. That tinkle, tinkle, tinkle sound was enough to alert birds to his impending pounce. He still enjoyed stalking his prey, but after the bell, there were no more dead birds on my porch.

Smokey followed me everywhere. When I took a walk around the neighborhood, he would scurry from bush to bush, his bell tinkling madly. He somehow, however, knew that when I got in the car, he was to stay in the driveway as I drove away. He would mew and blink his good-byes, and I could see in my rearview mirror that he waited until I was out of sight before then presumably going about his daily hunting activities.

The summer after he turned one-year-old, I decided to take him with me on vacation. I didn’t even think about putting him in any kind of carrier, just picked him up and placed him in the car for a two-hour drive to a cottage on a lake in New Hampshire. He curled up in the back seat as if it were something we did every day, and took a little nap.

While unpacking the car, Smokey hopped out and immediately went exploring in the wooded area around the cottage. I didn’t worry about him at all because I knew he wouldn’t venture far from me. After settling in, I decided to go for a swim. I put on my suit, gathered up my towel, and headed down the rustic path that led to the cottage’s dock. Smokey’s bell tinkled and I knew he was following me down to the shore. I unfolded my towel and flattened it neatly onto the dock where I sat down to enjoy the rays of the sun. Smokey stepped onto the towel and settled in next to me.

Out in the middle of the lake was an anchored raft. I dangled my feet over the side of the dock to test the water. It felt very warm so I decided to make the plunge and swim out to the raft. After hoisting myself up to its surface, I sat dripping wet enjoying the sound of birds and nature. The breeze made goose bumps appear on my skin, but the peacefulness of the moment was divine. And then I heard Smokey crying. He sat at the edge of the dock crying, crying, crying at being so separated from me. It was one thing for me to be out of sight, and quite another for him to see me and not be near me. And so I said, “You’re okay, Smokey. I’ll be right back.” He continued to cry so that I really couldn’t torture him any longer. But before I had a chance to gather myself up to dive in to swim back to the dock, he stopped crying. I watched as he walked back toward the cottage. I was thinking, “Oh good.” But, he wasn’t walking back to the cottage. He was giving himself enough distance to gather enough speed to take a running leap into the lake. Smokey had chosen to go for a swim.

With all the determination of Lassie to “come home,” Smokey paddled his way out to the raft. I panicked because I didn’t know how I was going to get him on the raft, and then there was the bit about getting back to shore afterwards. He closed the distance, meowing the whole time. I couldn’t understand what he was saying but it was probably something like, “What’s wrong with you going so far away when I can still see you, and then making me have to swim in a lake for crying out loud so I can be by you?”

I stretched out prone on the raft and reached my arm down toward the water. Smokey grabbed on—claws in, of course—and I pulled him up onto the raft. He then spent the next half hour, as I sunbathed, licking himself dry. After another half hour, during which he slept next to me, I decided I just had to get myself back to the cottage to clean up and then start some dinner. “You’re not going to like this,” I said to him. His head popped up at the sound of my voice as he watched me go to the side of the raft and dive in.

When I got back to the dock, he started crying, crying, crying again. “I can’t believe it,” I’m sure he was saying. He then went to the far corner of the raft, gave a little shiver of anticipation, and bounded back into the lake, meowing the whole distance as he swam. I never heard Smokey say any swear words, but if he ever did, it was probably during that swim back to shore.

Alas, my darling Smokey was not destined for a long life. He was only a year and half when a congenital condition caused a heart attack. He died in my arms within a matter of moments. I was inconsolable for days. Co-workers thought one of my parents had died.

Yes, I was quite ridiculously brokenhearted. But, when it’s love at first sight, there’s no helping it.

Copyright DJ Anderson 2013