This Is Gus

Previously published in "Chicken Soup for the Soul; Lessons Learned From My Cat"

Gus came with the house. Not exactly like a light fixture or a refrigerator, but a feral tabby who thought all 5 acres were his. Actually, before we closed on the property the former homeowner asked if we wanted Gus otherwise he would rehome him. Hubby-Jeffrey was at work when this offer was made.

“My husband hates cats,” I said.

Then former homeowner mentioned something that clinched the deal. “You’re in the country now. Lots of mice. Gus is a good mouser.”

Mouse. That one word brought back a title wave of memories. We were living in a condo in Brookline, MA and had a mouse problem. They were brazen too. One skipped joyfully across our bed. Another built a nest in my teenage son’s backpack.

 I promptly said, “We’ll take the cat.”

“What about your husband?”

“What about him?”

Hubby-Jeffrey was not convinced. He came from a cat-hating family. They were feral in their disgust. They weren’t even allergic, just appalled. I grew up with felines. My mom loved the kitten I brought home from the mall when I was twelve and the dirty white fluff ball that followed me home from school when I was ten. Jeffrey’s mom had a revulsion of cats, its inception unknown, but passed down to her son like a genetic disease. Unfortunately, once Jeffrey was a teen he and his mom had a rocky relationship and she passed while he was away at college. The chance to mend and her cat-abhorrence reason were gone forever.

Jeffrey and his mom. You’re forever in our hearts, Jill. Circa 1965ish.

Sometime during our first year marriage I suggested we get a pet. “As long as it’s not a cat,” Jeffrey said emphatically. We decided on a Springer Spaniel. Thirty-one years of marriage, four Springers, a bunny and two grown kids later, I convinced Jeffrey.

“Ok,” he said suspiciously then in a warning tone, “But he stays outside."

“That’s fine,” I said. “(Former-homeowner) told me that the feral kittens who grow up outside know how to take care of themselves.” I was smug imparting my feline wisdom.

Within a few days, Gus made an appearance, looking at us askance, probably wondering, where was that nice family with the teenage girls and friendly dogs. (Ours was a true spaniel. Apollo chased bunnies, squirrels, and Gus.)

A week later, Jeffrey and I walked the property and spotted Gus hiding in the shade, eyeing us.

“Gus,” Jeffrey called, inching closer, to which Gus promptly hissed and took off.

“See?” Jeffrey said. “Cats are demons.”

Soon enough our sly cat started showing up at the back door when he realized we were the ones who put out the food and water and lived in the dwelling on his land.

About a month into our new living situation, while hubby and I were lounging on the deck, Gus leapt onto Jeffrey’s belly, curled up and closed his eyes. Jeffrey didn’t budge. He looked at me, panicked. I mouthed, “Pet him.” Jeffrey looked down at his torso and froze. He thought cats were jeering devils. After all, Gus hissed at him last week. But this sleek orange feline was cuddling and drooling. (We learned that some cats drool instead of purr.) Jeffrey tentatively slid his hand along Gus’s back, which made Gus rub his head into Jeffrey’s belly like it was the best pillow ever.

Little did we know this orange feral cat enjoyed human interaction-- and most of all with Jeffrey. In fact, as time went on, Gus chose Jeffrey over me. Gus would meow at the back door even though he already had food and water in his bowl and if I merely turned the handle to go outside, he would take off. When Jeffrey slid through the door, Gus would jauntily follow him onto the lounge, hop onto his belly and promptly drool. He only wanted to cuddle with his new balding buddy with dad arms and a paunch.

Two cool cats devoted to the outdoors.

Jeffrey was taken in, wowed, and fell hard for Gus.

Another day, as we walked the property, I noticed Gus appear from a hedge and follow Jeffrey. This wily whiskered tabby sipped at the stream while Jeffrey looked for salmon. Where was Jack London when you needed him?

The nights we used the fire-pit Gus would spy on us then meow to let us know he was nearby. If the coast was clear, if Springer-Apollo was indoors, Gus would leap onto Jeffrey’s lap, curl up and sleep.

Gus and Jeff. It suddenly made sense. Jeffrey loved the outdoors more than in. He preferred grass to carpet, he decompressed amongst the trees and enjoyed late night walks down our long driveway. He was just like Gus, who was always there, an orange shadow, prancing beside him.

“So, I guess you like cats now,” I said as Jeffrey and Gus shimmered in the glow of the fire-pit.

Jeffrey, sighed, shook his head, regretting all those years of cat-abhorrence. “Gus is a pretty cool cat.”

“Why did your mom hate them so vehemently?”

Jeffrey shrugged. “She never met Gus.”

“Maybe your mom sent him from heaven,” I said.

Jeffrey grinned. He liked this notion.

“Maybe,” he said. “Maybe.”

Jeffrey and his boyfriend, Gus.

Here’s Kristi’s $20 bill story which could be a novel in the vein of The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. Kristi writes humorous and heartfelt travel stories.

The Worldwide Search For One Twenty-dollar Bill

Heather’s Kindness Magnet Substack tells stories where she inevitably attracts kind people into her life.

Donna writes about the mindset— which will brings life changes.

1. Do you have a sign-from-the-universe story?

2. Do you hate cats?

3. Did you ever have a mouse problem?

4. Did you know Chicken Soup for the Soul is always looking for stories?