The Bulldozer

There once was a cat named Max. I called him The Bulldozer. He was a big cat, no, a huge cat. Think D11 of the domestic cat world and you’ve just about got it.

It was the coast of Maine and it was winter. In Maine there are two seasons: the 4^th of July and winter, and neither is for the faint of heart. Weeks of winter would go by without seeing blue sky. The best weather would be a brief splash of sun, the ok would be snow and the worst would be freezing rain. It was mostly the worst and it was damp cold and ungodly windy. At the time I lived in an old and partially restored fisherman’s cottage and the part that was yet to be restored was the insulation. So the heat never got turned up too much because you could see dollar bills suck and seep right through the walls and get swept away down wind which was always in the direction of the home heating oil company.

So you get the picture. It was cold and miserable. And I mustn’t forget, it was also dark a lot.

The Bulldozer had golden eyes and short hair which was mostly white with a few patches of pumpkin tabby here and there. And he was either very, very mellow, stoned or not very smart. It was hard to tell.

Early on in the evenings, immediately after dinner mostly, I would retreat to bed. Nestled on top of a featherbed mattress and under a half dozen blankets was the warmest place in the house. The wind would blow, the house would creak and whistle and sometimes shudder. Sometimes I could hear the surf crashing on shore a mile away. I would wear a wool hat and lay under the covers with my face and just enough of my hands exposed to hold a book and I would read. And every evening The Bulldozer would come to visit. First I would hear the thump, thump, thump of big cat feet padding across the floor, and then silence. Apparently he liked to sit and think about things for a moment. The silence, the building tension of it could be excruciating. Cats know how to wait.

And then, and then… kerPLOP! The leaping Bulldozer would land on the foot of the bed, making the whole shebang bounce and squeak and then he would walk ever so slowly up the length of my outstretched body. And if his steps were just so, one foot would come down on my man parts which would always make me jump but he would keep walking, plowing right into my book, mow it down and settle himself on top of it and me with his nose inches from mine. And he would gaze into my eyes with his vacuous look… and purr. And purr and purr. Sometimes he would drool.

Dear Max, one big weirdo cat, The Bulldozer. I think of him often.

Gordon Bunker