Clint Catwood

If someone made me choose, I would have to say I am a dog person.  But, I did own a cat at one time.  Clint Catwood was the product of my brother-in-law’s tiny housecat and an unknown Boston alley cat.  Clint had none of his mother’s gentle traits.  I can only imagine that he resembled his father in every way.

Clint traveled with me from Boston, to Maine and across the United States (three times), until he finally ended up in California.  He was worldly and confident.  He hated children and dogs equally.  He had an obsession for Brillo pads.

One day I heard a kitchen cupboard door bounce on its hinges.  I walked into the kitchen and began opening doors, peering inside cautiously.  When I opened the door beneath the sink I found Clint, one foot atop the Brillo box, ears back. Busted.  When Clint successfully snatched a Brillo pad, he made short work of the thing, enlarging it to four times its size and leaving it dead and destroyed on the kitchen floor.

My dogs had great respect for Clint.  He terrorized them.  He often lay in wait atop a bed, or beneath the couch.  When the dogs ambled by, he sprang.  Once he managed to wrap his paws around Kodiak’s neck and hang on as the huge dog back peddled down the hall in a panic.

Luckily, Clint mellowed with age. He began to miss opportunities to frighten the dogs.  He slept long hours in the sun on the windowsill. He resisted the urge to snag me with a claw when I was done patting him. I imagine his dreams were of his youthful days when others stood back and yeilded to him as he trekked through his terroritory. 

I will probably own another cat someday.  He or she will have big paws to fill.