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Ode to a cat named Nutmeg

I always write about dogs. Anyone who knows me, knows it's one of my favorite topics. But for this column, I'm writing about a longhair, orange cat named Nutmeg.

Twenty-one years ago, Jan Bierman and I were riding around the Northwest suburbs running errands. They were the kinds of errands it takes to bring the dream of a no-kill animal shelter to life.

Right from the start, we knew one of our first concerns for any animal coming into The Buddy Foundation would be to meet their medical and behavioral/emotional needs. So we spent a lot of time talking to veterinarians in the area.

Some moments of your life are etched in your memory forever. Jan and I were heading down Rand Road, going to Rand Road Animal Hospital, when she turned to me and said, "There's a new litter of kittens at Rand Road."

"Okay," I said, acknowledging this piece of information.

Then she said, "You need a cat."

I said, " What? Why do I need a cat?"

At home, at the time, my family had two rescue dogs, a 75-pound mixed breed and a 60-pound mixed breed.

Jan just said, again, "You need a cat."

We parked and went into the building. We walked into the reception area and sitting on top of the desk counter was a blue pet bed shaped like a bowl with two little heads showing up above the sides.

I walked closer and up popped a little ball of orange fuzz, surprising me but not him. He looked me directly in the eye. I picked up that little ball of orange fuzz and he licked my face. He came home with me.

We named him Nutmeg. My nieces, Vanessa and Priscilla, had recently gotten a yellowish-orange kitten and named him Saffron, so an orange kitten named after another spice seemed appropriate. Nutmeg grew into a 16-pound, longhaired, water playing, ball chasing, dog and parakeet loving cat.

Nutmeg wasn't the affectionate type. He never jumped into anyone's lap to be petted. He did tolerate scratching behind his ears or having his face rubbed once in awhile.

Nutmeg would show affection by rubbing against our legs to let us know he wanted something. Someone said they heard him purr once, but there was no corroborating witness so we're not sure if it's true.

He tolerated being picked up, but only if he was held so his paws were supported on a shoulder so he could see the world and make his break from the hold if he needed.

Nutmeg organized mealtime at our house. He always ate with the dogs, walking freely or sitting beside them while they ate and drank. We've always put out a large bowl of drinking water for our dogs filled with water and a few ice cubes.

When a fresh bowl of water was put down, Nutmeg would come running from wherever he was in the house and play in the bowl until all of the ice cubes were out, water was everywhere and he was dripping wet.

He'd lick his front paws and walk away. Mission accomplished.

Then we'd set out another bowl of water. Nutmeg always drank from that same water bowl when he wasn't playing in it.

Because of their size, we've always elevated our dogs' food bowls. When Nutmeg got older, I got him one of those cute bowls shaped like a cat. It wasn't for him. He smelled it, turned his back to it, sat down and looked at me. We were all beginning to learn this was how Nutmeg showed us he had an issue that needed to be resolved.

Priscilla happened to be over at the house and said, "Maybe he wants his old bowl back."

His food went back into his old bowl. He took a few bites and then sat down and looked at me again. We were getting closer, but didn't have the answer yet.

Then Priscilla said, "Why don't you put his food up like the dogs?" Sure enough. From then on Nutmeg's food bowl (his old bowl) was elevated. He meowed constantly and loudly until he was fed, so we put his food out first. Our dogs didn't seem to mind. They didn't want to hear the noise either.

We had two parakeets in the family when Nutmeg joined us. His favorite was Woody, a gentle, pretty, little, green bird. We kept their cage on the kitchen counter. Nutmeg never walked on the kitchen counter except to be near Woody. That's where we would find him in the morning, his body wrapped around the bottom of the birds' cage.

Often, Woody would be "nipping," playing, with the hair between the pads on Nutmeg's paws, Nutmeg laying quietly, eyes usually closed. Nutmeg never pawed at the cage, never went into hunting mode.

We never tried to explain their relationship. They were Nutmeg and Woody, two sentient beings who understood each other and shared quiet times together.

After Woody died, Nutmeg never jumped on the kitchen counter again.

The birds weren't the only family members Nutmeg was close to. We've always had big dogs, and Nutmeg always wanted to be with them, except when he was sleeping in his bowl bed or on the top perch of his cat condo.

Although he wasn't an outside cat, and wasn't allowed out unless someone in the family was with him, he would sometimes go out with the dogs into the backyard, lay in the sun, tail flicking, waiting while they did their thing and then lead them back into the house.

Nutmeg napped on the floor beside them, heads and backs touching, sat on the couch with them, ate with them, looked out the window with them and played with them.

One of the games they played was Nutmeg's version of King of the Hill. He liked to sit on the dining room table and wait for them to come near him. He took great pleasure in "bopping" them on the head as they walked by. The dog and cat would look at each other. Then the dog would keep on walking. The dogs never reacted.

But our family did. One of us would say, " That's not nice, Nutmeg. That's not being a good kitty. You don't do that to the dogs. You be nice to them," or some variation thereof.

Nutmeg would sit up straight, absolutely still, sticking our his magnificent mane of orange hair, get a faraway look in his eyes and assume his Zen position, as in, "I'm centering myself. I can hear you talking, but your words have no meaning."

He used the Zen posture to his advantage many times over the years.

Nutmeg and the dogs collaborated at Christmas, so we only decorated two-thirds of our Christmas tree. Nutmeg never touched the lights on the tree, but any ornament he could reach was fair game to be knocked off.

Between him and the dogs' tails knocking off any low hanging ornaments, we learned to enjoy our partially decorated tree. It became a Christmas family tradition in our house.

Memories are wonderful. You can visit them whenever you like. They make you smile and laugh, and remember all of the fun and feel all of the love again. Then they always bring you back to the present.

Our Nutmeg died last week at 21 years of age. We miss him. I read cats are the only animals that are never truly owned. Cats choose people to share their lives with. I'm so very grateful we were the choice of that little ball of orange fuzz.

You were right, Jan, I did need a cat. A cat named Nutmeg.

• The Buddy Foundation, 65 W. Seegers Road, Arlington Heights, is a nonprofit 501(c) 3 shelter. Call (847) 290-5806 or visit www.thebuddyfoundation.org.

Webster, a longhair Chihuahua, is about 1 year old. This little cutie weighs in at 9 pounds. Courtesy of The Buddy Foundation
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