Philo is lucky he's a cat. In human terms, his behavior would be entirely unacceptable. Whining loudly at all times of day, sometimes just to hear his own voice, noisily trying to "bury" food bowls after mealtimes, walking across my internal organs in the most painful way possible--these things do not endear him to me. He also taunts his little sister by pretending that he's grooming her (which she loves), and then, after a few licks, begins to nip at her (which she hates). You'd think she'd learn.
But Philo has a way of getting what he wants. Whether it's attention and affection on demand, a perch with a view, or a spot in bed with someone he barely knows (oh, for the courage!), he just has an approach that works. It worked on me.
This cat appeared out of nowhere (i.e. the South Dakota prairie) late one rainy Saturday night. After a brief meowing session outside the window I happened to be closing, and a less than graceful introduction wherein he soiled my clothing with his dirty wet paws, this wandering minstrel secured a place on my back porch, complete with dining, bed and bath suite. And this, at the end of a week where I had assuredly declared that after the death of my first beloved cat three months prior, I was certainly not ready for another. Philo apparently heard it as a challenge.
His first night indoors (on the eve before his neutering surgery) became a sleep-deprived, prolonged yowling session which eventually found me curled up in the bathtub, door closed, pillows shoved against both ears while Philo ran frantically from window to window. This could have been the first indication that domestic life with this animal was not going to be a walk in the park.
His mood did settle somewhat after the surgery, but I suspected he knew very little of indoor life when he would recline alongside his food dish, tipping a few pellets onto the floor with his paw, and eating them from there. He also seemed inept at lapping water from a bowl, choosing instead to submerge the entire lower half of his mouth and coming away with a dripping chin (which earned him the nickname "Waterbeard.")
These things may sound unspeakably cute to the reader who has never heard the high volume monologues at 5am, or the unearthly screams on trips to the vet, all for the crime of loading his carrier into a moving vehicle or attempting to examine his teeth. And I do mean screams.
But it would be unfair not to credit Philo for his amusing habit of vocalizing with every leap and motion, his fearless exploration of any new environment, and the affectionate overtures he universally bestows, which earned him a name referring back to the Greek word for love.
Obviously, in spite of his ill-timed yeowling (which I was privileged to experience again this morning), this cat has earned a permanent place in my household. He eventually accepted--even loved--the little sister kitten I brought into his life without asking permission. He has never once complained that we've moved no fewer than six times during his fourteen years with me. And despite the faceful of fur he frequently presents, I wouldn't trade that possessive, protective paw that lays across me as I sleep--not for anything.
---
what is in a name?
for my furry loverboy,
a title well-earned
