The Story of Sig

Sig (short for Sigmund Freud) is our neighbor’s cat. He just happens to hang around our houses and seek out sun and affection. He is a funny cat who acts mostly like a dog. He follows us around as we do yard work, comes when called by name, and sits by your feet. He is six to seven years old and found his way onto our deck and with a morsel of wild salmon (and some prodding by Natalie) decided to never leave. And without further ado:
Sig aime:

–Iams adult cat food. Others simply will not do. This morning, he was sitting on our front stoop next to the newspaper, surveying the neighborhood. As soon as he heard the back door open, he comes running for breakfast. You’d think he hadn’t eaten in days as he knocked the food bowl clear out of my hand. He takes a few bites and then…

–He climbs up on one of the cars (usually the Corolla, poor Rolly) and drinks the dew off the top of the car. I first discovered this when I saw paw prints all over the windshield and top of the car. The water from the hose is subpar, as is the filtered water presented one morning. He prefers running spring water (pond next door) or natural dew. A nature lover (insert John Denver song here).

–anchoives (in olive oil) and wild salmon. In his defense, it’s a good way to use up the final four anchoives that never make it into the Caesar dressing.

–Sitting in the deck chairs (when he thinks no one is looking).

–Sleeping in the sunlight on the pavers, as you scratch his belly.

–being scratched behind his ears, on his chest, or atop his head. He leans into your hand and PURRRs.

Sig n’aime pas:

–The vet. He pees the carrier.

–Aldi cat food. He will yowl in protest.

–Mean dogs that chase him.

–My father’s secret cure-all cream for that mange spot on his back.

–Triple creme Camembert. Sticks to the roof of his mouth.

And that’s the story of Siggi!



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