Fun fact: In the Italian version of Cinderella, the fairy godmother was a cat!
Murphy was regal from the start. Even at the shelter his aloof attitude set him apart from his cage-mates. He was long-legged and long-haired. He confidently cruised up to the cage door and looked directly into my five-year-old daughter Bridget’s eyes. He was unperturbed as the attendant pulled him from the cage and deposited him into the arms of his new valet. No scared kitten mewling from him — he purred contentedly on Bridget’s lap as we motored to his suburban palace.
As the weeks and months passed, Murphy grew bigger and fluffier, and he fell in love with us despite his haughty manner. A visit to the vet confirmed what we had already surmised: He was a Maine Coon cat. He followed us everywhere, learned how to retrieve, and gave kisses on command. We were amazed at how intelligent he was. He was as big as a small dog, and his antics were quite dog-like as well. His size astonished us. His full weight held steady at twenty pounds.
Particularly unnerving was Murphy’s more feline penchant for perching. He would resourcefully find his way to the tops of open doors and lie lengthwise on the narrow frame, his bulk evenly distributed and perfectly balanced. He would survey his kingdom, patiently wait for visitors to enter, and then surprise them as they passed with gentle smacks on their heads with his large paw. Even more disturbing was his nightly trapeze act on the exposed beams of the cathedral ceiling in our bedroom. He would begin the show with a jump to a tall dresser, a quick hop to the top of the door and then a perfect mount onto the beam. We would watch his progress along the bar. He would pause above the bed and, after a few seconds of staring down at us, he would perform a perfect dismount, solidifying his place as the king of the bedroom. Instead of applause, his reward was our reaction as we scattered when he dropped from the ten-foot-high girder onto our bed!
His most loyal subject in the family was Bridget. She swaddled him and walked him in her doll carriage. He would lie beside her as she read or watched television. He slept on her bed and sat beneath her chair at meals as she dropped morsels of her dinner for him.
His favorite activity was playing Barbie with her. He would crawl among her dolls’ extensive wardrobe and nose out outfits that Bridget would promptly put on Barbie. One day, I heard her giggling uncontrollably. She was in the kitchen standing by Murphy’s water bowl, watching him play with something in the water. When I looked in, I saw a tiny pair of Barbie panties being swirled around in the water. Through her giggles, Bridget exclaimed, “Mom, he’s washing Barbie’s clothes!” Murphy laundered Barbie’s unmentionables from then on. Each time Bridget opened up her doll cases, Murphy was right there, pawing around in search of Barbie’s underwear.
Murphy’s quirkiness reached new heights one rainy afternoon. I was preparing dinner, and Bridget was playing upstairs in her bedroom. I overheard Bridget stating firmly, “Okay, it’s my turn,” then “Okay, you go.” Knowing she was alone in her room, I ran upstairs, wondering who was playing with her. Sitting opposite each other on the floor were Bridget and Murphy. The Pretty Pretty Princess board game was spread out between them. The game requires a player to spin a basic flat spinner, move a playing piece the appropriate number of moves, and put on or lose jewelry pieces as directed.
The winner earns the most jewelry and wears a tiara as his or her prize. This certainly seemed like an appropriate game for our kingly cat. As I watched from the doorway, I noticed a necklace hung around Murphy’s neck. Bridget spun the spinner, moved her piece and put on a ring. She then told Murphy it was his turn. To my surprise, he reached out his paw and hit the side of the spinner. Bridget moved his piece and put his earned bracelet on his paw. She then spun again as Murphy calmly sat across from her watching her move. She again said, “Murphy, your turn,” and I was astounded as he delicately pushed the spinner and Bridget moved his piece. I watched in awe as this game played out until the end when Bridget eventually won. She was ever the gracious princess and thanked her King Murphy for playing the game with her.
Murphy has been gone a while now, but the joy and love he brought into our lives will never be forgotten. We now have a Golden Retriever, Charlie, who seems to have inherited Murphy’s quirkiness and love for our family. I am, as ever, prepared to be amazed.
~Ann C. Kenna
