more sad neighborhood news

I drove down the block toward our house last night and noticed something sad: the house directly across the street from us was for sale. My first reaction: "Oh, no, Sherman can't leave us!"

Sherman is our favorite neighbor. He's always happy to see us, he loves to visit, and I feel like I've watched him grow up from a tiny kitten. Yes, Sherman is a cat. I suppose there's something wrong about liking our cat neighbor better than the human ones. We like our human neighbors just fine, but Sherman is extraordinary.

When I first moved into my house in the fall of 2001, the neighbor across the street (I do know her name, I'm just not telling you) introduced herself and we chatted a bit. Her cat of many years had just died, sadly, and she figured they would find a new cat, but not right away.

Sure enough, the following spring, along came Sherman. The first day his owner let him out of the house, the tiny black-and-white kitten scooted across the street and climbed up the little oak tree in my front yard. He also liked playing in the sort-of-garden near my front door. (It has pretty plants in it, but we think they're actually weeds.) My parents visited me a few weeks later, and while they were helping me prune the trees in the front yard, Sherman appeared and decided to help us. He climbed all over the pile of branches, hung out in the garage, and tried to slip into the house through the garage door. He whined when we went inside for lunch. He was the most adorable and friendly kitten, and completely fearless about meeting new people and climbing on anything he liked. My parents still ask about Sherman -- I'm surprised they didn't try to smuggle him home with them.

Over the years, Sherman grew into the big cat who owned the block. I see neighbors down the street calling out his name as he runs by. When I started dating The Beau, he met Sherman pretty quickly and was quite fond of him. The Beau's own cat died after we'd been dating for a couple of months, and although he didn't want a new cat right away, he loved playing with Sherman.

Sherman is probably a big contributing factor in why we got a cat, in fact. I wasn't sure I would like having a cat in the house, but Sherman was such a big sweetie-pie that he would inspire anyone to go out and get a cat of their own. Rufus is the best cat ever, but he turned out to be a lot more of a fraidy-cat than Sherman -- we've had the cat nearly two years and he still isn't a lap cat, still doesn't like his belly rubbed, and has a tendency to run away from vacuum cleaners, coughs, and other noises he finds scary. So when we need to rub a kitty belly, we go find Sherman.

And now Sherman is going away. He grew up on our block, and I have to wonder how well he'll adapt to a new neighborhood with strangers. He'll probably make fast friends immediately. It seems a little weird to be so fond of someone else's cat, especially since it's someone else we don't know that well, but my guess is that we're not the only ones in the neighborhood who feel that way. Forget about the Wal-Mart ... the neighborhood won't be at all the same without the big black-and-white cat who runs over to us whenever he sees us, rolls around in the dirt, and then flips over to have his tummy rubbed.

(Yes, I should post a picture. Check back tomorrow and I'll see what I can do.)

Posted at December 5, 2006 11:16 AM