SAM Sam was about two years old when I got my first computer. I’ve never owned a real computer desk with the handy little slide out tray for the keyboard, just a very small wood desk stuck in the corner of the bedroom. With the keyboard, monitor and a lamp on the desktop it left just enough inches for Sam to spread his furry, tiger striped body along the keys. It was a tight fit. Sam started joining me at the computer once he discovered I could spend an awful lot of time there, in fact it often involved snacking and he was not about to be left out of any of it. Over the years we developed a routine of sorts. If I brought buttered toast to the desk he expected, no he demanded that a tiny little smidgen of butter be placed on the corner of the desk for his licking pleasure. He seemed so happy there in the warmth of the lamp, listening to the soft tap of the keyboard, swishing his tail over the mouse pad, that I just never considered making him move, instead I just laid my work on the floor and taped the mouse to the desk so it didn’t hit the floor with every swish of his tail. And I got so used to the soft purring I felt I worked better with its accompaniment. If we went too long without a snack or a break of some kind, he sat up and stared at me until he got my attention. When I would say, “Yes Sam,” he would stick his paw out, as if to say, “ You need a break. Do that ridiculous thing where you run through the house with a piece of yarn dragging behind and expect me to catch it.” After a few minutes of entertainment I would return to my computer and he to his place on the desk. Before he would settle down for his next nap he would look at me with a certain amount of disdain as if to say, “Humans! It doesn’t take much to amuse them.” Over the years, the desk became much more crowded as Sam put on weight. His big pink belly, which matched his nose and the little pads on his paws, began to overlap the keyboard and cover the numbers. Fortunately I didn’t use the F Keys or the numbers that often, but should I need to, well, that took finesse because by now the key- board belonged to Sam and I was only allowed to borrow it. I would so slowly ease the keyboard a fraction of an inch from beneath the pink belly and hit the desired key and almost immediately he would adjust his body to once again cover that top two rows of keys, as if to say, “That’s it, no more numbers.” We went on that way for another few years until Sam began to lose weight, which I suspected had nothing to do with the reduced calorie food I was feeding him. I noticed it of course because I could once again type the numbers without disturbing Sam too much. Then he lost interest in the butter on my toast and finally he no longer wanted to observe me running through the house waiving things. Not even my new yellow yarn interested him. He just wanted to lie in the warmth of the lamp and sleep and purr. I bought a small cushion for the desk, thinking perhaps his joints were as old and stiff as mine are and he just needed a little more comfort. He appreciated the cushion. I added calories to his food, and bought a new mouse filled with catnip but he was unimpressed. Eventually I had to help him onto the desk, as he simply couldn’t make the jump. He waited on the floor until I gently lifted him onto his cushion. He appreciated that too. We continued that way for a few more years in the quiet house where so often the only sounds were that of the tapping on the keyboard and the purr of my cat. Sam continued to let me use his keyboard, only occasionally scolding me if I failed to lift him from the desk to the floor when he needed to take care of other things. For the most part he lay on the desk, on his cushion, still in control of the computer until his last day. Now I hear only the tapping on the keyboard. It’s very quiet.I can type all the numbers whenever I wish to, and I no longer tape the mouse to the desk. I do put a tiny bit of butter on the corner of the desk, just habit I guess. Then I quickly wipe it away. I’m thinking of buying a real computer desk with a slide out tray. My old desk is too large now. |
A short story about my cat Sam.
