CIAO, SAFFIE -- March/April 2009
In spring, everything comes alive, and a woman's fancy turns to thoughts of love.
I have a special love for Saffie. He is my father, brother, son, and friend.
He is strong and protective, loyal, affectionate, tolerant.
He stands guard at my door, greets friends, peruses strangers. Lovers must pass muster.
He wraps his arms around my neck, licks my chin and cheeks. No doubt he likes the salt. But he could be kissing....
He watches me, eyes direct, unblinking.
He listens, digests, understands, accepts.
Outside, he savors the grass, marks his territory, settles quietly. He wiggles his backside, focuses on bunnies and birds.
Off he flies, but never kills.
He wallows in catnip bushes, loves new growth in the garden. He chomps and closes his eyes in pleasure.
Inside, he jumps from pillow to piano, finds a warm spot, sleeps in the sunlight.
He knows how to live.
Yes, he is a cat, a short-haired, orange marmalade cat named Saffron, Saffie for short. I adopted him when he was two, and now he is almost 18, about 90 in people years.
He is beautiful, with thick, lustrous fur and light green eyes. He is eight pounds of muscle and bounce.
I love him and he loves me.
"I'm just mad about Saffron, Saffron's mad about me. They call me mellow yellow...."
Thank you, Donovan, for that lovely pop song.
Famed New York veterinarian Louis J. Camuti, who treated only cats and made house calls, said, "Cat