Potvin

[vaneramos]

His eyes are actually green


One highlight of my visit home last week was seeing Potvin again.

Upon first seeing me, he often struts from the room, as if resentful of my leaving him. This time he appeared while we were eating, came directly over and greeted me: head, chin, arched rump.

When he lived here he would spend all day on the armchair beside my computer, an arm's length away. When I went into hospital for a week in 2002, Bob came to feed the cat daily, but Potvin nearly starved himself. Afterward he remained too depressed to eat or drink. In desperation I offered him wet food; it saved his life. He started consuming huge volumes of water and peeing endlessly, which he still does. I could no longer keep him here, so he went to live with my parents.

Once a day he offers his soft, white belly. In this position, one can actually spin him on a linoleum floor. He is patient with indignity. I believe he quietly spins the world.

He sometimes stares you in the eye, not the cold gaze for which his species is famous, but a thoughtful one. He never hisses or scratches, a gentleman among cats.