My Florida

The Ballad Of Shadowsox

By Melody Murphy

I was told I could name the cat.

Until this summer, my mother and stepfather lived in south Georgia. Last November, during the first cold snap, they discovered that several stray cats had taken refuge under their house for warmth. Long story short, four cats found homes elsewhere. One was allowed to stay.

I was stunned. My mother is not a cat person. She does not like the way they rub against your legs. She finds it unsettling. She also is horrified when she sees an indoor cat leap onto kitchen counters.

“Not in my kitchen,” she says emphatically. But this is a very pretty cat, with big inquisitive green eyes. And he is awfully sweet. Unusually friendly and affectionate for a stray cat, he really acts more like a lapdog. Since when do cats roll over and beg to be rubbed? He won her over, this cat-dog hybrid creature with his wily ways.

They had three dogs already: Roxie and Jake, a pair of large elderly golden retrievers who lived outdoors, and Beaujangles, Destroyer of Worlds, the evil schnoodle who lives in the house. Some years before, another stray cat had shown up, a friendly white cat. He did not stay, but whenever he dropped by for a visit, Beau was most excited.

Finally, a creature his size to play with.

My parents named him and kept me apprised of the adventures of Snowflake and Beaujangles. Sadly, Snowflake met an untimely end, likely the work of a snake, and was found dead under the porch. Beau cried in his sleep that night and moped for several days.

I have been telling them ever since that Beau needed his very own cat. He missed Snowflake. Roxie and Jake were too old to romp. Beau had 10 acres at his disposal and needed a sidekick who would frolic with him. Then fate sent this grey apparition, like an autumnal haint.

When I went to visit at Thanksgiving, I got to meet the cat. I was told I could name him. I wanted to name him Earl Grey. He is a lovely smoke-grey color, and I think Earl is an excellent name for a south Georgia tomcat. They didn’t like that. So I suggested Shadow. He is long and lean and grey, he materialized much as shadows do, and he likes to follow right alongside his people and animals.

My mother liked the name, but by then it was too late. John had taken the cat to the vet to be fixed and had to put down a name for him. Since he has little white paws, John wrote “Sox” as his name on the form. I find this unimaginative. Also, do not tell me I can name a cat and then disregard both of my very valid contributions.

So it has come down to a battle of wills. They call the cat Sox, while I willfully refer to him as Shadow. Sometimes when I am feeling conciliatory and inclined to compromise, I formally style him as Shadowsox.

The vet said Shadowsox was about a year old when he materialized. Wherever he came from, I think he must have spent his kittenhood with dogs, to account for his canine behavior.

At first—allegedly—he was to be an outside cat. The cat comfortably took up with Roxie and Jake, curling up with them in their bed on the porch. They were fond of him. He stayed warm and was equal-opportunity about eating both their food and his.

Beau was most excited to have his very own cat in residence. Shadowsox accompanied him on patrol, and they played nicely together. All was well in the land of the animals. Until this spring, when Shadowsox had an encounter with a whole different kind of animal, setting into motion not one but two heroic quests and securing his legacy for all time.

And that is where I must leave you, until we return next month for the second verse of The Ballad of Shadowsox, in which our hero becomes a Florida cat. Stay well and stay tuned.