Photo by Macon Wilson
Ampersand Davis
Editor's Note: While people working from home may be struggling to adjust to their new daily routines, perhaps no group is more chuffed by this development than pets. Under normal circumstances we would have asked our editorial staff to take charge of this year’s Pet Guide, but these are far from normal circumstances. Keeping a routine and staying busy are supposed to help us humans stay steady during these turbulent times, so we figured the same logic must apply to our pets. They need tasks! Goals! To learn new skills! (Yes, we are projecting. They are perfectly content just to have us home.) So we asked our pets to take on some of the labor themselves. Lily Bear Traverse and Ampersand Davis make their authorial débuts in our annual Pet Guide; we have a hunch it won’t be long before The New Yorker snaps up one or both of them. In all seriousness, COVID-19 has left many adoptable pets still waiting for their new homes. Perhaps you can help the others?
First of all, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Ampersand, cat correspondent for Memphis magazine, and I am a rescue cat, so called because I quite gallantly rescued my chosen human from what was surely a soul-crushing existence as a feline-free person.
Let me add that, indeed this was a brave and selfless decision on my part, but humans, though unsightly and nearly hairless creatures, can be quite lovely to their adopted, four-legged family members. I think every cat should have one. Of course, there will be some dissenting opinions from the freedom-loving feral cat crowd, but their naysaying is but a feeble meow against a grand chorus of purrs. And I would know, for I speak from experience.
In October of 2019, I lived the life of a street kitten. Though I had the comforts of my mother and freedom to roam, my life as a stray was full of challenges. Mother wasn’t always sure to find a meal, and our little feline family had to maintain a state of constant vigilance, on watch for stray dogs, raccoons, owls, and distracted motorists, whose hulking vehicles would mean a swift and sure death if ever we met in the road. Then, late one night, we were hit by a storm the likes of which I had never before seen in my long six weeks of life.
photo by Jesse Davis
When he was first discovered, he wasn't much larger than the can of tuna that enticed him to adopt his new human.
I was separated from my mother and my littermates in that storm. Alone for the first time, I hid beneath a piece of machinery, mewing piteously for my mother to come find me. My fur was damp and spiked at the end with dried mud, and my stomach rumbled, racked with hunger pangs. Then a human stepped out of the house across the street. He paused in the act of unlocking his car, his head cocked to the side. He had heard my cries.
The human muttered something that sounded like, “Aw, man. Now I’m going to have to save you.” Can you believe it, dear reader? Even in my admittedly bedraggled state, I had inspired feelings of awe in this poor, catless human, an awe so powerful that he felt compelled to “save” me. Despite his apparent feeblemindedness, this, I knew then, was a human worth rescuing.
Suffice it to say that, though they require a good deal of attention, humans are, by and large, indeed worth rescuing.
Bravely, I allowed myself to be tempted by an open can of tuna, which my soon-to-be adopted human placed on the muddy ground between us. As I ate, he crept nearer, which I allowed because I was hungry and he might, I assumed, have more tuna. And so I did not complain when he scooped me up and took me inside, swaddled in a towel.
My human told his partner not to get attached because they wouldn’t be keeping me. “Poor, deluded human, you underestimate my power,” I thought. I turned up the charm by waking him up several times a night to demand petting, and, just as I knew it would, it worked like a dream. Never hesitate to remind your human how lucky they are to have you in their life.
Needless to say, I wasn’t going anywhere. I was like catnip to my hapless human — totally irresistible. Now I live a life of luxury. My human loves me. I’m fed twice daily, and he brings me feathers and faux mice and bell-filled balls to play with.
photo by Jesse Davis
Ampersand has grown to be a sophisticated cat with an appreciation for simple pleasures, such as sitting in a sunbeam.
Still, to live as an indoor cat, it’s true one must accept a certain amount of ennui. It is simply part of the deal. The life of an indoor cat, though, has so much to recommend it. What is the excitement of the outdoors when compared to the nearly infinite places one can sleep in a house, or even, as in my case, a small apartment? And just because I no longer spend my nights evading predators or searching for food, that doesn’t mean I lack for other forms of diversion.
I have mentioned, I know, the many naps I take. That said, I cannot express the pure bliss of falling asleep in your human’s lap. They’re warm, soft, and, unless you’ve chosen your human poorly, not remotely muddy. Indeed, lap naps are excellent, almost as good as naps in a sunny spot by the window. It’s important to be well rested in case my human needs me to chase away the Fiendish Red Dot, or if there is something particularly interesting to observe from the safety and comfort of the window sill.
Then there is the joy I get from helping my human prune his houseplants. Diligently, I nibble at their waxy leaves, and it pleases him so. I know because when he catches me helping (for I am modest and do not boast about my many priceless contributions), he shouts my name, presumably in a fit of glee.
My days are now filled with treats and pets and naps. I could go on extolling the many pleasures of life as a rescue cat, but, frankly, my human gets so animated when I walk on the computer keyboard and I don’t like to over-excite him. Suffice it to say that, though they require a good deal of attention, humans are, by and large, indeed worth rescuing.
