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The Thanksgiving Cat: Part II - The Leavening

© Thomas James Martin

Well, dear readers it has been a couple of years since I wrote about, The Thanksgiving Cat, also known as Ram, our mischievous male black cat.

A friend in western North Carolina found Ram playing in the median of an interstate highway. She already had so many animals on her farm that she asked if Joyce and I would give the six-week old kitten a home, and we agreed.

I picked up Ram at Portland (Oregon) International Airport and brought him to our suburban home in Beaverton. When I reached inside his travel container to take him out, he immediately started purring.

This quick and wondrous purring is the story of how he came by his name.

The name is taken from the Ramayana, the great Indian epic about the life and times of the enlightened king, Ram, and his consort, Sita. Thus, Ram is one of the names of the gods in Hindi; Gandhi exclaimed it as he died.

To me, the purr of a happy cat reminds me of this name of god; thus, this is the derivation of his name. However much Rambo may be more suitable as a name for this rambunctious, mischievous cat, I still think of him as the "Thanksgiving Cat."

He gets that moniker because Joyce and I consider his presence a blessing. . .albeit often hidden and sometimes infuriating! I mean, why do modern day humans keep cats at all? There are no granaries to guard from marauding mice which was one of the principle reasons for domesticating Felis domesticus in the first place.

Many would argue that humankind's friendly relationship with such an independent animal is probably based on masochism. Why else would humans put up with a so-called "pet," who only deigns to answer to his name when in need of food or due to some mysterious, arcane feline agenda?

The ancient Egyptians even worshiped cats, especially admiring their strength, grace and unfathomable poise. (Except around water, I suppose.)

Unfortunately, when I look around our house, I see much evidence for the masochistic theory. Our speaker covers are still in shreds from his kitten hood (and teenager hood) as is the back of the couch. He would continue to shred the furniture were it not for his fear of the spray bottle (considered a humane way of disciplining the little fur balls).

Furthermore, I may grow old and die before he comes in when called after letting him out into the backyard. Usually I have to go outside and chase down the little villain. I must admit though that he does not complain too much when I pick him up.

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