An hour ago, I opened a can of tuna; immediately I thought of little "Chip", our cat who had showed up one day in the back yard in Phoenix. She was a young adult, short, stocky, short legs, brownish like tortoise or tabby. Hungry, obviously, but street wise, I could not approach her. I think it wasn't till the next day, she showed up again, and food did the trick. Hesitant, cautious, ever-watchful, this smallish cat approached me. Took time, but she eventually became a "part of us". We got her "fixed", and she became a loving part of our home. It was the mid-'90s. She accompanied us to Missouri, where in the old farmhouse, she languished under the old cookstove, wood-fired. She was smart. The sound of the can opener while mouthing "TUNA" brought her up to instant attention. The near-empty can, placed on the floor, was pushed about, bumping into chair legs and the like, as she polished off the leavings, her little head buried in the can. She brought light into our lives, that little animal. She asked for very little, but gave back much. When she sickened, after a diagnosed stroke, I almost "lost it", as she died, front paws flailing the air. When breathing stops, Vet said, their mind thinks they are drowning, and they swim to save themselves. This happened 20 years ago. It still hurts. I love tuna, but hate opening a can. When I do, I hear again that "clanking" as the little cat pushed the can about the room. Funny, how little things lie that can affect one so.... Frank
Pickles does the same thing with a can of tuna. I always leave some in the can for him when I make tuna salad.
Frank, you made me sad for you, you wrote from the heart - lovely The name 'Chip' .......... smashing name
I once had a cat named Daisy. She was white with green eyes. The only pet that I have had that I truly loved. I swear that cat was empathic. She could sense when I was upset or grieving. She comforted me any times when comfort was needed. @Frank Sanoica , like Chip, she brought joy to my life. I can understand your missing Chip still.