Pushy (A Cat in my Neighbourhood)
Pushy was a special cat who roamed the neighbourhood. She had long, black fur and a bushy tail. How she got the name Pushy is not part of my memory anymore. How we gained ownership is. She was often the centre of attention for people in the neighbourhood. The men coming home from work or going to Bay Street for a coffee often commented on Pushy as she sat regally on the front steps washing her ears paying little attention to them.
Pushy originally ended up in our home when she followed one of my siblings to the house and decided not to leave. Obviously we wanted to keep her and we were able to get our parents to agree to this new pet. It wasn't long before she took over the household as cats tend to do and everyone learned to love her and held her whenever the chance arose. My Mom especially enjoyed giving Pushy a lot of lap time each evening. With this in mind it came as quite a shock when a neighbourhood girl we didn't know very well came to our front gate one day and proclaimed ownership of our cat. We vehemently let her know that it was our cat Pushy and not her cat Blackie. After several minutes of back and forth argument it was agreed upon that the cat would be put in the middle of the street and my sibling and the other girl would go to opposite ends and call for the cat. Whoever the cat chose would be the rightful owner. For what seemed like an eternity, Pushy sat there moving her head back and forth without a concern in the world. Meanwhile desperate calls were heard for "Blackie! Pushy! Blackie! Pushy!" Several minutes passed by as the cat continued to wash its face and ponder the situation. Finally she decided to get up and sauntered ever so slowly towards my sister who picked her up and with this one action sealed, for ever more, ownership of the cherished feline. We later found out that Pushy had never been the other girl's cat to begin with. Pushy had been a roamer who was ready for a family and home.
One year Pushy was hit by a car. We found her under a huge tree on the boulevard. She didn't want to move, but meowed each time we tried to get her to stand. What followed were several weeks of recuperative care by my sibling. She carried Pushy every where it had to go; first inside to sleep, them outside to do her business and then back again inside to rest up on her cushion. Remarkably after several weeks Pushy got up and was able to use her hind legs again and returned to her daily activities.
About eleven years later Pushy died of kidney failure brought on by old age. Her black fur had turned a mixture of red, brown and gray. Her ears flopped somewhat and her pink tongue stuck out of the corner of her mouth because she had lost teeth along the way. Both of my siblings no longer lived at home so my father and I buried her in the back flower garden under a tree where I imagine her bones rest to this day.