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4 december 2000

wilma goes out on the town

Well, I have to say that this was the best weekend in recent memory. Advent is here, and Winston-Salem is gearing up for Christmas in a big way. On Friday night, the city lit up the big Christmas tree in Corpening Plaza, a short walk from where I live. Families from all over town gathered at 6:30 to see local schoolkids sing and dance, as well as a few nice jazz performers. Then the countdown began, and the lights went up beautifully. Kids ran around in circles. Parents videotaped. My friend and I thought it was all pretty cool.

Of course, Wilma did not miss such an event.

Okay, as you may know, I didn't have much idea on what to do with Wilma when I first found her at the dump. As far as I knew, a cat needed regular walks, baths, teeth-brushing, and clothing. And so I have spoiled her accordingly. If it is legal and appropriate for me to take her somewhere, we go. Morning Dew Coffeehouse welcomes Wilma. So does PetSmart, several small merchants downtown and in Reynolda Village, and then there's always the park. She's a pretty cosmopolitan cat, for a...cat.

The only problem with going out recently, however, is that it's been really cold around here. Like in the teens. So Wilma needed a sweater. Or at least, I thought she needed a sweater. So off we went to PetSmart, where we selected a bright blue fleece number with trendy little zippers (to hold treats) and yellow accents. She looked pretty darn snazzy, if I say so myself. And warm. Ready for a night on the town!

So I brush her fur, dress her, strap on the harness leash, and we're ready to go. Now, for those of you who have never walked a cat on a leash, it's not quite like walking a dog. I go where Wilma wants to go, and am expected to pick her up when she rolls over. (Which is cat for, "I own you. Carry me now.") But I have to say that she was a very good girl all night. As usual, lots of kids and parents stopped us when they realized I had a cat in a sweater on a leash. Several asked how they could get their cats to do that. And everyone wanted to pet her, and find out what made her fur so soft. (Special cat conditioner -- really works wonders!) The funniest part of the whole evening, though, was our stroll through the downtown Art Gallery Hop, where the Arts District opens its doors for a busy evening of showcasing and sales. Throughout the entire evening, Wilma laid in mine or in my friend's arms -- belly and feet up. She never meowed, never freaked out, never even moved too much. We had gobs of people stopping us to find out:

Is that a real cat?

Have you sedated her? No cat can be this docile.

How do you get her to stay belly-up around all this commotion?

Oh my Lord, that cat is wearing a sweater.

Okay, so that last one was just a little commentary.

Wilma was quite the popular one that night with men, women, and children alike. Some people didn't know what to make of her (or, for that matter, me). I can't say I disagree with them, as I suppose it is a little unusual to take the cat out so much.

I went home and started thinking that maybe I'm doing something wrong, you know? Maybe I'm doing all this work for nothing, that Wilma doesn't really need all this extra attention, and that I could keep her in the house with nary a complaint. It would probably make my life a lot easier, but I don't suppose loving anyone or anything is meant to simplify anyone's life. It opens you up to worry, frustration, and too many moments of feeling unsure of yourself. It has no instruction book, and no guarantee that lessons from past mistakes will apply now.

I constantly wonder what I can do better when it comes to this goofy cat. In all honesty, she probably doesn't care about too much but regular liver treats, a clean litter box, and the occasional opportunity to sleep on my down comforter. She can't call 9-1-1 if something goes wrong. She doesn't fetch the paper. She doesn't do too many tricks.

I'll be thinking this way, and darn if she'll sidle up to me and go belly-up again for a few moments. Her little way of saying, "you're all I've got. Hold me now."

I suppose that's my answer.