Her gorgeous deep-blue eyes proved captivating. He could not resist her charms, albeit feline

I’ve had pets most of my life. Corny, a predominately white with dark spots Yorkshire shoat (little pig); Little Jim, a neighbor’s mule that was mine to ride; Sasquatch, a Great Dane; and Persian cats, Midnight, Cleo and Sassy.

Awhile back, when I said good-bye to a working schedule, my sister Geneva suggested I get a cat that could help me enjoy this idyllic new retired lifestyle in northwest Fresno.

“But not just any old cat,” Geneva stated. She insisted that it had to be a female and its breed had to be Ragdoll.

“A Ragdoll has a gentle demeanor with a distinct soft and silky coat,” Geneva said, “with a tendency to go limp and relaxed when picked up, and the Ragdoll has a striking coloration unlike any other cat.”

She paused and thought for a moment.

“Most of all,” she said with a look of deep concentration, “they are affectionate, intelligent, relaxed in temperament, gentle, easy to handle and a good female Ragdoll likes to talk and engage in conversation. Plus, they are always nearby and make excellent companions.”

“A talking cat?” I asked.

“You’ll see,” was all Geneva would say as we parted.

I spent the next several days visiting pet stores. None of them had such a rare and valuable breed, but they took my name and number.

Two weeks later my morning newspaper and coffee routine were disrupted when my vision was somehow focused on the classified section, which Geneva had told me to skip because Ragdolls are never that easy to find. My eyes were suddenly fixed on a small one column by one-inch advertisement.

“Owner needs to find a good home for a 1-year old neutered Blue-Tortie Point Mitted Ragdoll female cat.”

I dialed the number listed.

Within minutes I was on my way to a rendezvous.

It had been years since I was on a blind date, but I had a good feeling this one would be different.

After our introductions, Fred opened the back of his car and unlatched the door of a small pet carrier. His wife Gayle reached in and cradled a tricolor white, tan and black bundle of glistening fur.

With wet eyes, Gayle reached out and offered Abby to me. Gayle also gave me an envelope stuffed with papers.

Abby’s gorgeous, deep blue eyes were vividly noticeable. I checked her chin. It was pure white. Her black face complemented her black tail, her sides and belly were white and her back was tan.

Abby, the Ragdoll, had as my cat adviser Geneva had described earlier, “striking pointed coloration unlike any other cat.”

We bonded immediately, I felt, as I held her for the first time.

When I brought her into her new home, I carried her slowly around the house so she could inspect each room.

I put Abby on my lanai table and removed the papers from the envelope Gayle had given me. They were from Abby’s veterinarian who listed various treatments that showed Abby was current on her exams and shots.

After only a few days, Abby became acquainted, comfortable and quite playful in her new surroundings, and we became each other’s special friend and playtime partner.

Abby was no ordinary cat. She had mastered the skill of materializing unexpectedly, and her ocular bag of tricks exceeded those of any other cat I had known. She also had an almost eerie way of opening her deep blue irises and kaleidoscoping them into elliptical slits.

And, yes, she could talk!

After studying Abby for a few months, I was amazed to discover that her gait was a multitalented means of mobility not limited to just the walk or gallop. She had a pronounced pace, gallop, slink, skulk, lurk and, of all things, a singlefoot and, oh, my gosh, a pussyfoot!

But like the pussyfoot, the lurk is not necessarily a gait. It is a sinister mode of behavior whose purpose is to put her in proximity with her prey, such as a bird, a bug, a sprinkler head, or a small rock, while at the same time concealing her and her intentions.

I’ve also discovered that implicit in the lurk are the slink and the skulk, which give Abby a sense of what I call stealth mobility.

The lurk ends, of course, when the slink or the skulk becomes a sprint or a run. Lurking cats, like all other cats, do not trot.

After watching Abby in numerous locomotion modes, and contrary to popular belief, I’ve concluded that what I had previously deemed to be a trot, is, in fact, not a trot at all.

It’s a singlefoot!

Credit Abby for this discovery.

This story was originally published December 27, 2019 at 7:00 AM with the headline "Her gorgeous deep-blue eyes proved captivating. He could not resist her charms, albeit feline."