Thelma

A memorable cat.

Her name was Thelma although I never did find out why my granddaughter chose that name, presumably thinking of Thelma and Louise. Over the years there was no dearth of cats in the family. Cats of all colors, from black to white to grey tigers. They had a variety of names: Radicchio (a type of chicory), Brutus (because he was about the ugliest  little kitten imaginable when he was born), a sweet Siamese named Gnoma, Nerozzo who was obviously black, and one whom we called just Mamma Cat. My younger son later had five cats, all with interesting names like Mosè, Mao, Piccolo, whose favorite perch was on the espresso machine,  Lea, Minou, Briciola. He would rough-house with them and drape them around his neck, which they seemed to appreciate. We also had a Giannetto named after the man who shuttled my translations back and forth to Florence. And there were of course others.

Cats, as well as dogs, certainly have their personalities.  Thelma however was unique, due perhaps to her traumatic “kittenhood”. It was a lovely autumn day (or perhaps spring) and my granddaughter was playing in the courtyard while her mother was chatting with a friend. Suddenly they became aware of an acute but faint and incessant mewing coming from somewhere. Investigation revealed the source to be a rainspout. A plumber friend was called in and dismantled the tube, freeing a tiny kitten not much more than a week old that had evidently falled from the roof of the building.

“Oh please, let me keep her”, the little girl pleaded and as a mother you realize there is little choice but to heed her pleas. They had no other pets, and a kitten was actually the last thing they needed, but . . . so the kitten was adopted and named Thelma.

She was a pretty little thing and grew up in no time into a cat, bonding with her small owner. She soon demonstrated that she had a character of her own. She refused to learn to jump obstacles (but do cats ever learn to do something like that?).  Once she was a cat, she became jealous and aggressive and turned into what can only be described as a ferocious little lion. Perched on the back of an armchair or a couch, one had to be careful not to pass too close for out would flash that paw leaving a scratch mark on the unfortunate passerby. The electrician who came to repair the stove fared even worse when he suddenly found a cat clinging to his leg and there was only one way to make her desist.

Later on, when her mistress went off to study in London and the US, Thelma became a resident in my son’s apartment. When he too had to leave for school trips feeding her was problematical.  I didn’t dare try and enter, even brandishing a broom, and my younger son solved the problem by opening the door just a crack, wide enough to slide in a tube through which he could pour the cat kibbles. Thelma did however recognize my older son as her master. And when my granddaughter came home from her periods abroad, Thelma would happily curl up and sleep stretched out on her original owner’s neck. She (the cat) also seemed to appreciate the warmth of the computer. One day upon returning from his class on the food and wine of Italy, he opened his door and was taken aback to hear someone talking. Apparently, Thelma had walked on the keyboard and hit the conversation keys. It was certainly a bit unnerving to come home to what one thought was an empty apartment and hear a voice giving you the latest weather report.

Yes, Thelma was a memorable cat, not perhaps the most universally loved, but she did live a good life until old age finally caught up with her.