800 The cat who hears cheese

If I open the door of the refrigerator and take out a tomato, or margarine or a sack of apples, I am alone. If I take out a package of cheese, the cat appears from nowhere and is sitting quietly behind me when I turn around. She could have been in a sound sleep on the couch in my office not having moved since breakfast at 5:15 a.m. with my comings and goings, entrances and exits.

She has issues--was abandoned or abused in young adulthood and we got her at a cat rescue place. Now I wonder if she had been locked up in a basement somewhere. Last week I brought home a 1954 National Geographic special reprint about the wonders of the telephone age from the freebie box at the public library. Since a baby bell has gobbled up momma, I thought it might be interesting (and it is, since it sort of chronicles that Bell Labs really didn't know the goldmines that awaited in the future). I didn't realize at first that it had a horrible odor. Our suburb had a very bad storm and flood in the early 70s. Our house was one of the few that did not flood (we had no basement), but for weeks the neighborhood reeked of mold and mildew, rotting carpet, and destroyed wall panelling as exhausted home owners brought damaged goods to the curb for pick up. Our neighbor's wine collection had all the labels loosen and float away (he was right on the creek).

Anyway, that's what "New Miracles of the Telephone Age" smells like. And the cat loves it. I put it next to the register thinking it needed to air out, but she sits on it, rolls on it, nibbles on the pages and looks like she is rolling in cat nip.

Must sound like cheese to her.