I have noticed that what cats most appreciate in a human being is not the ability to produce food, which they take for granted, but his or her entertainment value.
~Geoffrey Household

The midday sun shined softly through the chintz curtains as my mom sat up from her nap and yawned. Her stooped shoulders hid her once sturdy, five-foot-seven-inch frame. A shuffling gait replaced the staccato of her heels. The once-blond curls now were iron gray. The green eyes stared vacantly, and the crinkle of laugh lines stilled. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and started to whimper.

“Mom, what’s wrong?” I asked.

“I’m hungry!”

“But you just had lunch. Your favorite, a BLT.”

She had always loved the crisp, smoky flavor of the bacon married with a fresh tomato and cool lettuce. “No, I didn’t. I haven’t eaten all day. You’re so mean. You never feed me. Where’s the other girl, the blond one? At least she brings me snacks. I’m hungry,” she insisted.

“Okay, okay. I’ll fix you another. Sissy will be here later, Mom.”

As I headed back to the kitchen, our black-and-white Maine Coon cat, Briar, slipped into the bright room. I returned quickly with another BLT. Briar’s jet-black tail curled in a question mark as he wound his way around Mom’s long legs. Briar raised one big white paw, jumped on the bed, and rolled over, exposing his pink belly.

“Hello, my baby,” Mom cooed. He mewed, looking for a belly rub. She obliged, leaning into him. “My sweet boy.” He scrunched around on the bed, and she smiled. I placed the tray on her lap as she sat up.

“Demanding little bugger, isn’t he?” I said.

Briar crouched closer to Mom, his pink nose twitching in anticipation.

“Oh, no. Don’t let him do that!” I pleaded from the doorway as he snatched half the sandwich from her plate, wrestling the bacon from between the white bread slices.

“Oh,” Mom giggled. “I guess I’m finished.” She chortled as she set aside the tray.

I hadn’t heard that sound in quite a while, so I laughed too while Briar munched on his prize. My mother’s vacant stare disappeared for a short time as she laughed.

Briar got down, having dragged the other half of the sandwich with him. “No, you don’t, little man,” I called. He continued munching, ignoring my commands to stop while Mom laughed heartily.

Still giggling, she said, “Oh, let him have it. Poor baby must be starved.” He scampered out of the room, dragging the bacon along.

I cleaned up the remnants of the sandwich and said, “Oh, why not?”

Mom smiled. “Thank you, dear.”

“Do you need anything else, Mom?”

“Another sandwich would be nice.”

“Sure, I’ll see what I can do,” I said, resigned to the task. I nearly tripped over Briar lounging satisfied in the kitchen doorway.

“Thank you, little man, for making her laugh. But let her have the frigging sandwich this time, please.” Ignoring me, he started his bath and waited.

— M. Maureen Skahan —