When Pitkins came home and was greeted by a hysterical Donive telling him that the cat she had graciously welcomed into their home had gone crazy, grabbed groceries from her, soiled them beyond recovery, and was still guarding them, Pitkins’ first instinct was to grab the wretched thing by its back legs, toss it as far as he could throw it, and hope it got the message that it had worn out its welcome.
But, as often is the case after hysterical summations are given, the details—as they trickle in one by one—often paint the inexplicable in a slightly more logical light. Pitkins asked what it was the little devil had taken, thinking for certain it must be fish.
When Donive told him it was a new cooking spice she had purchased, that seemed strange. He had grown up with cats, and he had never seen or heard of a cat so interested in cooking spices.
Pitkins walked outside and saw Pitkins still guarding the soiled spices. He was then thoroughly befuddled—as men often are with their wives—when she then began to tell him that she suspected Bandit might have believed there was something dangerous about the spices. In Pitkins’ mind, that information would have been more logically given first. In Donive’s mind, that would have made for one boring story.
Pitkins stooped down and petted Bandit’s head and looked deeply into his eyes, as Donive had done. He also saw the intelligence that Donive had seen. He thought he would try a little experiment. He went and got a shovel and dug a small hole next to the spices.
Then, he looked at Bandit, and as many pet owners do who do not believe for a moment their animal can understand their exact words, Pitkins said to Bandit, as if he were talking to a toddler, “Baaaad, right?” pointing to the spices. Bandit lazily closed his eyes and then reopened them.
Pitkins then dug a small hole right next to Bandit. As he did so, he felt strangely unnerved by the degree of intelligence and intensity he saw in Bandit’s eyes. It seemed as if they were opening up his very soul and examining the contents carefully.
Dispensing with the childish talk, Pitkins looked directly at Bandit and then slowly moved his shovel towards the soiled spices. Bandit’s eyes followed him carefully. They now had a cunning look about them, suggesting any trick would be in vain.
To Pitkins’ satisfaction, Bandit sat passively while Pitkins put some of the contents in the hole he had dug. Bandit then moved away from the soiled spices completely but kept his eyes peeled on Pitkins.
Pitkins put all of the soiled spices into the hole and filled it back in with dirt. Bandit then sauntered towards Pitkins, rubbed his side against both of his legs, and then lay flat on his back. Pitkins felt the hairs standing up on the back of his neck. Something told him this was no ordinary cat. He had read stories as a child about dogs doing amazing things to keep their families from danger, but never had he heard of a cat taking such extreme measures to protect its family from something it judged nefarious.
He stroked Bandit’s belly softly, and as he listened to his soft purr he almost began to think he had imagined the whole thing.