There's Something About Ernie

Like some people, certain cats are just blessed with charisma.

Ernie is one of those cats.

From the day that he showed up on my deck in Bay St. Louis, exactly six years ago yesterday, it was clear the tiny three-week-old grey and white tabby kitten with the big ears and enormous paws possessed personal magnetism in spades.

Immediately upon his arrival, he started charming the fur off the feral kitties that lived under my deck, working his way into their hearts (and their food bowls).

I thought he was the cutest thing I'd ever seen. Which is why I got concerned when I saw him trying to chat up the 'possum and raccoon that also helped themselves to the cat chow after darkness fell. In the wild, personality does not determine survival of fittest.

So I brought him inside to become part of my inside feline family.

Though Little Ernie was clearly delighted with his new family of five feline brothers and sisters, the feeling was not always mutual. His arrival in our lives coincided with the other cats' third birthday; a little brother was not on their birthday list.

Ernie was oblivious. For his first year in our family, Ernie, in true little brother fashion, padded around behind Henry wherever he went. He mimicked his mannerisms. Henry was not amused and frequently swatted the little guy sending him tumbling head over tail across the room. Ernie thought it was a cool game. He wanted to be Henry when he grew up.

Henry doesn't swat him around anymore now that Ernie is twice his size. He just hides from him. Ernie doesn't mind (I'm sure he's still oblivious).

And then there's Roxie. When she arrived, a skinny, frightened little feral, Ernie gallantly showed her the ropes, sharing his food bowl, protecting her from the others' malevolent glares, lovingly washing her gaunt little face with his big, pink tongue and heeding her piteous cries for company at all hours of the day and night. Theirs was -- and is -- one of the sweetest love stories I've ever witnessed.

When I fostered her three little grandchildren a year later, Ernie was their mentor and playmate. The slept in a pile, the kitttens happily snuggled against Ernie's growing girth. When awake they dueled, the kittens batting Ernie's huge paws with their tiny ones. One by one the kittens went off to new homes. When the last one left, Ernie wandered the house disconsolately for days. He missed his little buddies.

Just recently, three more kittens (Roxie's great grandchildren) joined our foster family. The semi-feral little moppets huddled wide-eyed in the training cage hissing in terror whenever one of the adult cats came sniffing their way. Then Ernie ambled by, belly a'swingin'.

It was if a switch had been thrown. The three kittens rushed to the wall of the cage, mewing happily, three sets of paws stretched out eagerly, reaching for Ernie, batting at his tail, their own tails up and alert. And, as always, Ernie was happy to oblige.

It's the damnedest thing.