for my six-year-old cats
This week, we celebrated the sixth birthday of my cats, Leo and George. The birthday of a rescue cat is a funny thing. I say their birthday is October 1 because that’s what I was told by the rescue organization, but that was, I believe, an educated guess. The kittens who would become my Leo and George, along with one more brother, were born to an outdoor cat with an owner. I don’t know how quickly the owner discovered her cat and the newborn kittens, so I don’t know how accurate their recorded birthday is. Even if October 1, 2020, is their true birthday, I didn’t know them then. The more fitting day to celebrate, it seems, is when I adopted them, which was January 8, 2021. (I celebrate both days.) (You could probably say I celebrate my cats every day.)
A few weeks ago, I noted a quote from Susan Choi’s novel Flashlight, which I read for book club: “…but this was life with George: the inexhaustible thrill of his reliability.” I thought I might use it later for a newsletter or post about my husband, who—as I told him in my wedding vows—is so dependable and loving that I have no need for doubt (that part of my vows was, characteristically, a Princess Bride reference). But Leo and George are the first of my October birthday boys, so they get the quote. (I’m following the advice of Annie Dillard in a quote that made the rounds on my social media after her death: “One of the few things I know about writing is this: Spend it all, shoot it, play it, lose it, all, right away, every time. Don’t hoard what seems good for a later place in the book, or for another book; give it, give it all, give it now.”)
For almost six years of my life, Leo and George have been constants. For anyone who doesn’t know this lore, they are named after two of my favorite television characters: Leo McGarry from The West Wing and George O’Malley from Grey’s Anatomy. I would describe both of those characters as reliable; likely that is part of the reason I love them both so much. The fictional human Leo is the president’s chief of staff, a stubborn and dependable genius who is always handling things behind the scenes. The fictional human George is a doctor and a friend, always willing to listen and show up when needed. My cats are all that and more. (Yes, I’d trust them as doctors or vote for them for president).
This all sounds a bit silly—birthday parties for cats who don’t know it’s their birthday and the personification of pets. But the value that Leo and George have brought to my life is serious, and it’s significant. Through changes in jobs and relationships, through packed schedules and lonely times, through my wedding day and rewriting my book again and reading hundreds of books, Leo and George have been here for me—thrilling and reliable.
I’ll close with a list of some of the things that Leo and George, six-year-old cat extraordinaries, can reliably do:
get me to fill my iPhone storage with photos of them
make me and Loui laugh
put their weight on my heart, just when and where I need it
curl up into the shape of baked goods
wake me up in a panic when they puke or knock something over
see ghosts (maybe) (Leo only)
be close to the literature (something a friend said years ago about how George liked to cozy up next to books)
type gibberish when they walk across my keyboard
jump to the top of bookshelves and, sometimes, slay dragons that live up there
alternatively cuddle and fight with each other, as brothers do
love me