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Dad on Sam

By Belinda

When Mum's cat Sam died in 2008, I wrote about him here: In Memory of Sam.

He loved only Mum. I would always give him a wide berth but Dad persisted in "making overtures;" stroking him against his will with big, heavy hands. Sam didn't do overtures.

When lost in my letters last night, I reread a letter from Dad where he mentions Sam, with whom he was sharing the house while Mum was in Canada on vacation. Here's Dad again:

Dear Paul, Belinda, Mom and Family,
As I write, it's a lovely day as only England can be at its best.
Mom has been gone a week and five days and of course I miss her very much!
I know now what solitary confinement must be like! And what's more the dratted cat at the start, didn't like it either. He ignored me completely for a time, until, that is, he felt hungry and decided he had better be friendly. So of course I fed him, and have continued to do so umpteen times a day ever since. He must have worms.
Ah, he's just come in, round my feet and telling me he wants feeding again. I got up early the other morning; 6:20 a.m. and went downstairs in my stockinged feet. I wish now I'd had my boots on for he was waiting and as soon as I stepped into the room he was all round my legs, so I had to step over him to go to the kitchen to feed him. And as I did so, he sank his teeth and claws into the calf of my left leg. Oh, the pain! I could feel the blood running down. I felt so cross and aimed a kick at him; missed him--and connected with the door frame. Oh, my poor toes. I was sure I'd broken them. For two days I just had to limp everywhere. Gladly I'm alright again now. I told him he was going to the vets to be terminated, but he just gave me a look which said, "You wouldn't dare!"
...Nell, from the day you left, no one has called at the house, and I didn't even have a phone call. I thought, "Are they trying to tell me something?" And as I thought that, the phone rang. I answered it quickly, in case it stopped, and a very cultured lady's voice said, "Mr. Cater, I'm looking for a volunteer to look after the elderly and infirm." Well, at least it was a call, and proved my phone wasn't on the blink.
I love you all,


Susan said…
You didn't tell me your dad was a miracle worker! (Well, he made me smile tonight. :) )
Your father writes really well, he clearly has a wonderful sense of humour. I can't ever remember getting a letter from my father ... ever! The idea that he carried the letter around is lovely. I'll bet it's because he wanted to put it in his shirt pocket so that he could carry you next to his heart. I'll bet.
Belinda said…
Susan, I'm thanking Dad for the fact that his words made you smile. I never thought of him as a miracle worker. Go Dad!
Belinda said…
Thank you on Dad's behalf! :) Yes, he was a good writer--a poet, artist and lover of nature. I'm glad that here, I can share some of his essence. And I'm glad that you seem to understand him.

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