I was pacing on the deck this week while Patches was outside. I keep him confined indoors most of the time. I know there are plenty of cats with no front claws, who made excellent hunters and savvy explorers, but he isn’t one of those. He’s not very confident and I suspect he has depth perception issues.

In between plant sniffs and marking the rail, he would return to me to rub against my bare legs and mark me as his own. Occasionally, if he ignored me for more than a few minutes he would return, fall at my feet, and roll from left to right so I could rub his belly. While I was scratching his ears and rubbing his chin I couldn’t help but think how much my dad would have liked this cat.

My dad passed away twelve years ago, six months before I turned twenty-one. He was sixty-three. Dad was an affectionate man and told us he loved us often. Considering he lost his own father when he was two, he was a remarkable parent. His male role models included older kids in his neighborhood and my grandmother’s business partner. I can’t attest to his fatherhood skills when my two older siblings were young, but when they were adults he was always there for them.

Dad liked animals. He didn’t have many pets growing up. His mother was raising two children on her own and running a full time business, long before the single parent boom that followed decades later. She didn’t have the time or energy to care for a cat or dog.

By the time he married, dad had little experience with animals. His technique for showing affection left little to be desired…by the cats, that is. He implemented a method which I affectionately referred to as, dribble, dribble, dribble, sand, sand, sand. He didn’t know how to stroke a cat. He would begin by patting the cat on the head, the way you would a dog. A gentle dribble to the head like a basketball player. Then he would rub the cat, with the same stiff motion you would use to sand wood. The cats weren’t enamored with his technique, but they would ask him for attention if no one else was around.

With the exception of myself, Patches prefers men. He likes the way they smell and he likes their big hands. Not one to shy away from visitors, he often falls at the feet of men and waits to have his belly stroked. Then he sniffs their pants and marks their shoes. I believe, he would fall at dad’s feet, and roll from left to right until he sanded his belly.

English Landscape II © 2000

As promised last week, here is the second in the landscape series. Obligatory Technical Information: The base media is viscosity monoprint. Details were added with colored pencil and oil pastel. Color may shift depending on your monitor settings.