Many years ago when my son was still quite small, we were given a cat named Sampson. He was a long haired, part Himalayan, white cat, with beautiful blue eyes. My friend, Glenda, had acquired him first from a friend of hers. Sampson, never knowing men or children, only preferred adult women. This made it hard for Glenda’s three year old toddler son, Tyler, who chased Sampson down and drug him around the house by his tail.
Sampson was an inside cat and litter box trained since had been neutered and declawed. This was a good thing because he would have otherwise run away the first chance he had getting away from Tyler.
“Michelle, you have to take him,” Glenda said to me on the phone one night. “Sampson hides under the bed and he won’t come out, not even to eat.”
Long story short, Glenda brought him over to us. My son didn’t care one way or the other. He just wanted to play with Tyler. My husband was mildly interested. My daughter, being a cat person, fell in love with him immediately but, Sampson fell in love with me. He quickly became “my cat.”
My dog, AJ, wasn’t too thrilled but she dealt with it as long as Sampson stayed out of her way. Sampson followed me around everywhere I went. He sat on the corner of my desk, or the arm of the sofa, on top of me in bed - he even followed me to the bathroom.
Sampson and AJ had their confrontation too. AJ chased him down and cornered him in the living room and Sampson reared up and smacked her on the nose. My son calmly explained to the cat, “You can’t do that Sam-pon, you don’t have no paws.”
Like all cats though, he loved to sit in boxes. We had to be careful about throwing boxes out because many times he’d be inside them. I would jokingly say this was Sampson’s way of sneaking outside. We had just bought my son a pair of shoes (toddler size) and this huge cat tried to sit inside the box. The only thing that he could fit were his four paws but, he was inside the box. That was all that mattered.
One of my most fond memories of Sampson is: I had just eaten some pickled eggs. I had about five or six of them. The cat jumped up on my desk, looked at me, and then threw up all over my hands that were placed on the desk. I looked at the cat and threw up all of the pickled eggs on top of him. Neither of us has ever been the same since.