Before long, Tommy was sitting on the sidewalk in front of our entryway, waiting to be invited in. I’d stand on the steps and gesture to him, and he’d run up the stairs and eat outside my apartment. Inviting him in was a ritual that lasted for 14 years. He’d sit under the trellis and wait for me to call and gesture to him. Then, he’d run up one flight of stairs and wait for a second invitation. Sometimes we did this three or four times a day.
For years, Tommy was a mostly outside cat. He'd come in to eat, and then he'd leave again. But he'd walk to the trash fort every night with me, just the two of us outside together. Sometimes, he'd leave me at the trash fort and go off to do whatever cats do late at night. But most often, he'd walk back to our entryway with me, and we'd sit on the sidewalk together and talk for awhile. I loved walking with him because he was a great companion, calm, confident, clever and often funny. Sometimes, his tail would go around in circles while he walked. And he didn’t care how long he kept me waiting if he wanted to chase a bug or pounce on a shadow while we were walking late, late at night or stop for a few minutes to take a long and luxurious bath in the middle of the sidewalk. He found so much joy in outdoor life, and he shared that joy with me.
Although he was feral when we met, he quickly became tame and friendly with people he liked. He was truly a neighborhood cat. Everyone in Deering Woods knew and loved him. And he had dog, as well as cat, friends. He'd sit on the sidewalk and wait for his favorite dogs to come by, and then he'd walk with them. His best buddy was a little Maltese. They looked like the odd couple strolling along together. Tommy was bigger than the dog was.
He was also my search and rescue cat. If a cat was missing and was willing to be found, Tommy would lead me in the right direction. I could sense his impatience if I looked or started walking the wrong way. He and Trista and PK and I spent an entire summer searching for Casper. But even Tommy couldn't find him, or maybe Casper didn't want to be found.
Tommy loved to be outside. Even when he was inside, he was usually outside on the balcony. One winter morning, I couldn't find him anywhere. Then I discovered him sleeping on his favorite chair on the balcony covered with snow.
His life changed when he was diagnosed with HCM and needed medicine twice a day. As a concession to me, he agreed to spend nights inside so he'd be here to get his medicine in the morning. At first, we agreed that his curfew would be 11 p.m. But he quickly changed that to 1 a.m. Then he decided 3 a.m. worked better. If he didn’t need to sleep, neither did I. He always appeared at odd-numbered hours. I’d see him at 11 p.m. and than at 1 a.m. If I couldn’t convince him to come in at 1, I knew I wouldn’t see him again until 3.
His schedule ran on odd-numbered hours during the day, too. If I got home at 3 or 5 p.m., he’d be waiting for me. If I got here at 4, there was no sign of Tommy.
Sometimes, he and Trista and I would go for late afternoon walks in the woods. I loved our walks, but as his heart disease progressed, I could tell that he got tired easily and enjoyed our walks less and less. This summer, we sat on a hilltop overlooking the woods instead of walking.
Tommy was big and shrewd, and I thought nothing scared him. But one afternoon when we were on the hilltop, a couple with a toddler walked by on the path below us. Tommy dove headfirst into the storm drain. The miniature human lurching along the path terrified him!
When he was diagnosed with HCM, the cardiologist gave him six months. He defied the odds for two years, but this summer, I could sense he was slowing down. He still scratched his favorite trellis post, which is covered with years of his claw marks. But our walks got shorter and shorter, and often he wanted me to carry him home or at least up the steps. Sometimes when I was carrying him, his breathing seemed too fast, and I was very frightened.
He had an appointment with the cardiologist on Thursday, and I was looking forward to what I feared would be our last road trip to Rockville. He enjoyed riding in the car, and he was a great traveling companion. He'd wear a bright green harness and leash, and I'd open the top of the carrier so he could look out the windows. He loved watching the cars and trucks go by. He was afraid of construction workers though. On the way home, we'd stop at Wendy's and sit in the car in the parking lot and talk and share an order of fries.
We didn't get to have our road trip, but he left me with many happy memories of a wonderful, truly special friend. I miss him more than most people could imagine, but I'm grateful for the honor of having his friendship for so many years. I know he thought I wasn't the brightest human on the planet, but I hope he loved me nearly as much as I love him.
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