It was time.
When I moved to Phoenix in October of ’73, I knew it was time. I wanted to get a cat. I needed a cat. An ad in the local newspaper led me to Mrs Bates, a breeder.
“Yes, I breed Cornish Rex cats. I have two kittens available for good homes. Are you familiar with the breed?”
“No, I haven’t even heard of them. Are they new?”
“Yes, relatively. The breed is a mutation that appeared in Cornwall, England. They have a plush wavy coat. And they’re great pets.”
“This is Blackie, he’s for sale.”
I picked him up and petted his wonderful soft fur. His face was pointy, like a Siamese, not round like most meows I’d know. We got along well.
“I’m going back to visit my folks in Iowa for a couple of weeks. Would you maybe consider holding him until I return if I give you a deposit on him?”
“You mean like layaway, right? I’ve never done that, but I can see you’re a real cat person so yes, I’ll do that.”
His price was $75 (about $475 in 2024 dollars); she gave me a receipt for my $50 deposit.
I went to get ‘Blackie’ a couple of weeks later. Mrs. B brought him out to the living room and set him on the floor. He was tall, for a two-month-old guy, and slim. And he was almost bouncing off the walls. Such energy!
Oh, he’s so lively! I hadn’t realized that. I’m not sure I’ll have time for so much energy — I’ll be going to grad school at ASU in January. But he sure is gorgeous.”
“True, he’s very active…” she agreed. “Let me show you his brother, Blue.”
Out he came, a blue-gray kitten, with a wonderful wavy coat, copper eyes, and much more sedate.
I knew him right away. “That’s my kitty! I want him!”
“You can see he has a plusher coat, the best of the litter. So he costs a little more.”
“No problem. I need him.”
“Great. But you need to know that I never give the papers for my kittens until you send proof of neutering.” This was to prevent unauthorized breeding, and to keep the breed “pure.”
Still no problem. I didn’t want to raise any babies, cats, people, or others. He was my kitty!
When Blue and I got home, he told me in no uncertain terms that he did not like that name at all. I suggested Harvey. He said “Mrrrrow” which I assumed meant yes. We were set, numerous adventures undoubtedly in our future.
As we got to know each other, he showed me his favorite cat games. I’d take a break from my studies, and sit on the floor in the living room as he hid behind one of the chairs or the sofa. Then he’d leap out to scare me. ‘Spook in the Bathtub’ was another favorite. He’d hide in the tub as I peeked in behind one end of the shower curtain as he jumped up to scare me, his eyes huge.
Since I knew I’d be moving to a new assignment in a year or so it seemed smart to get him ready for travel now, as a young guy. He didn’t complain much at all when I put on a little red harness. We’d go for short rides in the car, Harv in his red suit so I could keep control of him. I tried taking him for walks in my townhouse community, but cats sure are not dogs!
“Why do you have to stop at every little bush and plant?” I asked.
“I need to know about other cats here in my territory, silly!”
Fortunately, we never ran into other cats, I sure didn’t want my blue-blood boy to get attacked or anything! Our walks were few and far between then, although I did take him out on the patio, of course with his red suit. Rexes are especially good jumpers, and I didn’t want him disappearing over the patio wall!
Sister Linda and brother JJ visited over Christmas and met Harv, as well as seeing Sedona, and many gorgeous Arizona sights. Not my favorite visit because I spent so much time in gas lines — that was during the 1973 oil embargo.
A week or so later, Linda called with a plan.
“I’d like to apply for a sabbatical next year, to get away from the Iowa winter. How about I live with you and Harv for a year and take a few classes at ASU?”
“Great idea, right, Harv?
“Mrrrow,” he agreed and the three of us had a happy household for the next year, often enjoying the patio. Until the day I foolishly let him out alone on the patio, no red suit, assuming he could never jump over the six-foot wall. Several minutes later I almost had a heart attack.
“Linda! Quick! Harv is gone!” We ran out the patio gate, no sign of him. Then I saw him, huddled in a nearby doorway. The community sprinklers had come on just as he jumped over the wall so he ran to the closest dry place.
I’m sure you can imagine how much petting and love he got as we went home? And he never was alone in the patio again!
Another problem was my piano. I’d recently bought it because I wanted to learn to play more than my current specialty, Chopsticks. Yes, I’d had lessons as a kid, but what kid wants to spend hours and hours practicing scales? But now, as I tried to play, Harv let me know in no uncertain terms (yowls) what he thought of amateur musicians. He was a talker/singer and wanted to be the star, no accompanist!
That summer, my MBA in hand, found me heading to a new position in Stuttgart, Germany. Harv and I agreed that he had to go along, but my vet didn’t know what to do about foreign travel!
“I’ve made many pet health certificates, but I have no idea what Germany will want,” said the cat doctor. I had no idea, either. But I finally thought of contacting the German consulate in Los Angeles.
“Help! I’m going to Stuttgart with the government and I absolutely must take my cat Harvey with me. Can you tell me what I need to do?”
With a slight German accent, “Of course! We Germans love animals, too. We’d be happy for your Harvey to visit. I’ll send you a health certificate in both German and English. Have your vet fill it out. And have a wonderful trip!”
