Today’s blog
Lynn Murphy Mark
My grandcat
Yesterday I spent a quiet day with Ted and Seymour, my grandcat. Seymour is 19 years old and has been a part of Ted’s life since he and Sarah have been together – at least 15 or so years. I found out that he was a rescue kitty from a shelter in Boston when Sarah was a student there. It turns out he is a Norwegian Forest Cat. Google tells me that’s a breed originating in Northern Europe. It is the official feline of Norway. All we know about Seymour is that he was found hiding under a porch. From there he went to the shelter and into Sarah’s life.
Seymour is midnight black with golden hued eyes. The breed comes in multiple colors, but Seymour’s gleaming black coat is particularly beautiful. He and his breed are what I would call “fluffy” in appearance. They have a long overcoat covering short hair designed to protect them from the cold of a Northern European winter. This breed has a long history, even being mentioned in Viking oral stories. They were valued on board ships for their great ability to hunt rodents. The Norse god, Freyja, is said to have commanded a chariot drawn by two of these cats.
I first met Seymour when I visited them in their Brooklyn apartment. Sarah was studying at the Pratt Institute, getting a specialized Master’s degree in fine arts and museum curating. Ted had just finished at DePaul, so it was his turn to work while Sarah went to school. This was during the time when both of my children lived in New York City, so I was on a mission to visit them and see where they were living. One day I was invited to chez Ted and Sarah to see their place and meet my grandcat.
Seymour, like those of his breed, is a large cat. That was my first surprise. As we sat and chatted, Ted had a feather wand that he was casually flipping into the air. Seymour was not casual at all about this activity. He leapt up to try and catch the feather tip as calmly as a practiced gymnast would go through a routine. It seemed to me he could leap at least five feet into the air, practically doing somersaults while he was at it. I think those days are past, but he can still jump from the floor to the top of the couch back. His back legs are weaker now that he is 19, but that doesn’t stop him.
Seymour’s favorite spots are the laps of his two people. He must have been in cat heaven yesterday, having Ted at home all day. He did greet me carefully and periodically checked out my lap, but I didn’t pass muster. Apparently it is a privilege to be earned to be chosen as his lap buddy. He does have a cat bed and when he is circled up in it, all you can see is a mound of black fur. There’s no telling head from tail until he moves.
He has become something of a picky eater. This, naturally, worries his parents, so there are always dishes of dry food and wet snacks on display for him. For the hours we were there he approached his dry food just a couple of times, taking a few bites now and then. It was a cursory attempt at best, so Ted offered a number of wet snacks for his review.
His people, Ted and Sarah, obviously love him fiercely and deeply. He takes all this as his due. Periodically he will cat walk through the living room, surveying his kingdom. Then a lap turn so he can be stroked. Then a nap in his bed. Then, to satisfy the humans in the room, he will take a bite or two of food.
Seymour is a wonder-cat. He is beautiful, and affectionate. I’m not really a cat person, but I am completely taken by him. Below is a picture of Himself.