When a Cat Decides He's Moving In

By Rebecca Hill

Any conditioned cat-hater can be won over by any cat who chooses to make the effort.

~Paul Corey

A big, beautiful, black Persian cat named Commander taught me that not even the most adamant-dog-loving-cat-hating human being in the world can resist the charms of a cat once the cat decides he's moving in.

Commander was my parents' cat but I knew him first. Originally, Commander was my college roommate's cat. My roommate was supposed to be selling Commander because he was "a show cat." When potential buyers saw the magnificence of Commander's appearance and his impressive bloodline, they thought he would be a blue ribbon champion. But, unlike his brothers and sisters, Commander would not tolerate the show cat lifestyle. He would not sit serenely in his crate nor would he tolerate his eyes, teeth, ears and body being examined by a judge.

Because of his prideful and uncooperative behavior, no one would buy Commander. My roommate grew frustrated with Commander and began to neglect him. Commander was often kept in the bathroom (which my roommate pointed out was much bigger than the crates his brothers and sisters lived in) but the bathroom was not big enough for Commander's spirit. Commander ripped up and ate some of the bathroom tile and out of boredom played with a razor blade leaving little bloody paw prints all over the bathroom.

My roommate was unhappy, Commander was unhappy, and I was unhappy. In desperation I called my parents to see if they would like to adopt Commander. My mom had always loved cats but my dad disliked cats intensely. (Apparently, when he was young he had known some feral cats who bit and scratched him and that had made a bad impression on him.) As predicted my dad said, "No way. No cats." So, being the ever-obedient daughter that I am, I brought Commander home for Christmas break. Fortunately for me, my dad was out of town at a math conference. By the time he returned, both my mom and Commander had decided that Commander was going to stay.

My mom broke it to my dad by saying that Commander was going to live at their house for a "trial period" while we looked for a buyer. My dad looked at Commander with great apprehension and was very leery when I sat Commander on his lap. As the weeks, then months, went by there was absolutely no effort to sell Commander and it became clear to my dad that Commander was there to stay. Commander started sitting by my dad as he read the newspaper and slowly my dad began to pet Commander — just a little bit.

By the time I came home that summer I was surprised to see my dad carrying Commander around the house and holding him up to each of the windows so "kitty" could be on "bug patrol." Over the years, my parents' love for Commander grew to the point that they could not imagine life without him.

Once my brother and I finished college and there was no more tuition to pay, my parents built their dream house and they named the floor plan The Commander! They worked with the architect to design every nook and cranny of the house so that it was perfectly suited for both of them and for Commander. For my mom, they designed a beautiful living room and parlor. For my dad, they created a fantastic office and beautiful places for my dad to display his African art collection. For Commander, they designed windows that went to the floor so he could "see all of the bugs and birds" and my dad even took the time to measure Commander with a ruler so that the window ledges would be made wide enough for him to easily lie on them with comfort.

Commander died at the age of eighteen. That was four years ago. My mom still talks about Commander often and misses him tremendously... and so does my dad, which proves that not even the most adamant-dog-loving-cat-hating human being in the world can resist the charms of a cat once the cat decides he's moving in... to your heart.

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