A cat named Sam
By Ralph Dickerson
During my freshmen year at the University of Louisville, during the mid-1980s, my sister Melinda brought home a cat she obtained from my cousin Rhonda. She named the cat Samantha, only to find out later the cat was a Sam. My dad said he would never have a cat in the house, and was not happy with the Sam being in the home. He told my sister he would never have anything to do with Sam as he “did not want no old cat in the house!” Guess who was best buddies with Sam in less than a week—if you guessed my dad, you would be absolutely correct.
I would not say my dad spoiled Sam, but my dad owned a 1977 Silverado pickup at the time, which the cat loved, and he took Sam for a drive every Sunday afternoon! This was not a quick trip around the block, but a full-blown drive of a half-an-hour or more.
Sam was an interesting cat; in fact he was more human than cat! Believe it or not, every Saturday morning he loved to watch the Smurfs. One Saturday morning I was watching television, and around 9 a.m. Sam came running into the living room and sat down in front of the television. He started looking at me and meowing. He would not quit meowing so I asked my mother, who was in another room at the time, what was wrong with Sam. She asked me what time it was and I told her it was just after 9 a.m. She said, “oh, it is time for the Smurfs, it is his favorite television show!”
I thought my mother had lost it and told her cats do not watch television. She told me to turn the television to the Smurfs and see for myself. I turned to the cartoon, and Sam sat in front of the television completely enthralled, never taking his eyes off of the screen. When the show ended he got up, stretched, went back to my sister’s room, hopped up on her bed and went to sleep.
Sam never missed an episode of the cartoon. I have no idea how he knew when it was Saturday morning, or when it was time for the show. He definitely kept things interesting!
One Christmas season my sister and I put up a small Christmas tree, and Sam loved to slap the decorative bulbs off of the tree. My mother made a deal with the cat. She told Sam if he left the tree alone, she would bring him home food from the restaurant at which she worked. When it was time for my mother to get home each night, Sam would run to the door and wait impatiently until she arrived with the food.
One night she came home without the food. She looked down at Sam and said, “oh Sam, I forgot your food!”
Sam stomped to the Christmas tree, raised his paw and bashed one of the decorative bulbs. He hit is so hard it went flying off the tree, smashed into the wall and shattered into little pieces! He looked back over his shoulder at my mother and raised his paw again.
My mother said she would bring him home extra helpings of food the next evening, but that was not what he wanted to hear. He slapped another bulb off of the tree.
At that time the Pantry convenience store sat where the Attractions Hair Salon now sits in Lewisport. Their deli had a chicken snack box that consisted of a chicken leg, potato wedge and a roll, and Sam loved the snack box.
As Sam raised his paw to bash another bulb, my mother started pleading with him. She told him she would go out to the Pantry and get him a chicken leg. He looked back over his shoulder at her with his paw raised in striking position. She then said she would get him a chicken leg and a potato wedge; Sam continued to sit there with his paw raised, so my mom said she would also get him a biscuit.
He slowly lowered his paw, turned around and sat under the tree. My mother went out to the Pantry and got him the chicken snack box and brought it to him. At that point he walked away from the tree and had my mother hand-feed him the food—I told you he was spoiled! As long as my mother brought Sam food each night, he left the tree alone.
