Virginia Mew

Posted on April 14, 2003 in Cats

Virginia Mew was, until recently, the cipher of the household, the cat we joked was a figment of our imagination, that didn’t exist except for us and sometimes not even then. The deaths of her two cohorts brought changes and new responsibilities to her life, not the least of which has been the duty of disturbing us in the morning to request feeding.

The morning rousing, scheduled precisely at 6 am Pacific Daylight Time, begins with Virginia’s timid entry into the room. Tracy liked to howl loudly in Lynn’s ear. Ambrose would paw paw at some dirty cloths or at the foot of the bed. (He’d also combine this signal with a calling card to signify that the litter box needed changing.) Virginia hops up on to the bookcase next to Lynn’s side of the bed and mews plaintively. All her mews should be written in lower case and written — never in a solid black — but a tentative silver grey.

When one of us rises, her tail goes up and she trots over to the food bowl, the rate of her mews increasing. If I am the one doing the duty, I fetch a bag of the wet stuff out of the cat food can, rip it open, and pour it in her bowl. Even though she is now the only cat, Virginia waits for me to finish the act. Sometimes it even takes a little prod from me to get her to begin feasting.

Gratitude is not being withheld. Virginia now rises to the occasion of expressing her thanks by rubbing her body against us and, while we are watching television, seeking us out for pet and purr. She’s not quite to the point where she will happily let us cradle her in our arms but I’ve been finding her pressed against me on the bed and she does not run to hide whenever we enter the room now.

She’s a changed cat in the small particulars.