The world lost a loving, entertaining character today. I speak of Smokey, the feral cat who adopted us a year or two back and resided part-time on our front porch, gladly accepting food and attention, not necessarily in that order.
I was awakened today with bad news from my wife. Smokey apparently had been hit by a car, which she discovered while walking the dog we recently inherited and seeing a man bent over Smokey in a nearby driveway.
At first she thought Smokey, an unusually friendly sort for a feral feline, was getting some “loving” from a random stranger. But, no, the man had come upon him and determined Smokey’s hindquarters were paralyzed, likely after being run down by a vehicle.
My wife and the guy were taking Smokey to the vet, where the verdict was there was no coming back from his injuries and so the difficult call was made to euthanize him.
I had come downstairs before they left to say a possible goodbye to Smokey. Later, my wife told me a poignant tale of Smokey, upon hearing her voice this morning after being injured, turning his head and trying to crawl her way.
We both cried it out.
Tears are welling up as I write this.
Smokey represented a lot that is good, and bad, about this world.
He was a feline Blanche DuBois from the play “A Streetcar Named Desire,” always depending on the kindness of strangers.
I first became aware of Smokey years back while on a walk and seeing Smokey, as I would learn he had been nicknamed, shadowing a neighbor Ed from up the street, who was walking his dog.
Smokey stayed 30 or so feet behind, but Ed told me Smokey was a constant companion on their walks. Ed had named him Smokey, due to his gray fur. Who knows if he ever had another name, before being kicked to the curb by persons unknown.
When Ed moved from the neighborhood, Smokey started hanging around our house. The granddaughters loved him. My wife began feeding him.
Last winter, my wife bought Smokey an insulated house, which he used for a time, until a neighbor put out an electric heating pad for him. Vintage Smokey.
Smokey was an opportunist and in him that was an endearing quality. Mostly, Smokey was always eager for some attention if you happened to sit on the porch steps.
Yet, even with his need for affection, there was always a skittish manner to him. He hated to feel cornered or startled, and would dash off wildly, even if one of us familiar people approached too quickly.
Smokey also had habit of coming from wherever he was to say goodbye to those grandddaughters when they left after a visit.
I lived in fear that Smokey’s demise would come under the wheels of car during one his blind dashes, and perhaps it did.
It makes me angry that there are so many Smokey types, animals deemed unwanted and put out into the world alone by their insensitive owners.
It also angers me that these irresponsible types count on others such as my wife to pick up the ball for them.
As I told my wife, in the typical verbiage used to comfort her – and me – at times such as these, she had made his life better in recent years and for that he is/was as grateful as a feral cat could be.
We will miss Smokey. You would, too, if you’d ever encountered him.
Sam Ross Jr's site 