“My best friend is the one who brings out the best in me.” – Henry Ford
“My best friend is the one who cleans out my litter box.” – Waterfall
Let me start this column by declaring my unconditional love for my cat, Waterfall. Although I never really considered myself to be much of an animal person before Waterfall came along, it’s amazing to me how attached I’ve become to the little cretin over the years. And as in all the other relationships in my life, it’s the little things that matter most to me.
I love the way Waterfall purrs when I rub his tummy. I love the way he hops up on the coffee table and gets in my way when I’m trying to watch TV. I positively loved it this morning when he puked right in front of me on the coffee table as I attempted to eat a bowl of Golden Grahams.
Hairballs are a small price to pay for such a luxurious coat. Waterfall has the longest, shiniest, most beautiful black and white fur you’ve ever seen on a cat. People come up to me all the time and say, “That’s the longest, shiniest, most beautiful black and white fur I’ve ever seen on a cat. What’s his secret?”
Filled with the pride usually only reserved for the owners of show cats, I smile and say, “Frontline. It works wonders.”
If the cat looks so darned handsome covered with fur, then everything should look terrific covered with the stuff. That’s what I always say. Well, not really, but you’d think so if you ever came over to my house. I have the handsomest couch, carpet, and kitchen counters you’ve ever seen.
Waterfall and I have a give and take relationship. I give him food and shelter, and he takes drinks directly from the kitchen faucet with his tongue. We’re there for each other too—24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Waterfall instinctively knows that if he’s hungry or scared (when I say “hungry or scared” I mean “bored”) that he can come into my bedroom at 2:30 in the morning and meow incessantly until I get up and run some water into the bathroom sink for him. (I recently discovered that he’ll leave me alone if I do this. I don’t know why. I don’t think I want to.)
Imagine this…
It’s early in the morning and you’re awakened by classical music coming from the bathroom radio. You get up, shuffle down the hall, and fling open the bathroom door. You’re shocked to see Waterfall reclining in the sink with a shower cap on. There are soapsuds everywhere and an empty bottle of Frontline: Bubblebath for Cats is lying on its side on the floor. Waterfall shoots you an annoyed look and says, “Do you mind?”
Waterfall is there for me too. Why just the other day when I was carrying in a heavy load of groceries from the car, Waterfall came right over to me and got as close as he could to my feet. It was almost as if he was trying to say, “Do you need any help, Jeff? If you do, I’m right here, right next to your feet, as close as I possibly can get to them. Hey, watch where you’re stepping!”
I wish Waterfall could speak. It gives me goose bumps when I think about all the male bonding we could accomplish.
Jeff: (Gets up off the couch and heads down the hall)
Waterfall: Hey, Jeff. (Hops on the coffee table) While you’re in the bathroom, do you mind if I take a drink directly from your water glass with my tongue?
Jeff: (Voice from down the hall.) No, not at all. Go right ahead buddy.
Waterfall: While I’m at it do you mind if I dip my filthy litter-encrusted toes into your glass? It would be so refreshing.
Jeff: Be my guest.
Waterfall: Oh, would you like a little pet dander in your bowl of popcorn?
Jeff: That would be just dandy!
Waterfall: I love you man.
Jeff: (Comes back into the living room and points at the cat with both hands.) No, no, no. I love you!