The Senior Pet

Most of you have heard me speak of Beasley, the senior pet. Those of you who know me from The Well may remember when I got Beasley, which was almost ten years ago. I was, strangely enough, depressed at the time, and Beasley came along at a very fortuitous moment, jumping out from under a shrub in a park and grabbing my ankle and refusing to let go.

He was small enough to sit in the palm of my hand at the time – about the same age as these two kittens scampering around the house right now. Today, he is middle-aged, fat and kind of grumpy – the Oscar Madison of cats.

He's also prone to depression. When Beasley gets depressed, he goes and sits in a corner, facing the wall, and refuses to acknowledge me or any other cat. That might go on for three or four days. He will still go eat and use the litter box, but when he's done he returns to his corner.

I mention that because he's been depressed the past few days and I think it's because of the kittens. They want to play, and Beasley wants to sleep.

Beasley occasionally goes outdoors, though not as often as he once did. He doesn't like the cold much, so he'll be staying indoors for the next few months. I think he's ready to retire to full-time indoor cat status again, and that's fine with me.

But when he does go out, he always does the same thing: walk down the driveway, turn left onto the sidewalk, follow it to my neighbor's driveway, then take the neighbor's driveway back to the house. I suppose he's inspecting the grounds, but it fascinates me that he chose that concrete as our 'perimeter.'

Beasley is usually okay with other cats when he's outside. Indoors, it's sometimes a different story. There are a couple of cats he doesn't like, and if, on a warm day when the door's open, they step across the threshhold, he's there in a flash to bounce them. If he's under the car and they follow him there, he's okay with that. Or on the porch, or the backyard deck (although he rarely goes to the back yard.) But once they're actually in the house, boom!

(Butthead, the cat who bit me last fall, was on Beasley's 'pass' list.)

I find it remarkable me that he recognizes the walls of the house as his most personal territory - his sanctum snactorum, if you will. He could just as easily have chosen the house and the porch, or the whole front yard, but he seems to have some concept of being 'indoors' or 'outdoors,' and where the generally accepted boundary is.

I mention all this because cats fascinate me, exactly because of this kind of behavior.