Morris the Cat

Posted Sun Jul 21, 2002 in Stories

In 1969, Dad and Granddad bought a small farm in Missouri. We didn’t know it, or at least the kids didn’t know it, but we inherited a dog with the farm. He was an old mutt of some kind and had been given the name Guvnor, although he was mostly called G-Dog. I don’t know how old he was, but he was a real farm dog. He didn’t like much company, but kept a real eye on things around the house. If anyone approached, he announced their approach. But his real claim to fame was his hatred of ground hogs.

Ground hogs are relatively large rodents, much larger than rabbits and far more aggressive. They burrow and tunnel and create risks for cattle and horses. The story went that a ground hog bit G-dog’s nose badly. Thereafter he hated them and would hunt and kill them whenever he came across them. Of course, he never ranged far from our farm, but nonetheless I could hear him, once in a while, out in the woods in a huge fight. When he returned, he always looked rather proud of himself.

Shortly after we moved to the farm, a small black cat appeared. The cat was nearly completely black, except for one paw and a small patch of white fur on her chest. My youngest sister named her Morris. I have no idea why.

She grew to adulthood there amongst us, somehow surviving all of the dogs. Morris was never a large cat; she stayed small and wiry. For some reason, she adopted me. I remember that she would come to me when I was outside and announce herself. If I didn’t pick her up or sit down, she would jump from the ground to my shoulders and lie down across the back of my neck. Most of the time this wasn’t a problem, but if I moved when she jumped, she would claw me.

In the winter I wore a parka that had a waist tie. When it was really cold, I could put her in my parka and she would snuggle against my belly or my back, a small warm ball. If it wasn’t so cold, she would lie across the back of my neck with her legs hanging off on either side on my shoulders. Most cats are not nearly so affectionate. She was.

It was hard to sneak off into the woods to hunt with Morris around. I remember one deer season that was very cold and cloudy. I sat in the woods, listening, when I heard small footsteps approach. Thinking it was a squirrel, but not sounding like a squirrel, I turned to see Morris walking toward me. She crawled into my lap, turned around three times, then laid in my lap and purred. I guess I didn’t mind much because she was warm.

Another time dad and I had gone off into the woods to hunt. He sat at the top of the bluff and I sat down below. As she often did, Morris showed up after a half-hour or so. I heard dad shoo her off, but she walked down to where I sat and made herself at home. We sat there, she purring and affectionate and me listening for whatever we were hunting and staying aware of dad. Morris surprised me when she jumped up, bristling and growling. I went to alert, wondering what was happening. I heard dad’s square-back Browning bark once and then a coyote fell over the edge of the bluff, landing just a few feet from me. Morris spat and went all furr-out and big. I looked at the coyote, wondering if he was rabid or just stupid. It took a long time for me to settle down. If I remember right, dad and I headed back to the house for coffee and food. I guess we were all a little unsettled.

Although she was the smallest animal on the place, Morris had attitude. But, I do know that none of the other animals messed with Morris. I saw her run off the other cats any number of times. But what surprised me was how G-dog responded to her. I didn’t think anything would rattle him, but one morning I saw him in full run with Morris right behind him. I guess she did have attitude! My sister told me that G-dog had killed her first litter of kittens. I don’t know if it was true or not. But I do know that she put him to flight whenever the notion took her.