maxtm

We got Indigo fifteen years ago, on my sister Kate’s thirteenth birthday. Our neighbor and Kate’s godmother, Daphne, had found Indigo—originally named Bat Cat—in her barn, and was unable to keep her because she was too territorial with her other cats. During school carpools, Daphne issued repeated threats to my mother—who never much cared for cats—to give us Indigo for my sister’s birthday by meowing at Mom (catcalling, if you will) from across the parking lot.

Indigo arrived with a big bow around her cage and spent most of her first days hiding from her doting new family. Her name was originally “Indiana” but we ultimately decided to shorten it for brevity’s sake.

She was an outdoor cat through her younger years, disappearing for days at a time, and frequently accompanied us on walks with us through the woods. She was known to chase dogs, slaughter surprisingly large animals, imitate birdcalls to lure them over, and fend off raccoons. Indeed, to other animals, she was menacing—once throwing herself against a glass door repeatedly in the hopes that she might break it down and have a go at the golden retriever looking quizzically at her from the other side. She had only one true animal friend—a giant and harmless sheep dog named Buford, with whom she would often be seen sunbathing on the driveway.

But if she was a menace to most animals, she loved human companionship—especially that of the humans that did not care as much for her. And even if my mother denied it, I would catch them cuddling on the couch from time to time. She knew the sound of my mother’s footsteps approaching, and would hide with a great panic if she had stolen a moment to cuddle next to me on my bed in the forbidden upstairs. Never very vocal, she relied instead on the practice of sitting on the kitchen stool and (clawlessly) swatting the arm of any human that walked by to demand food. Once satisfied, she would curl up and retire on her favorite spot—a paper bag in the kitchen cupboard.

She was a brave and loyal companion and the couch will never be as warm without her.