Dogs of the North The Pack Isaac

In Memoriam

I moved out of the dorm and into an apartment during my junior year in college. Before getting a bed or a kitchen table, I got a cat. (Who says I don't have my priorities straight?) The little gray tiger was a true clown. Filled with boundless energy, he celebrated his first morning in his new home by leaping to the top of the drapes and then doing a dive bomb into my bowl of cereal!

Isaac was the best mouser I have ever seen, (although Grendel does come close.) He was smart, too. In fact, he is the only cat I have ever had who would perform "tricks." If I held him under one arm, and asked him to "give five" to somebody, he would extend his paw in a sweeping motion and touch the palm of their hand. He would also "give Archie a hug" and "give Archie a kiss" if I held both cats at once, and would leap into my arms from the floor when I gave him a signal. To be honest, I didn't teach Isaac to do these things, I simply gave words to behaviors he was fond of, and he took it from there.

Isaac's best friend was Archie. In fact, Isaac was, I suspect, a bit lonely and bored at times before Archie came to live with us. I was a full time student working full time as well, which didn't leave me a lot of time to entertain a young cat. Arch and Ike kept themselves happily occupied playing and wrestling and chasing one another through the apartment at the slightest provocation. Once, I went away over night and returned to find that they had broken into a box in which I stored about thirty balls of yarn and string. They had woven an intriguing work of art around the furniture. It stretched through several rooms. The little varmints were asleep in the midst of their handiwork when I came through the door.

Isaac and Archie traveled from Ohio to Wisconsin to Minnesota to Pennsylvania as I finished college and seminary and took my first call in Philadelphia. They welcomed Kierkegaard, Luke, Mordecai, Moses and Hagar to our family, and accommodated numerous "boarders" and strays who passed through on their way to permanent homes. Isaac always welcomed the newcomers. When Kierkegaard came, it was Isaac who took it upon himself to teach the puppy to respect cats. He strolled over to her, plopped down with his belly up, and when Kierk tried to get too personal, he popped her just hard enough to make her back up. Then he repeated the process until she got the point. I believe that Kierk was so good with cats because Isaac was her personal trainer.

Isaac was an exceptionally friendly guy. He lived his entire life unaware that anyone in the world would ever be unkind to a cat. Every person he came in contact with became his buddy, and he liked nothing more than to cuddle up to a new friend. He loved parties! If I was invited out, I would often bring him along, and when I'd entertain friends, Isaac would appoint himself "host", going from person to person to rub against ankles or sit on a lap for a bit. He would even look from person to person when they spoke, as if he were following along with the conversation.

On the last Thanksgiving of his life, I had a group of ten or twelve friends over for a potluck. Isaac had been ill all summer and autumn, and just didn't have the "zip" he used to have. I will always be grateful to my friend, Linda, who appointed herself Isaac's keeper that day. Every time the guests changed rooms; from the living room to the dining room to the TV room upstairs, she would pick Isaac up and carry him along, so he wouldn't miss out on the party. Although she didn't know it at the time, she gave me a warm and happy memory of my little "party animal," who loved life so much, and who brought such happiness to mine.

Read about Kierkegaard.