Two days later, we saw her walking on the sidewalk in front of our house.  We heard the cat before we saw her. 

squeekyShe was muttering to herself, like an old lady who couldn't remember where she had parked her car and was getting frustrated because if she didn't find that car soon and get home, she was going to miss her favourite soap opera.

What did we hear?

We did not hear your traditional "mee-ow" cat sound or its distant cousin, a "ree-ow" made by cats too lazy to flex their lips properly.

She kind of went "mmreeak," then "oohrk?" with an inflection at the end as if she was asking a question; then she took a deep breath which made her sides billow out and made a final comment: "reek."

She passed our front gate, continuing to yammer sporadically and went over to our neighbor's driveway and lay down in the shade cast by a large maple tree.

Looking back over her shoulder, she looked at the two of us and said, "yowrf," then laid her head down as if to take an afternoon snooze.

"There she is," Cindy said. "Now's the time for us to come up with a good name for her. Let's go over and see her."

We went out our front gate and over to our neighbour's driveway and walked up to the cat. She opened her eyes to look at us and flipped her head up in a "Hey, how's it going?" acknowledgment and went "murk?"

"You know, for the talkingest cat around, I've never heard her say anything that resembles a good, clear, 'meow,'" I said. "Sometimes she sounds like a crow; other times she sounds like a small bird with something caught in its windpipe. But she never sounds like a cat."

"Why don't you help us?" Cindy said to the cat. "Since you like to talk so much, why don't you tell us what you would like to be called?"

The cat knew it was being addressed and responded to Cindy. It went "eeek." It was a half-hearted and distant "eeek," coming from a warm dopiness that enveloped her as she lay in full sunlight on the concrete driveway.

The cat, which had been lying on its left side, looked up at us and then rolled over onto its right side. As she rolled, she opened her mouth as if to say something, but nothing came out. She seemed to be drifting into a sun-induced stupor.

I said, "I think I heard her say, 'eeek.' I think she wants to be called 'eeek.'" Cindy, lost in concentration, didn't respond. The cat was on its side, napping.

There we three were once again. Only this time there was no exchange of looks. The cat had entered dreamland. Its eyes were now closed and her breathing had slowed. One minute "eeeking," the next minute sleeping.

"You're right about this cat," Cindy said. "It mutters and yammers, but it doesn't meow. It just seems to. . ."

That's when it happened.

Cindy paused in the middle of her statement, and a peaceful energy floated around us, giving us the feeling that questions were going to be answered. Decisions were about to be made. You could tell that correct things were about to happen. It was a Sedona Moment of Vector Inspiration.

Cindy got excited!

It was a moment of discovery and celebration!

It was like travelling back in time to 1848 and dipping your hand in the creek at Sutter's Mill and pulling out that bright, shiny nugget of gold!

"I think I've got it," Cindy said. "The way she sounds when she talks. Why don't we call her. . . Squeeky?"

Squeeky?

Squeeky.

Perfect.

BIO:

A CAT NAMED SQUEEKY can be used as a fundraising vehicle for animal rescue organizations and veterinarians. Vic is offering it wholesale so vets and charitable organizations can use the profits to help four-legged friends. Email him at < crowcanyonpub @ theunion.net > for details. The book is available at bookstores nationwide and on Amazon.com.

From A CAT NAMED SQUEEKY by Vic Reskovic (Crow Canyon Publishing, Grass Valley, CA, < crowcanonpub @ theunion.net > Copyright, 2007, ISBN:

978-0-9800235-0-3, 171 pages, $14.95 US). Reprinted with permission of author.

All RightsReserved.

SUMMARY: Vic Reskovic wrote A CAT NAMED SQUEEKY as a fictionalized account of the true story of how he and his wife Cindy found a stray cat and then tried to find a new home for her. He describes Squeeky as a "pretty, multi-colored, Jackson Pollack-faced, slightly bigger than a breadbox cat who constantly muttered, often making a sound that was part tight cork being removed from a wine bottle, part rubber-soled basketball shoe pivoting on a hardwood floor, and part 1967 Ford pickup door swinging on a rusted hinge."


 


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