After a year or so of working as his gas-fitter and several camping trips with my Boss, his wife and dogs; it began to weigh heavy on the man that I didn't have a dog. I explained that I was renting and that pets were forbidden. Boss kept on about it and even suggested I move to a more accommodating place but I was still suffering a broken heart from giving up the best dog I ever had the pleasure of knowing.
That dog was a half wolf and I named him Yukon. He taught me more about dogs and about people than any other creature before him. I still mist up thinking about that good friend. I explained all this to Boss and he said that the best medicine would be another dog. I disagreed and held firm to my broken heart.
One morning I was summoned into the office by our receptionist, Katy. I figured I was in some sort of trouble, like the time someone phoned in that my work truck had been seen parked at night on a week-end in Chinatown near a movie theatre. It was strictly off limits for me to use the company vehicle for personal business but I was between vehicles and I had a date to go on. He gave me a good talking to over that one.
I walked in to see what I had done now. Boss had a conspiratorial grin on his friendly face. That perplexed me. I knew it wasn't about a raise. I had just that year secured one for me and for Lars, my young apprenticed helper. I had to go to the big house, eat a moose kielbasa sausage and polish off a bottle of whisky while explaining to him and to his cockatiel why I was worth it. I got two bucks per hour and Lars got one for not showing up on his own.
“Mick,” he said, “We all feel so bad about you being dog-less and all so we got you a little present.”
He reached under his oak desk and pulled out a tiny black squirming thing. He reached his big hand across the desk and dropped a kitten in my own hand. Then he leaned back on his chair and smiled like Buddha.
“I found him in the heat exchanger of an old furnace yesterday. Poor bugger is covered in soot and scared to beat Jesus.”
Sure enough, it was a yellow tabby and both my hands and my shirt were soon besmirched with the indelible oily soot which coated its body. Only its eyes, teeth and tongue had escaped the blackening. The little fellow looked up at me trembling and mewed. My heart melted and I said thanks to Boss.
“He's gonna be a gas fitter's cat so I'm gonna call him Thermocouple.”
Boss slapped his leg, “That's the spirit, Mick. Sure as hell ain't no dog but it's the thought that counts, eh?"
I had to use GoJo hand cleaner and a dozen rags to get Thermocouple clean enough to have a proper bath. As it turned out he hated water. I tried to use all the knowledge I had garnered from dog ownership and apply it to this, my first cat. I bought him a bowl and some good healthy food. I took him home and introduced him to his new domain.
It was a pretty house situated on the Upper Levels Highway and the bay window had a commanding view of the lights of Vancouver at night. That is really the reason why I stayed there. The floors were polished spruce and I waxed them to a sheen. Thermocouple never walked but liked to dart everywhere so he spent much of the time skidding out of control.
The first month he skittered across the living room and knocked over one of my Sansui speakers, putting a wicked dent in the tweeter. I still use those speakers which I bought in 1977. They don't make them like that anymore.
I was playing chess by correspondence at the time and kept several boards set up in the living room with the games in progress. It was a deliciously slow way to do combat as one had to wait for the letter containing the next move. To get the letters I had to hike a mile down steep Lonsdale Avenue to the PO Box I'd set up at the Post Office by Esplanade next to the old Paine's Hardware Store and trudge all the way back.
Thermocouple grew like a weed and soon was a respectable sized puddy. He must have gotten bored waiting for me to return home at night or perhaps he had become interested in chess. At any rate, I stepped through the door one evening with a letter in my hand from a foreign correspondent that contained a long awaited move.
I flicked on the light and turned on the Sansui. Message In A Bottle poured out of the speakers. I felt something crack under my boot. It was a pawn! I looked to the coffee table where the chess boards were set up. Only the boards remained. I never did find all the pieces. Rather, I found them in the most unlikely places months later after the incident.
Then and there I decided that Thermocouple could no longer be trusted at home alone. I went out and bought a little chest harness which I called his suspenders and a long leash. I sat him down and explained to him that he'd been a very bad boy and thus was going to henceforth accompany me to work each day.
The first day I took a lot of ribbing from Lars, Katy and the Boss. I ignored their jokes. When Lars and I got to the job-site we sprang into action. Lars was doing the ducting and I was doing the pipe. First I had to set up my threading vise and threading oil bucket. It was a Rigid 300 and weighed more than I did. I got some scraps of wood to stand on because she was pouring rain and I didn't want to get electrocuted by the worn extension cord I meant to replace someday.
I tied Thermocouple's leash to the steering wheel and left the window open so he could have air and even go out onto the hood if he'd a mind to. He just sat on a box of pressure regulators and stared at me as I disappeared into the house. A few minutes later, I heard the unmistakable sound of Lar's laughter and came to see what was so funny.