With Harv in his red suit, I drove my little yellow Celica to the New York area where a friend had agreed to buy it. At the international terminal at JFK, I got checked in as did Harv in his under-the-seat carrier. My boy was not going to ride in the baggage compartment of the plane — he was a blue blood and he knew it! Lucky for us, the airline allowed one pet per cabin in those days.
The overnight flight went very peacefully. Harv was quiet, probably frightened by the strange smells and noises. But his person was with him and that’s what mattered. We landed at Frankfurt in the morning.
A friend who was living elsewhere in Germany picked us up and took us to Stuttgart. He had met Harv several times in Tempe; they got along quite well. We headed south on the autobahn, stopping at a restaurant along the way for lunch. A couple of people had their dogs with them in the restaurant, quite acceptable in Germany. So nobody took a second look at Harv in his red harness and leash.
Unlike many military bases at that time, pets were allowed in the bachelor officer quarters at Patch Barracks, so we settled in. Germany is so often a cold, gray place, but we were in luck. In my apartment, radiators were right under the windows. So Harv had a warm shelf to enjoy observing life from my third-floor window while I was at work in an old and cold office.
What a great group of folks were at Patch at that time. Everyone got to know Harv, often stopping to visit the ‘corduroy kitty’! My friends knew how much I didn’t like cooking. Harv loved it when I did cook once in a while. He’d steal a hot pad to play with. Cats are good at making their own games, and I guess there was a good cooking smell on it that he liked!
Harv had one special friend at Patch, George, who lived a floor above us. He volunteered to take care of Harv once or twice when I was gone for a couple of days. In return, he wanted me to go ice skating. ARGH!!! Yes, I used to skate back in Iowa, but that was years ago.
Nevertheless, I asked my mother to send my skates, stored in her basement, to Germany. They came, but I always found excuses to not go skating. Then one day I loaned them to the wife of a coworker who was going to Garmisch, a winter resort, and wanted to try ice skating. Harv suggested that I tell her to keep them.
“Wonderful idea, Harv. You already knew I didn’t want to do any skating, didn’t you?”
After a couple of years in Deutschland, we headed home for my new assignment in San Antonio, TX. Bad news! The flight was late arriving at JFK so we missed our connection. A hotel was not a problem, nor cat food since I always had some in my bag. But what about kitty litter? Then it came to me.
“Harv, do you remember when you were a little boy at Mrs. B’s house? She used to tear up newspaper for all her kitties to use in their kitty box. Kitty litter was a little expensive. How about doing that now?”
“Meow-rrrow,” or OK, he said. I ran down to the lobby for a newspaper. Our stay went quite well.
I was looking forward to my new job in San Antonio in Contracting. After quickly settling in a new house, we returned to our routines, me working and Harv napping to be ready for any challenge that might come. And one certainly did!
Sister Linda came to live with us for a while and took care of him while I was working. Because my house was new, there was no yard yet. Yes, the builder had put sod in the front yard. OK, but what an ugly backyard I had. Lin and I tried to do a bit, but it was so difficult, and we never did have much success. Nevertheless, Lin often took Harv out there to smell the flowers (weeds). Then one day while I was at work, Harv found a mouse in that ugly backyard. It must have been very old or weak because he was able to pick it up in his mouth and take it up to the patio.
“Mrrwow?” he asked Linda, indicating that it was time to go inside.
“OK, let’s go,” she said as she opened the patio door, letting Harv and the mouse into MY house!!!
Harv dropped it inside the door and wouldn’t you know, it ran straight to my bedroom as if it knew the way! It wasn’t half dead after all!
“Oh oh, Harv! Guess I wasn’t paying attention! I better do something about that mouse. Your mom will kill me if she finds a live mouse here.”
She was right, she’d have been dead meat if I’d come home to a live mouse in my bedroom! But I didn’t. She admitted the story as soon as I got there, knowing Harv would tell me anyway.
“I was wearing my clunky shoes, you know what a mess the yard is. So I went into the bedroom, trying to think of a way to catch the thing. I guess it saw me and started to head into the bathroom. I held up my foot slightly and the mouse just ran into it or something, and I put my foot down a bit. That was enough, lucky for me. I got a garbage bag and swept him in. And you’d have been none the wiser, but I knew Harv would squeal on me!”
No sign that the mouse had even been there, lucky for Linda. And life continued as before. Until the day she suggested Harv needed a little brother or sister. Why I agreed, I will never know. Maybe I figured it would be good for her as well as for Harv. A month or so later, we found Danny at a cat show downtown. Also a Rex, but white and sturdier than Harv, he certainly was not as sexy as my boy. Danny was young so pretty mischievous. Soon we all admitted that Danny was Linda’s cat, not mine. Harv preferred being an only child.
Danny would have to go in the cat carrier at times, a time-out for a bad boy. One evening Linda was gone somewhere and her boy Dan started acting up. I shut him in the cage for a while. As Linda came in the door, Harv ran to her yelling, “Your kitty was a bad boy so he had to go in the cage.” At least that’s what we figured his many meows were saying!
