Wilbur the Wonder Kitty
A long time ago, I bought some carpet at this local shop in a old strip mall near my home. I became friends with the owner, Ed; and got in the habit of stopping by just to hang around.
One day, I was helping Ed cut up some carpet out on the pavement behind the warehouse, and this little orange tabby kitty came around and started getting all friendly: Rubbing against our feet, strutting all over the carpet, rolling around on it while we're trying to roll it up, and generally just getting in the way.
The next day, the kitty was still hanging around. So, Ed set some food and water in a dish, next to a cardboard box with a blanket in it, in the store. Then, he had the cat vaccinated and neutered (poor thing). He named him Wilbur, "because he liked the name". He also gave him a collar with a tag that had his name and phone number on it. He bought a litter box, but soon fixed it so the cat could go in and out through an unused 6" dryer vent hole in the back of the store. Wilbur took to all this right away.
He became the store kitty. Oftentimes, he looked like a sphinx in the front window; or he'd sit up, his head alertly moving back and forth watching the people walking back and forth outside; or he'd be taking a catnap, sprawled out on the floor in the sun. For many years, people would come in come in just to say hi to Wilbur. I'd go in, and sit down, and Wilbur would jump up onto lap, and then he'd lay on my chest, kneading my sweater and purring in my ears and sniffing my breath. I have to admit, I didn't mind.
He'd strut back and forth from the warehouse and the showroom, and then plop down and lick himself and get cat hair all over the carpet samples.The salespeople would have to clean it off. Betsy, one of the women that worked there, would walk over saying, "Oh Wilbur!", and She'd scoop him up, and his eyes would get real big, bulging with that semi-panicked expression as she squished him between her ample breasts and up against her cheek. She'd squeeze and hug and kiss him until he just couldn't take it anymore; and then drop him on the floor. He'd stand there all disshoveled, hair falling all around him. Regaining his composure, his dignity, he'd stroll away, keeping an eye out for Betsy, skittering just out of her reach if she got too close. I think he liked it though. Later on, he'd let her pick him up and squish him again.
Wilbur was a cat's cat (he weren't no pussy cat); a terrific hunter of mice and birds, and he loved the catnip. Heaven help the dog that came in the door when Wilbur was around. No matter what kind of dog it was, that itty, bitty, kitty would hiss and snarl and give 'em a swat of his claws if they didn't get the point. Most canine's would tuck their tail between it's legs and try to get the hell out of there. I must say though, there was a dog or two, if wasn't for a leash, and the dog owners keen awareness and control, kitty might've gotten chomped.
"Wilby" liked to chase the crows too. But they would team up against him; enticing Wilbur up. Up, up, up, he would climb, nearly to the top of the cottonwoods trees that towered over the parking lot next to the store. On a gusty day, up on the pencil thin, swaying branches, so far up we could hardly see him amidst the rustling leaves, one crow would entice Wilbur to reach out, maybe just a little too far, as another would swoop down at him, trying to unhinge his balance so that he might fall. A dozen people would stand around watching, with their hand up on their forehead to shade their eyes, oohing, awing and gasping as Wilbur would survive one close call after another - catching himself and hanging on, and pulling himself back up. Eventually, everybody would be quite relieved when he'd finally give it up for the day and shimmy back down. He did this for quite a few years; never caught a crow, and never fell.
Wilbur's territory was far and wide. He would face off against cats throughout the neighborhood. He wasn't a big cat either; rather dainty actually - probably the runt of the litter. But, he'd roam up and down the alleys, accross the streets, and over to some apartments; prowling everywhere, ready for a fight.
Too often, he'd come home all chewed up. Ed would lance his wounds, put neosporin on them, take him to the vet if need be. But next thing you'd know, Wilbur would be out there again; hunting for the scoundrel that messed him up. Every now and then, he'd have a fox to contend with, but I guess he outsmarted them.
One time, another feline followed "Wilbs" in through his cat hole into the store. Ed saw them lying next to each other on the sofa in a room back by his office. He was obviously Wilbur's buddy, so Ed let him hang around. He called him Shithead because he'd eat Wilbur's food, and then he wouldn't let anybody near him. Shithead went in and out just like Wilbur; but soon moved on when he somehow found another home down the alley. I don't know what they called him after that.
Every now and then, Wilbur would go missing; gone for days or even weeks at a time. He'd jump into the back of a pickup truck, or into a car, and go for a ride. He even did this to me once. I had just gotten on the highway when I looked in the rear view mirror and saw Wilbur, looking at me through the back window from the open bed of my pick-up truck! Horrified, I got off at the next exit, drove slowly and tried my best to turn very slowly and not stop on the way back to the store; so that he wouldn't jump out. He didn't.
Eventually, Ed would get a call and have to go pick Wilbur up; sometimes way accross town. Inevitably, that person would say something like, "He sure is a cool cat. I would have kept him if he didn't have that name tag."
That cool cat sure did have a lot close calls. I personally watched him run into the middle of the boulevard and stop - right in front of a oncoming car! The car ran over him, but Wilby was situated in between the tires and didn't get hit. Later, Johnny saw him do the the same thing; like it was a game. But, I know he learned what cars can do. One time, the cat he was chasing got hit. (I don't think he chased it out there on purpose.) I hoped that he was cured of playing in traffic.
One early Saturday morning, one of the installers drove up and got out of his truck looking a bit shaken. Everybody looked at him and he asked, "That isn't WIlbur laying out there in the street is it?
Ed briefly looked around inside, and some of the guys looked around outside, and suddenly everybody realized that they hadn't seen Wilbur yet that day, and they better go take a look.
There was a small tabby cat laying next to the curb. His head was misshapen, matted in a small puddle of drying blood, and there was some dried blood around his ears and nose. Ed looked up and the guys could see it in his face. "It's Wilbur", he said, "that's his blue collar."
He asked them to wait while he hurried over to the store and brought back Wilbur's cardboard box; the one with his blanket in it. Big Ed was on the verge of tears as he picked up the small body, which was already stiffening, and set it gently into the box as though he wanted his little buddy to be comfortable. He carried it back inside and set it in the room back by his office and shut the door; kind of a makeshift resting place until he could figure out what to do.
The installers gathered around like a bunch of townsfolk. Crazy cat. Nobody couldn't believe that his life had ended that way. I thought he knew better.
Everybody at the store was devastated. When Betsy asked, "Where's Wilbur?", Ed busted up crying. He couldn't help it. They were all sobbing when the doors opened for business. People all around the area heard what had happened and were also bummed.
Later on, Ed opened the door, turned on the light and stepped in the room to get Wilbur.The plan was to take him to the vet and have him cremated. But Wilbur said, "Myow", meaning, "Hello"; and Ed looked over and saw him streching and yawning and clawing that old sofa.
Big Ed did a huge doubletake. "No way!" he said to himself. Thinking Wilbur had come back to life, he turned and shot a good look into the box. The dead cat was still there. Nobody thought to actually read the name tag on his blue collar. He was a dead ringer. I think Ed still had to take him to be cremated.
You can imagine the jubilation when he ushered a live Wilbur out into the showroom. Yay!
Since I moved, I don't go over to the carpet store as much as I used to. But I pulled up in front of there just the other day. There was Wilbur, soaking up the sun, laying like a rug in the front window. I stepped inside and sat down and, sure enough, he lept up onto my lap, laid on my chest and begin kneading my sweatshirt and purring into my ears - just like he used to, a long time ago.
