Tonight on the program, the origin of something very mysterious that takes place every August called “Cat Nights.”
I must admit that I’m more a dog person than I am a cat person. I grew up with both as family pets. We had a cat by the name of ‘Toby‘ when I was small. He was jet-black except for a white ‘bow-tie’ beneath his chin. We never saw very much of ‘Toby‘ at this time of the year. He would ask to be let out at night and would sometimes disappear for days. My mother and father often feared the worst had happened when he would not be at the door the next morning. I can only imagine where his ’soirees” were spent. When he was home, he would wander off to hide under some piece of furniture. He was stereotypical of the definition of ‘aloof’. Indifferent to his human hosts, he decided when it was time for a back-rub and when it was feeding time.
We also had a standard black poodle called ‘Princess’. She was always around and eager for attention. Any game was just fine with her. I don’t think we ever played frisbee with her, but she had toys that she knew to drop at our feet if we were busy with something other than her. Her favorite spot was beneath the big kitchen table. I was known to crawl under the table and lie down beside her from time to time.
My wife had a cat when we married. Her name was ‘Kimo‘. I don’t think I ever told you the story of our move here to Toronto from Montreal. I started on the air at CHFI in January of 1990. The day before New Year’s eve, we left at 7 in the evening to beat the moving van that would be here early the next day. I was driving my little two-seater, a 1988 Toyoto supercharged MR2. (Look in a past blog called “981” for a picture of the first license plate this car had in Ontario.) We packed what we needed right away in my little trunk, and my wife sat beside me with the special cat-carrier on her lap. That drive, I will never forget. We ran through every imaginable form of bad weather on the drive between Montreal and here. Snow, rain, freezing rain. My car plowed through a few snowdrifts that the wind conveniently placed in my path. Since we were traveling late at night on long, dark stretches of highway, I wouldn’t see the drifts until we were almost upon them. Any other trip, I would have gladly pulled in at a roadside motel. We had to beat the moving van that needed the key to get in the front door of our house. Now, dogs love riding in cars. In summer, they love to hang their heads out through the open windows. One thing I learned very quickly: cats detest moving vehicles - especially in their inside one. That poor animal…She howled all the way. We had no other choice but to place her in the carrier fearing the terrible driving conditions. We all made it safely, though, at a little after 3 in the morning. A trip that normally takes about five hours in the car in good weather took us about eight that night. My nerves were frayed from the drive, and the cat. Over the course of the rest of her life, I never heard her ’sing’ like she did that night in the car. Sadly, she passed on some years back. We kept her collar, and every year at Christmas it has a special place on out tree.
For my all-time favorite feline, it’s a toss-up between Sylvester the cat and Garfield. Both were given human characteristics by their creators, and I often wonder if they were cat people. I still get a laugh when I watch one of those retro-cartoon channels and see Sylvester and his tormentor Tweety Bird. Garfield was Jon Arbuckle’s tormentor. I still get a chuckle from reading his antics in the Sunday paper.
We now have a little Schnoodle who is master of all she surveys. She’s been with us for eight years. A schnoodle is part-poodle, part-schnauzer. She looks like the latter, but has the soft fur of the poodle. Schnauzers are known for their wiry fur. Her game is not frisbee, but tug-of-war. All her toys are pull-toys, and she gives my arm quite the workout, I thought I would include a few of her photos tonight. She’s quite the ham in front of the camera…
At this time of the year, we think of the ‘dog days of summer’. Well, it’s now the time when cats are on the prowl more than usual, hence the term ‘cat nights’. But there is a very specific origin to all this that you’ll hear during my radio show tonight. In the meantime, consider this one last thought…
“Why do they call them dog days? These are obviously cat days. When the soft August breeze is just right, it seems to rub up against you with a purr. The late-gleaming sun, as the days get shorter, is golden as a cat’s eye. And then the elements can start spitting and yowling when you least expect it; The humidity returns and you feel as though a Manx were sleeping on your chest. Like the smile of the Cheshire, cat days come and go. Dog days just lie there waiting for you to take the initiative.” - The Christian Science Monitor, and featured in the August 1985 issue of the Reader’s Digest magazine
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Don Jackson
