My GPS Camera Phone

Camera: Nokia 5610 XpressMusic

Remember Amy? She’s the long-lost cat who came back home, only to find a different homeowner. She also hung around our house long enough to get healed from her ills, only to move across the street where the traffic level was lower (and there were no kids).

She’s been hanging around a lot lately, so I guess the toddler granddaughter that now spends a lot of time at the neighbor’s house became too much. I think the insanely large feral cat population over there was bothering her as well, so she moved into the dog-protected zone for some peace and quiet. I know, she would rather listen to my three mutts than deal with her own kind. Thankfully, our dogs know not to mess with her.

This morning, I caught her trying to steal my motorcycle. Really. Look at that face! How much more guilty can you get! Now that I have photographic evidence, I’m calling the police and…aww, she’s so cute. I need to go get some food for her, I’ll be right back.

Meet Vanessa, fearless slayer of dogs and professional shedder of fur. None can compare. Better known as Nessa, she is known to put the smack down on three dogs who think they own the house, claiming every square inch as her own.

How does she do this? Notice one of the implements of destruction she has placed on casual display, a reminder to all those who pass that her unrelenting, claw-filled fury could be unleashed at any moment. The eyes, closed ever so slightly, lulls the opponent into a state of relaxation; the tail, kept close by so as not to leave herself exposed; the outstretched paw, to intimidate all.

Nessa came into my life in 1996. I had a cat named Bubba who was totally silent. Not a peep out of him, ever. Since I wanted two cats anyway, I decided to go to the local pet rescue and pick up another one to complement his monk-like silence. Enter Nessa.

The place had a ton of cats, all your average, regular type cat with nothing special to speak of. Some kittens, some old, some in-between, some that needed special care. It was like looking at day-old bread. I asked if there were any other cats “that meowed a lot” and the woman looked at me funny. She told me they had one in the back office that was totally sketched out by the crowd of people, so she was taken back there and placed on the file cabinet. We rounded the corner and there she was, totally freaking out, meowing up a storm. I took her on the spot. The same woman looked at me with a raised eyebrow like I was crazy to want her and proceeded to fill out the required forms.

I get Nessa home and place the carrier box on the floor and watch Bubba. He sniffs, sniffs again and then – here it comes – he meows. Years pass and Bubba developed diabetes, which ultimately led to his passing, but Nessa lives on, vowing to avenge his death on any dog in the house that’s dumb enough to get in her personal space. She’s an awesome cat who still meows a whole lot, often for no reason. But that’s good because I always thought, and still think, she’s meowing for two; herself and Bubba.

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This is a picture of Amy.

Amy is no ordinary cat. About six years ago, I moved into my house which was owned by a widow whose husband passed away from cancer. We looked at about ten houses before this one and knew immediately that this was it. The energy was so positive and inviting that we made an offer on the spot. Twenty-four hours later, we had a signed contract.

About a month after moving in, this cat appeared on our doorstep. I had never seen her before and she was in bad shape from life on the street. My wife and I decided to take her in and got her all fixed up at the veterinarian. She stayed around for a few months, but then decided that the neighbor’s house across the street was where she wanted to live. Well, there wasn’t much we could do to keep her away from there.

The kicker is that we spoke to our neighbor and he said that the cat looked familiar, but he couldn’t place it. Days pass and he finally realizes that it was Don’s cat. The man who had died from cancer over a year before had been the caregiver of this cat. The cat left upon his death and returned when we moved in.

Amy, who we called Kitty for lack of a better name, is now happily residing in our neighbor’s house, getting fat and living large. She came over this morning for a visit, something she does every six months or so. Every time I see her, I think of Don, though I never knew him. A gentle breeze blows, the sun shines, peace falls upon me. I like it when Amy comes to see me, though I sometimes think she’s still looking for Don.