Glimpses

"Floyd the Christmas Cat"

Most of us can remember a special Christmas or two in our lives. When I think of the words “special” and “Christmas” in combination, my mind always returns to Floyd.

When my son and daughter-in-law married, they both brought a cat into that union. The cats were as different as night and day, but they adapted to inhabiting the same dwelling. One Christmas, Beth and I were invited to spend Christmas with the couple at their Tulsa, Oklahoma home. The mental scene that I would like you to visit with me takes place on the evening of Christmas Eve, and the four of us were in the den carrying on normal conversations. We had finished exchanging gifts, and the chairs that my son and I occupied were separated by maybe sixteen to eighteen inches. The house had just been remodeled prior to their purchasing it, and the hardwood floors gleamed. From the den, there was a large opening leading into the dining room, and directly across the den was an entrance to a hallway.

Floyd would never be a political cat. He was not a “people” cat at all. It was just his nature, and like it takes time for a frozen turkey to warm up, so it was with Floyd. You might even miss him if you didn’t stay overnight. Eventually, he had to come out, but he definitely was not a “party animal.” Floyd was as black as the inside of a sealed box on a moonless night. Silently, he would move like a panther, ever cautious of his surroundings.

It was in this environment that I took note of Floyd making his first appearance since our arrival. He emerged from the darkened hallway, and stopped at the entrance to the den. Ever alert, he settled on his haunches and sized up the situation. People! That’s what he thought. Other than for food and shelter, who needs ‘em? Conversation level was normal. No one was up, moving about. No one had addressed him or pointed him out. So far, so good. Warily, he got up and started to move around the perimeter of the room in front of where we all sat. Whether planned or not, I don’t know, but he seemed careful not to make eye contact. He moved slowly and silently, crossing the room and going into the dining room.

A few brief minutes later, a movement between my chair and my son’s caught my attention. Floyd was slowly thawing out – or was he? There between the two chairs sat a small gift sack with twisted paper handles, filled with colorful plastic, grass-like material. In a few months similar material would be all green and lining Easter baskets. It was the bag that had lured this miniature black panther, not a sharing of friendship. Curiosity is a wonderful thing. By then, both my son and I were silently observing Floyd. Apparently Floyd had a “thing” for this colorful plastic fluff and presently decided to check it out more closely. He placed his nose through one of the handles, laid his ears back when they touched the handle, and with his head fully inserted, examined to his satisfaction, the bag’s contents. It doesn’t take long to check out something like that so he withdrew his head, flicking one ear as it brushed the handle. He was unaware of our watching him and for a few seconds, Floyd seemed to be quite content with the whole Christmas thing.

Had he missed seeing something in the bag? Might as well check it out again, and with that, the procedure was repeated. Well… that is, until he started to withdraw his head. That confounded handle touched him in a manner different than the first time, and then the Christmas festivities really got started! Apparently Floyd thought that the evil handle had him in its clutches, and adrenalin shot through his veins. Curiosity can be a bad thing. “Fight or Flight! Fight or Flight!” Floyd opted for the latter and immediately exploded into one moving machine! Since he was already in reverse mode, he backed up in panic a step or two, and then shifted directly into high gear. The fancy bag had him in its grasp and Floyd decided to leave Dodge. WAY too much Christmas here! One of the major problems was that the bag was obstructing his view, and another was that his front paws were striking the lower edge of the bag before they contacted the floor. Without instrumentation, Floyd was flying blind. The situation had taken a dramatic turn for the worse.

What followed took far less time to occur than it will to read about it. Floyd was in the dining room, but probably had no idea where he was. At this point he wasn’t thinking clearly. Bonk! Bonk! Circumstances had turned him into the ball on a house-size pin ball machine. Bonk! His head hit another chair leg. By now it had become necessary to assume more of a fighting attitude as he extended his claws. The lower portion of the devil’s bag was beginning to shred. Did you know that traction is hard to achieve on shiny hardwood floors, even with extended claws? Had he been moving forward in accordance with the speed of his legs, he would have gone through a wall like a cannon ball! Like the words of a 1950’s song, “slipping and sliding, peekin’ and hidin’,” Floyd was beginning to create air flow in the den. BING, BING, BING! He racked up 30,000 points immediately after entering the den. DING! – there’s another 5,000! As evidence of having been there, the Christmas Cat was now leaving a trail of plastic grass behind him. Like a fighter plane bursting through the clouds, the last remnants of the bag itself fell away, and all that remained around his neck was the souvenir handle. “On Prancer, On Dancer, On Nixon and Panther!” As he made the turn into the darkened hallway, he blew out of sight.

He uttered not a word, but we all knew that in his heart, he wished all of us a Merry Christmas, and a Very Good Night!

Floyd belonged to my daughter-in-law, Christy. There's no evading the truth on the matter. At the conclusion of Floyd's act we all burst into uncontrollable laughter. Tears flowed from our eyes. In the midst of this hysterical outburst, Christy realized that we were laughing at her cat and immediately (out of owner loyalty I guess) decided that the matter was NOT funny! She appeared pretty disgusted with the three of us, who by then were bent into individualistic contortions. Just as quickly as she got very serious, she got over it, and burst into laughter again. I mean, after all - funny is funny, isn't it? Her mood swings went through several cycles. By then, she had her emotions more under control and had decided not to kill any of us. In a way, she was as guilty as any of us - right?

I can think of no event in my life that affected me with so much tear-filled hysterical laughter.   When Christy regained enough strength to again walk, she went looking for the star of the show. It took a little while, but she finally located him wedged between the back of the clothes dryer and the wall, still proudly wearing the souvenir bag handle. He was either hyperventilating or hibernating. Let's see, cats don't hibernate - do they?

To the best of my recollection, Floyd surpassed the ninth-life mark while still in Oklahoma. He is buried in an unmarked, humble grave.    He desired no personal attention, but his greatest performance as Floyd the Magnificent will forever remain in our memories.

Harley