By Jim Hagarty
2006
You know, I love cats.
I am especially fond of this cat. I love Tommy, the orange-and-tan striped cat in Columbus, Ohio, who dialled 911 when his very sickly owner fell out of his wheelchair. Police admit it sounds “weird”, but they received a 911 call from a man’s apartment, but there was no one on the phone. They called back to make sure everything was OK, and when no one answered, they decided to check things out. And that’s when Tommy was found next to the phone.
Tommy’s owner had actually tried to train his cat to call 911, but was never sure if the training ever stuck. But he keeps the phone in the living room on the floor and one of the buttons on it is a speed dial for 911.
I have cats and maybe I sell them short. But I can’t see them dialling for help if I was to get into a jam, unless I was having trouble with the can opener, perhaps. More than likely, as they run between my legs when I try to walk downstairs in successful efforts to bring my attention to can opener matters and such, they will be the cause of someone else calling 911 for me.
But I think Tommy deserves three cheers for rescuing his very ill owner. We don’t often associate cats with feats of heroism, those being pretty much the sole territory of their arch rival, the dog, which traditionally has had a much more effective public relations record. Nevertheless, I think there’s a lot more going on in those little cat heads than we give them credit for.
A little cat I named Grumbles came to live with me in 1984 when I was a card-carrying bachelor, determined to live and die alone. Not long after a co-worker talked me into giving the little grey stray a home, I took her to be spayed.
When I brought her home from the vet, she was one sore animal and wasn’t up to doing much, certainly not up to climbing the stairs to my room and jumping onto the end of my bed for a long night’s sleep. So, I left her downstairs in the living room so she could be close to her litter, food and water.
Until then, Grumbles had pretty much been a big nuisance, but that night I felt sorry for her and so I brought a blanket downstairs and curled up beside her on the carpet. This was either a testament to my loneliness at the time, or to the fact that the little critter was growing on me, or a bit of both. Either way, cat and man formed some sort of spiritual bond that night that would deepen and last the next ten years.
One night, my wee friend returned the favour. I was up on a ladder in the garage when my back went into some sort of spasm that thankfully hasn’t been repeated since and I found myself calling for help. My wife – I had finally given up single life – came to help me down the ladder and through the kitchen to the bedroom. I was stooped over, in extreme pain, and could hardly walk, especially with an agitated Grumbles hopping all around me, refusing to be shooed away.
Finally, I rested on my back on my bed and began to feel a bit of relief when a dozen pounds of feline landed on my chest, aggravating the spasms. She padded around and then sat down facing the door. I called my wife to remove my little sentry but each time she did, Grumbles jumped back up on me and faced the door once more. Finally, I told my wife to just let her stay. Which she did.
Animal behaviourists might call it instinct on the cat’s part. I’m sure it was. But I will also bet that that little puss knew I was in pain and she felt duly-bound to try to protect (thus facing the door) her old friend.
Unlike Tommy, she couldn’t have dialled 911, but it was a start.
And one more reason it broke my heart when she left this world.
