. It seems only right that I should begin some of the cattales I will be sharing with the story of the cat who started it all over thirty years ago. We called him “Sam” and this is his story.


I didn't know anything about cats. The one I had when I was in school had disappeared twenty-five years before and I'd never had another. But that creature with the huge tail wasn't the raccoon my mom said she'd seen. It was most definitely, a cat. And it was spitting at me and screeching at the same time.

I had just come from the fish market and as my mind was still on food, I thought perhaps his (hers?) might be too! "Are you hungry, kitty?"

"Yeow! Spppt!"

I had steamer clams. On the spot, I grabbed one out, opened it with my fingernails and offered it to him (her).

I was made to understand I should put it down and withdraw a proper distance. Another hiss and a swift swipe with a paw make a quick learner out of me. And then, the creature sniffed it disdainfully and backed away to sit and glare at me for getting its hopes up.

At least it gave me a chance to look at it and I could easily see why Mom had spoken of a raccoon living in the old chicken coop on the hill. This cat had long hair, was black and gray (a silver tabby ) striped and had a full plume of a tail. What a beauty he was! My admiration was cut short by another yowl, more pitiful this time, as though having gained my attention, he could afford to be more polite. He was waiting when I came back with more acceptable food.

According to the vet, he was an unaltered male of about eighteen months or so and, although thin and hungry, in good health. In case no one responded to my newspaper "Found" ad, I made an appointment to have him altered in one month. Mom and I had already decided he could stay if no one claimed him. He was that kind of personality cat. As he had been wearing both a flea collar and a black leather "diamond" studded one, however, I was sure someone was looking for him.

No one even called about him and so the beautiful stray, whose name I think now must have been a registered one, became plain Sam. It was a year or so later that a cat-educated friend identified him as a Maine Coon cat and probably, from his behavior when she handled him, he had been shown. By then he was very much a part of the family and I would have hissed and spat myself had anyone tried to take him from us.

He had only one bad habit. He adored to climb into cars and sleep. I always checked my car before I started out after the first time I had gotten a full block before I heard him complaining from the back seat. I often wondered if that was how he came to Holyoke and why his former owner didn't see my ad. Holyoke is on Route 91 that runs from Vermont through Connecticut. Perhaps he had become a traveler unintentionally.

Sam was soon a familiar sight in our quiet residential neighborhood. When my mom went for her prescribed walk each fine day, Sam prowled three paces behind, bearing that tail like a flag. The dogs soon learned not to bother him and folks found out I was serious when I warned them about allowing their dogs to run into our yard. The laughed - the first time. After Sam chased their canines once, they were more careful - both dogs and owners! Sam, at his puffed up best, was in impressive sight.

My own dogs lived in respectful harmony with him and he adopted each and every stray cat that followed him. I often thought he must have sent out the word, because, we, who had never had strays around, seemed to be attracting them. Sam in 1979, was the first of over more than thirty-five in the years that followed.  Sam-Sam the traveling man, became "Grampa Sam" to them all, accepting, grooming, protecting. He welcomed, and we welcomed, every unfortunate to wander in. Even though he's gone now, his influence lingers and we still accept whomever he sends if we can.

When Sam got sick, my veterinarian, who loves and knows cats, did all she could for him and for six months or more, he was happy and comfortable. After we were forced by love to let him go, I brought him home and buried him in his favorite place by the back steps. We still talk to him when we pass.

I have always wondered who he was and where he came from. I know his former owners must have been devastated by his loss and I wish I could tell them to grieve no more. Sam had a full and happy life and gave richly to everyone who came in contact with him. But, most important of all, I would tell them that their lost kitty slept on my bed, ate from my plate (sometimes!) and ruled the household. He wasn't lost, frightened or alone for long. Indeed, he was royally loved and after all these years, I still miss him. There have been lots of cats since Sam, but there will never be another like him.