Feline Identity Crisis

In Memory of Lilly Le Chat May 1997-May 2017 I’ve always been a doggie person. So I was rather leery when two Burmese cats--sisters--came to stay. My niece was the previous owner, but her two bulldogs were terrorizing the cats. So we came to the rescue. Sheila Rae and Lilly, named after characters in Kevin Henke's books, were in the family for at least two years before they arrived in my house. They were pleasant cats who were frequently handled--sometimes without their consent-- by my niece’s pre-school daughter, Sydney, and her friends. When we baby sat for Sydney, we always took our little peek-a-poo, Snuff, along. The kitties would snuggle up to Snuff and fall asleep. We almost bought another peek-a-poo after Snuff died. Then, on Christmas Day, 1999, the cats arrived. They adjusted quite well. Sheila became my favorite and Lilly that of my husband, Art. I called Sheila the “dog in a cat suit,” and Lilly the “cat in a cat suit.” Did I say “cats”? I prefer to call them by the French term, “chats.” Those two felines loved to hold conversations in “simulated” English. Sheila Rae, particularly, was an expert mimic. Her remarks seemed relevant to a particular situation, as if she was actually voicing her opinion. On one frigid winter day, I was certain she said, “It’s cold.” Lilly. On the other hand, was a copy-cat. Imitating me, she’d call my husband from the far reaches of the house, “Arrrrrrrt!” Lilly was playful; Sheila Rae more thoughtful. Lilly would play with anything from an old bell-toy to a fly in the house. Like her namesake in the book, she collected assorted items. She enjoyed her own version of soccer by knocking around a golf tee on the hardwood floor. Art even taught her to fetch. Sheila could have fetched if she wanted to. She just saw no reason to expend the energy. Sometimes she would bring us the fetching toy so we could entertain Lilly. Then she’d sit back on someone’s lap and watch Lilly in action. Sheila was smarter. She never came running when I shook the treat can; she knew it was a ploy to lock her up for the night. Lilly, on the other hand, wanted that treat and never recognized the consequences. Sheila socialized with everyone, especially little children. She loved to be petted, and even rolled over on her back for a tummy rub. Lilly preferred to hide when our friends arrived. She decided to retire from entertaining kids when she arrived at our home. They looked exactly alike. Both were sable, small, short-haired. Both had the body shape of Siamese. Both had yellow–green eyes and white shading on their ears. It was nearly impossible to tell them apart. Sheila Rae wore a pink collar and Lilly (of course!) donned a purple one. My son, who was a college student at the time the chats arrived, found coming home to two cats rather strange. “Cats are weird,” he said. One weekend he commented, “Could you tell them apart if I switched the collars? After all, they won’t come when you call their names.” “I could tell them by their behavior,” I said. “I’m sure the cats would come to me if I called their real, personal, names. As T.S. Eliot suggested, all cats have three names. One is private and special. We just don’t know that one.” My husband, the prankster, must have heard the conversation. While I was working in the yard on Sunday afternoon, he switched the collars. I was tired that night, and didn’t pay much attention to the cats. The next morning, I was off early, again not noticing them. Monday evening I noticed that “Lilly”was lying on the bed, belly-up waiting to be touched. “Wow,” I thought, “Sheila must be rubbing off on Lilly. This is good.” The next morning, “Sheila” was sleeping by the sofa in the family room. I was waiting for my husband to finish dressing before going out, so I picked up a cat toy on a pole and started messing around with it. “Sheila” became extremely interested, batting and playing with it. When Art walked into the room, I said, “This is so strange. Sheila is playing with the cat toy.” Art just kept walking by. That evening, it all came to a head. “Lilly” jumped up on my lap while I was watching TV. “Did you switch collars?” I said. “On Sunday! I wondered how long it would take you to notice.” We debated about switching them back. It would have been a disaster if both were collarless for even a second. We might mix them up all over again. We left the collars switched for another day. That was the really weird part of the experiment. I shook the snack food can. Both cats came running. I tossed the fetch-toy; neither was interested. It was like they were playing charades too – masquerading as each other. Did we have a cat identity crisis on our hands? After all, Art’s sister had a dog with separation anxiety. He had to take tranquilizers. I hated to hire a cat psychiatrist. So I got brave and switched them back. Sheila was in the pink again, and Lilly in the purple. Or was she? A final note: Sheila Rae (aka Sugar Rae) is now 20 years old. She is still loving, talkative, and healthy. She misses her best friend, and now sleeps on Lilly’s blanket and snuggles up to a stuffed leopard.