Recently I have been really annoyed by a comment made on a list I am a member of, to the effect that cats really don't love you. They enjoy the food, warmth, and space you give them, but they don't really LOVE you. It really got me hot under the collar.

Some years ago I rented an aircraft for a cross-country trip, and it became unserviceable at a small southern Ontario airport. I was forced to stay the night there, and Cleo and Velvet would spend the first night ever without me. They had no food or water, save what I put down at 15:00 hours before leaving on a trip that I thought would bring me home at 18:00 hours at the latest.

The agony of letting them go for nearly 48 hours without me tore at my heart. I knew Cleo would be waiting at the door as always, to greet the canopener. A canopener that never showed up.

I frantically drove home after flying the repaired aircraft at maximum cruise speed back to the airport. I heard Cleo pawing at the door as I approached the territory.

I burst in to see two very wide-eyed upset cats, and two licked clean food bowls, no dry food remaining either, and a dry water dish. Before I could tend to their needs however, I had to sit down on the floor by the front door for a "love in". Cleo purring, and rubbing, headbutting me all over, and Velvet launching herself into my lap, holding my neck with both paws. A hug. Stereophonic purring.

I detached myself from them, Cleo giving her quiet meowing protests, and rapidly, without even cleaning the food bowls, got them some food and water. They ate ravenously.

So what's the point?

Rather than head straight for food, which only the canopener can supply, hungry as they were, they wanted to greet ME first. They must have been worried about me, and I came first before an empty tummy.

If that's not love, what is?

Copyright © Bill Mason
January 23, 2002