by Ted Sherman

Created on: March 07, 2007   Last Updated: April 30, 2007

We had a wonderfully communicative cat in our family for 15 years. We called him Mems because he strutted into our house one Memorial Day, meowed, "Like it or not, I'm home", and never left. He didn't say words, but his every meow had a very understandable meaning to his human family.

For years Mems walked our kids to the school bus each morning, and was there precisely at 3:30 when they got off. We don't know how he knew the exact afternoon times, but he was always prompt, usually about five minutes early. When he saw the kids at 3:30, he'd always meow "about time you got here."

He went on walks with us like .... no, not a dog ... a member of the family. He strolled wherever he chose, expecting that we would follow like a pack of ... no, not dogs ... felines. If we wandered too far off his chosen track, he's stop or walk over to us and meow an impatient, "C'mon. I haven't got all day."

When one of the kids was sick, Mems would snuggle in bed with the patient, giving his love and warmth to help in the healing. During those critical times, he was called Dr. Mems. And it wasn't just a joke, because his communication was very clear that Dr. Mems was in charge. We like to believe it worked better than all the doctors and medicines in the world.

He never walked on the kitchen counter, except at night when he thought he'd never get caught. Of course, we'd find cat hairs there in the morning, but he'd just look at us with a "who, me?" stare.

He brought frequent presents in from outside and lay them at our feet. He must have wondered why his stupid humans were never thrilled with a dead bird, mouse, squirrel or other bloody rodent.

The kids, as all kids do, grew up and left. Mems looked a bit lost for awhile, wandering around the house meowing why there were just two aging people left in his family. Then, I retired and we put the house up for sale. Because we were moving from the cold east to the warm desert west, we held a week of garage sales to get rid of virtually all of our furniture.

Mems was confused on the morning when he was shooed off his favorite couch as it was being carried away. He meowed his protests, but was outvoted by his humans. Shortly before we left and were wondering what to do with a cat who was at least 15 years old, a kind of miracle happened. He was adopted.

For several years, Mems was pals with our mailman, who always parked in front of our house at noon to relax and eat his lunch in his truck. Mems. a natural born sponger, would show up in time several times a week to share a sandwich. I'm sure they had many meaningful conversations through the years. When the mailman heard we were leaving, he asked that Mems go home with him and his young family.

So, when we left for the west, we said our tearful goodbyes to our old friend, and Mems went to his new home. We exchanged a couple of letters with the mailman, sent Mems a couple of birthday presents and then we lost contact.

Mems would be at least 30 years old by now and is most likely in cat heaven. But we want to believe Mems' communication skills and medical expertise went on for another 15 years helping to raise a new generation of kids.

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