Jackie Wells-Fauth
Hosmer is the hometown of my husband, Roy. It is the place where I got my first high school teaching job and where I met Roy through my friendship with his sister (another Jackie).
However, Hosmer has a further significance in our family, since it is the name of the only cat still living at our house. She was the cat belonging to my daughter, Stefanie, who acquired her as a kitten, named her Hosmer–because that was the place where she was born–and whisked her off to Minneapolis.
In her young years, Hosmer was known as a real bad ass cat. She kept the yard cleared of birds, mice and other vermin that can be found in a big city neighborhood. She had the dog under control, (not necessarily an easy task) and didn’t hesitate to take on anything she saw as a threat.
Things changed when it was necessary for her to move back to South Dakota to my house. This bad ass cat was now dealing with an established cat and a different dog, who wasn’t all that thrilled to have to deal with a second feline.
It mattered very little to Hosmer. She was tough enough to take on anyone. She and Jinx (the other cat) had a few go-rounds and were in an armed truce when “the event” happened. Both cats were the type to want to go outside at night, so one nice summer’s evening, they wandered out.
At first, I could hear them “smack-talking” each other. They had reduced their feud to a verbal one by this time, because they had each discovered that the other one was no wimp and fighting only entertained the dog. On this particular night, though, it sounded different. The growling was loud and constant. It took a few minutes to realize that there were actually three cats in that yard, and all three eventually growled and challenged each other until they ended up on the deck.
In a rare show of unity, Jinx and Hosmer took on the third cat as a team. The noise escalated as the fight became physical and then came a rhythmic thumping noise as the three felines rolled down the steps. That was enough for the third cat—it took off and Jinx and Hosmer shook paws and licked their wounds.
The largest wound, however, was the so-called “hidden pain.” From that day on, Hosmer, a true outdoor hunter, never left the house. I never saw the strange cat again and Jinx didn’t seem to be stopped from foraging outside, but Hosmer became a “house cat”, in the true sense of the word.
I tried everything to re-ignite Hosmer’s interest in the out of doors. I tried coaxing—holding the door open and crooning, “here we go, look how nice it is outside. Just try it out.” Hosmer lay down on the kitchen rug looking at me as though to say, “Are you kidding? I ain’t doin’ that! That lion could be out there.” Meanwhile, the dog, confused by the open door would have run in and out four or five times.
Next, I tried physical persuasion. I picked her up, set her outside the door, said, “Have a good time,” and walked back inside. Within two minutes, she had climbed the outside screen and was eye level, clearly indicating she would like to be indoors. I lowered myself to ridicule, “You’re afraid to go outside? Really, this is the bad ass cat who once dragged home half a rat, and you’re afraid of a weenie, South Dakota cat?” She was unmoved.
I finally gave up and Hosmer remained indoors. It wasn’t bad for her. She found plenty of soft things to lay on and cover in fur and she was always right there if anything edible was accidentally dropped in the kitchen. Her favorite winter activity was to lay on the furnace grates when they were blowing warm air and she refused to be moved, even when she saw me coming with the broom.
We were together here for at least a dozen years, and I learned to appreciate her finer qualities, and she learned to put up with me—and the dog.
This week, Hosmer passed on to whatever place cats find as Heaven; undoubtedly somewhere loaded with mice—indoors, of course—to keep a bad ass cat happy and occupied. I have always said, I am not a cat person, and that is true, but I must admit, I’m going to miss Hosmer, and I won’t be the only one!
dropsinthewell 