There aren’t many cats along Patricia Lane. Across the street and one house up, lives an older couple with a pudgy Calico that they never let out of doors. I cannot think of any others except Tam-Malacha, our Siamese we call “Tam.” There are several dogs that live along our one-block street and each learned that Tam is not to be messed with. When a dog runs barking at her, she stands her ground but more often she runs at the charging dog. The dog either takes the hint that this was no normal feline and skids to a stop or it learns the hard way and leaves running with spatters of blood marking its path of retreat. Regardless, no dog ever threatened Tam a second time on Patricia Lane.
Robin is about my sister’s age and lives next door with her parents, Robert and Drewis. Sometimes Drewis’ brother, L. Ron Hubbard, comes to visit her. My sister says he’s scary weird. Robin loves Tam-Malacha; all the kids do. Well one day Robin invites my whole family over to meet their new cat. It is the most beautiful cat I’ve ever seen. It is a white “Persian” with the longest, softest, whitest hair you can imagine.
A week or two later while watching television, I hear a catfight and run to the front door and across the driveway toward the noise. Caterwauls , growls, and hisses scare me with their primal fierceness and volume. The commotion is coming from the other side of the white-painted wooden fence but before I can climb over, Drewis’ voice yells, “Stop that. Stop that. Get out of here!” The yowling and hissing and Drewis’ yelling continue for another endless moment; now silence.
Afraid that Robin’s cat might have been hurt by Tam, I sneak away and go back inside.
Mom and Dad talked with Drewis who was scratched by her Persian when she tried to break up the fight. The three of them understood that ever since we moved into our house on Patricia Lane, Robert and Drewis’ property had been part of Tam’s ‘Territory’ and doubted she would ever share it with another cat. They agreed on a schedule so that on some days Tam would be kept indoors so the Persian could be outside and on other days Tam could be outside. There would never be a day when both cats would be outside. The plan did not work because we kept forgetting to keep Tam indoors when the Persian was outside. To everyone’s consternation, the two cats got into fights numerous times over the next few months. They were incredibly noisy, scary encounters.
The screwdriver I need is in our carport so I get the tool chest key from the kitchen drawer and go out the kitchen door with Tam at my heels. I step off the concrete porch, walk past the half-wall into the carport, unlock the padlock, lift the lid, and pick up several screwdrivers until I’m satisfied I’ve got the right type and size. As I head back into the house, I notice that Tam is on top of the white wooden fence looking down into the neighbor’s side yard where they have a concrete walk.
“C’mon, Tam. C’mon.” Tam pays me no attention whatsoever. I go on inside alone with the screwdriver.
Some seconds later I hear a horrible soul-troubling moan. I dash outside with my skin crawling while trying to imagine what was making that terrible unending sound and where it’s coming from. Maybe it’s Tam!
Then quiet. Creepy silence.
I keep looking around; behind the house; in the carport.
Tam suddenly appears at the top of the fence with ‘stuff’ on her face; weird white stuff. She glances at me, leaps to the ground with the white stuff coming off in clumps, goes straight into the kitchen, and drinks deeply. I kneel next to her to inspect the white stuff left on her face. It’s hair; very fine white hair. It is hair from the Persian cat.
“Linda,” I call out; then louder as I go through the living room toward my sister’s bedroom, “LINDA.”
They found the Persian weakly writhing in its own blood. The veterinarian stopped the bleeding but its brain had been starved of oxygen for so long that he counseled our neighbors to put the cat down; it would never recover. They did.
Their last encounter was not a ‘catfight.’ Instead of posturing, hissing, and threatening, Tam apparently stalked silently, pounced, and ripped the Persian’s throat open with her fangs, severing the jugular in the process. She then held tight until the Persian ceased moaning and struggling.
Could Tam have reasoned, after an unknown number of catfights with the Persian, that no alternative resolution was possible?