My beloved Salty – queen of cats – has, at the age of 19(ish), crossed the rainbow bridge. This post is an homage to the best and most difficult cat I have ever known. 

Salty was a striking Abyssinian, with the characteristic long legs, small face, and big ears. Christened Jessica and later given a name that better suited her personality, she was a gift from my husband to his mom; but honestly, cat and human struggled to find balance. My MIL was a cat lover but Abys are a difficult breed. They make aloof cats seem like your best friend. They make angry cats seem neighborly. They make smart cats seem like doddards. It’s impossible to keep up with their deviousness.

Mom-in-law used to complain that Salty would wake her up (in a non-snuggly way), knock over her treasures, and steal her food. All of these complaints are true. I have both witnessed and experienced Salty’s diabolical pleasure in disruption, destruction, and theft.

One of her favorite activities – until we finally grew wise(r) to her antics – was to steal our socks, gloves, yarn projects (and other items as we started learning to hide things). She would chew on these items until she had damaged them just enough to make them unusable. For example, Salty would chew a hole in one finger of a single glove or bite through the elastic at the top of a sock. 

Usually, she struck in the middle of the night and would leave the evidence for me to find as my day started. Sometimes, she’d leave her sock or glove “kill” in the shared cat food bowl. If you know anything about cats, you know how remarkably finicky they are. A sock in the food bowl is an absolute cat-astrophy. (Couldn’t help myself. Sorry! Or am I?) Our other two cats would stare at the food bowl and meow for assistance, refusing to eat until the carcass had been removed. 

Salty was well-known throughout the neighborhood. Although she was ultimately an indoor cat, when she and my MIL first moved in with us, she worked deviously at finding ways to leave the house and once free would return only on her terms. She had a chip and collar but never got lost (until her recent walkabout). Usually, she’d visit the nearby college campus and scam food from lonely freshmen. 

How, you ask, do I know that she scammed food from college students? Well, Salty had a … quirk. She was our security cat. Whenever we went for a walk, usually daily during nice weather, she would follow us, walking about 10 or 12 feet behind us. We knew she was there. She knew that we knew she was there. This was all deliberate. She intentionally went with us on our walks. 

When we walked on campus, students would point out that there was a cat following us and would say things like “hey, that’s the cat I gave chicken to yesterday.” And we’d explain that Salty was our security detail. Everyone thought it was super funny and our sweet girl stayed slim and healthy so we never told the students to stop giving her snacks. It wouldn’t have worked anyway. Salty could scam anyone out of chicken.

Eight or nine years ago, she stopped leaving home. Instead of regularly slipping out the front door or leaping over the 7-foot fence, she started preferring to sit in the sun in our backyard. Eventually, she even got pretty snuggly, though never in a polite way. 

As with everything else, she’d put herself where she wanted to be. If she wanted to be on my lap, my choices were to accept gracefully or continually put her on the floor until one of us gave up. (It was usually me. She could wear down a diamond.) 

I hope that I’ve learned a few things from her: persistence, assertiveness, defiance of convention, how to relax on a summer day. I hope too that wherever my sweet and Salty girl has gone, that there’s a spot of sun on a warm wooden deck where she can snooze. 

Good-bye, little Salty. I will miss you forever.