July brings memories of Bacon

July is a special month for my family — our younger son, Scott, was born on July 4, and we found our favorite cat in July.

We still have the son, but not the cat.

Bacon was special. Scott, our firecracker baby, then just 13, was with us when we took a walk on the Bell Slough Nature Trail near Mayflower in July 2006. This black cat with a bobbed tail was way out in the woods, following us and meowing constantly and loudly as we walked.

My son picked him up and wanted to bring him home. I reminded him that we are BOTH allergic to cats. But I hated to leave the poor thing in the summer heat with no water.

So we brought him home with us. My son’s friend actually gave Bacon his name, because he said “he smelled like bacon.”

We tried to give Bacon away. We tried really, really hard. I put an ad in the newspaper for the mouthy, short-haired, black, bob-tailed cat.

One woman was so excited. She just knew he was hers. I got a sack of food ready and stood in the driveway, waving Bacon’s little paw as the woman drove up. She got out and said, “That’s not my cat.”

And she didn’t want him as a substitute.

Then we got a weird phone call from a young girl who said Bacon was hers. Well, actually she said, he was her sister’s. The girl said her sister had been crying, and they were glad to find him.

However, my husband, being the cynical newspaperman, didn’t take it at face value. He asked some questions, and the answers were fuzzy. The girl was using phrases straight out of the ad, but she didn’t seem to know more about the cat.

I called the phone number the next day, and the girl, who should have been in school, was home. She told me it was actually her friend’s cat. Well, it stayed at her friend’s house. Well, actually her friend was her sister. Hmmm. The plot thickened.

The girl said, “Well, if you don’t think it’s our cat, you don’t have to give it to us.”

So we didn’t.

It wasn’t about having spent about $200 giving Bacon shots and getting him fixed. It’s that he was part of the family by then, and we wanted to give him to his rightful owners, but I was not handing him over to someone who couldn’t prove it.

My husband said, “What if it’s a plot to get cats and sell them to testing labs?”

Meanwhile, we were bonding with Bacon. He especially liked my husband, and he rode on David’s shoulder like a parrot on a pirate. Bacon would jump on the bed, and my 6-3 husband would crouch a little. Bacon would jump on his shoulder, content to ride there.

Bacon was more like a kid in a little cat suit than a cat. He slept outside but came to the door every night about 9, wanting to play. We had toys for him, but he was happy being teased with shoestrings or a folded newspaper.

He was quite the hunter. Every time we opened the door into the garage, we looked down before stepping out. It was common to find a bird, rabbit, mouse or squirrel that Bacon had lovingly presented to us. In pieces.

Something else he loved was stairs, especially those in our garage that led to the attic. He would wake from a dead sleep to run up those stairs when he heard them being pulled down.

Bacon occasionally liked to sleep on top of the garage door when it was open, too. One day, my older son didn’t realize Bacon was there and closed the garage and drove off. Bacon was smushed, tail and legs hanging out, for about 45 minutes until a neighbor heard his cries. He was OK, except for having a hitch in his giddyup for a few days.

Even though we had him “fixed,” Bacon’s one flaw was that he still sprayed. Apparently, he was a little too old and set in his ways when we got him. When he was in the house, we’d nervously watch him as he backed up to the television or the couch or the Christmas presents so we could yell or grab him.

One neighbor also complained often about Bacon being in his yard, although the others loved Bacon. He was the friendliest cat on Earth.

Finally, we decided he deserved to be somewhere less stressful. We gave Bacon to a student of David’s at the time, whose family lived on a 60-acre farm.

Bacon was even in the guy’s wedding pictures. He loved the guy’s dad, and he sat on the man’s shoulder. Bacon lived the rest of his days happily hunting and being free. Bacon got hit by a car a few years ago, and we cried when we heard the news.

We will never forget him. We toast him in July, along with celebrating Scott’s birthday and our country.

Senior writer Tammy Keith can be reached at (501) 327-0370 or tkeith@arkansasonline.com.

Upcoming Events