It was soon evident to me what had been the source of mirth. There was Thermocouple dangling in mid-air by his suspenders from a length of one inch gas pipe which was strapped to the roof of the truck. He looked like he was trying out for Cirque de Soleil. He had evidently gone out exploring onto the hood of the truck and made a jump at the roof of the garage a foot away. He missed, wound up short of rope and fouled his line over the jutting pipe in the bargain.
I took the little fellow down and tied his leash to a young maple in the front yard. He was a sturdy cat and already sodden so I figured he could get under the foliage and start to dry off a bit. Lars and I went about our business. I could see the lady of the house looking out of the kitchen window and admiring Thermocouple each time I came out to thread a new piece of pipe.
After an hour she slid open the window, “Excuse me, do you mind if I take that poor, adorable kitty inside out of this awful rain while you work. I'll take good care of him until you are finished. It's no problem, I have a cat as well. What's his name?”
“Thank-you Ma'am. That is mighty sweet of you. His name is Thermocouple and he's a gas fitting cat. He's OK outside, really.”
“I insist.”
“Alright. We both appreciate it.”
The lady came out and ceremoniously undid the leash. Thermocouple flew into her arms immediately. She cuddled him and baby-talked to him and he purred up a storm. They disappeared into the nice warm house and my heart glowed at witnessing such humanity and female compassion. I went into the basement to assemble some pipe and place the straps to secure them with. About forty minutes later I headed back outside to cut some more lengths after I had taken my next measurements.
When I returned to the threading machine, I was surprised to see Thermocouple sitting forlorn in a small puddle under the maple. I looked at the wee fellow and then up at the window. The lady slid open the glass and thrust her head out into the rain.
“You're fucking cat ate all my cat's food, drank all his milk and then scratched the shit out of him!”
She slammed the window shut so hard the glass rattled. I decided it was time for lunch and went in to get Lars. He laughed all the way to the truck and at one point he could scarcely draw breath. I told him to shut-up as I picked up my cat and we three climbed into the dry dirty rig.
I was having cognac liver paste on Caraway rye with Port Salut cheese and thin sliced onions while Lars was having a chunk of chicken his Mum had made the night before and cut so he could also put it between two thick pieces of buttered Heim-gemacht Roggen Brot. It was dressed with home-made Danish cucumber pickle, fresh lettuce and mayonnaise. I poured some kitty kibbles into an end cap of four inch tin duct and sat it on the floor for Thermocouple.
He sat brooding in the space between the two seats sitting on a box of greasy two inch elbows listening to the radio with us. I had towelled him off and he looked like he was getting his mojo back. Lars and I opened our Thermos bottles. I had Medaglia d'Oro black and Lars had English Breakfast with plenty of crème and sugar. We both had a little Irish Mist to quell the dank.
A Tom Petty song came on the radio and I had to put my sandwich down on the dash to play air guitar to the solo. Lars was learning to play guitar in those days so he followed suit. When the solo ended, Lars took over the bass and I went onto the drums. We laughed and picked up our food only when the song had ended.
I was fiddling with the windshield wipers when I heard Lars swear in Danish. I snapped my head around and saw two things. Lars holding two perfectly good pieces of Roggen Brot in his left hand and Thermocouple heading into the back of the truck with the chicken and lettuce firmly in his jaws, leaving a trail of mayonnaise festooned with cucumber pickle and all the way back.
I am a man of principle and I immediately gave half of my half sandwich to my protégé and began the oration of a stern lecture to the feline delinquent. Thermocouple listened from deep in the back of the van while licking his mitts on top of a roll of BX cable. I knew he had ignored my tuition because he hissed like a tea kettle when Lars threw him a piece of bread to go with the chicken.
In time, I learned that cats are not at all like wolves and in fact, they resent the comparison. When Spring came I began to let Thermocouple explore my back yard. He was good and came home every few days. Then it happened. He didn't show up for a week. For two weeks. After a month I stopped hoping and began the grieving process.
Around late Summer when the blackberries are best, I saw the old man who lived next door. He was housebound and lived alone. I had rarely seen him outside. He was sitting in his wheelchair in his back yard. Over the bramble-covered picket fence I could see his hands were busy with something. I walked up to the fence to talk and pick some berries.
The old fellow had a tartan blanket pulled over his ancient knees and perched on top of it was the most majestically pleasant cat I had ever seen. The miniature tiger regarded me with narrowed eyes in a manner not unfriendly yet firmly defiant. The old gent greeted me and then formally introduced himself and his wondrous cat, Sandy.
He said "Sandy" had miraculously materialized one night on his open window sill back in the Spring and that they had instantly made fast friends. He reached into a tin and teased out a bit of smoked salmon for the cat and stroked its chin with a pale bony finger. I was genuinely happy for both Thermocouple and for the elder.
I thought instantly of the phrase, “What God hath joined together let no man put asunder.”
I winked at Sandy and I could have sworn that he winked back.
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