After a couple of years, we were transferred back to Germany, this time to Ramstein Air Base. “Get out your health certificate, Harv!”
I soon found an apartment, a nice one just made for having friends over. Harv was pretty friendly with all of them, even the foolish few who were not real cat people! My job was fine, everything was great. Even when our HQ US Air Forces Europe’s headquarters building was car-bombed by German terrorists, life quickly returned to normal
Then my unit got a new commander, always an uncertain time for us worker-bees. At the introductory party, his wife surprised, shocked, really, most of us by pulling out and lighting up a full-size cigar after dinner. A bit later I told her I had to leave early.
“Sorry, Mrs Johns, I need to get home to my son.”
“Oh, what’s his name?”
“Harvey.”
“And how old is Harvey?”
I had to think for a moment, “He’s six.” And off I went.
A few weeks later I ran into her on base and she inquired after my son. Sheepishly, I admitted that my son was actually Harvey, my cat. She loved the joke, and absolutely roared with laughter, thank goodness!
Mom came for a visit and was happy to renew her friendship with Harv. A dog person at heart, she knew she’d better appreciate my boy. Good thing they were friends for he was to visit her soon!
Back to the States again, this time to teach AFROTC at Texas A&M University. As usual, we visited Mom in Iowa then I flew to College Station. Mom agreed to host Harv for a couple of weeks until I could find a new car; I’d sold mine in Germany.
I soon found a house but it was not a home without my meow. And poor Harv, he was stuck in Iowa! Not that my family would not take wonderful care of him, but cat people understand that he needed his person and his person needed him!
An ad on a campus bulletin board was my answer. A professor was flying his little airplane from College Station to Minneapolis and was looking for riders. I immediately called him.
“Are you coming back here from Minneapolis?”
“Yes, I’ll only be there two days then fly back. Do you want to fly up and back?”
“No, I don’t want to fly at all. But might you stop in northern Iowa and bring back a passenger?”
I hesitated to explain but finally admitted it was a pet. “My special cat Harvey is at my mother’s house and I’m trying to get him down here. Would you consider it?”
He agreed to stop in Mason City for Harv. Linda met him at the airport with Harv in his travel crate and off they went. They got back a little late, the man later explained, because he’d had to fly a little lower than usual because the landing gear wouldn’t raise. And Harv complained all the way! But the pilot had done a good deed and been paid for it, and Harv and I were happy. My house was now a home.
Sadly, less than a year later Mom was diagnosed with cancer. I immediately applied for a humanitarian reassignment to Offutt AFB, the Air Force installation nearest Mason City. The Air Force can be so good in difficult situations such as mine. My application was approved and when school got out in late May Harv and I drove north to Mason City to visit Mom, and then on to Omaha, my new assignment. I planned to go home regularly to see her; Harv would stay in Omaha with a new neighbor.
My new townhouse was great and close to the base. “And Harv, look at all these stairs! You’ll sure get your exercise here, won’t you?”
“Rrrrow!”
Sad to say, Mom passed away within just a few weeks, not the months we’d hoped for. It was so difficult for all of us to lose such a strong, positive, and wonderful lady, but life went on. Our only new adventure during our Omaha days was when a tornado was forecast for the area. Harv and I quickly adjourned to the basement, but luck was with us and all of Offutt. The tornado never hit us.
My time was up and California beckoned, a new assignment. We loaded up my Mazda and headed West. It’s quite a distance so we spent the first night in Trinidad, CO, right off the interstate. I asked the desk clerk why the name Trinidad seemed so familiar, maybe a famous ski area?
“No, we’re not really big skiers here. But one of our doctors probably does more sex-change operations than most anywhere else.”
“Argh, Harv! We better sleep fast and be on our way. We don’t need any rumors starting about us!”
Settled, finally in Califonia, Harv sure liked my house there. It was built around an atrium that soon became Harv’s favorite place. Tons of sun, no dogs, cars, or little kids to bother him.
Norton AFB, where I was assigned, also flew C-141 transport aircraft, mainly across the Pacific.
“Harv, do you think we should consider Hawaii now?” I’d always wanted to go to Hawaii. “Maybe I could meet a pilot at Happy Hour or something and get him to smuggle you over there?”
“Rrrrrow.” But I knew that would never work, Hawaii was not to be a home for the two of us.
One Saturday morning, Harv was behaving very strangely. He stayed in my guest room looking at the sewing machine. He didn’t do anything, just stayed right there watching. Then I finally saw it, a huge lizard of some sort! It had obviously gotten into the atrium via a drainage pipe, then came into the house via the open door; I often left the doors to the atrium open when the weather was good.
“Gary! Help!”
From next door my tall Marine neighbor came running over, saw the thing, ran home for heavy gloves, and grabbed the monster. plunking a cardboard box over it. I found a flat cardboard which he slid carefully under the shoe box. Thank goodness it worked! He took the ugly critter out back and threw it over the wall into the vacant lot next door. Geckos are one thing but this guy was huge. I still don’t know what it was but Gary was my hero that day. And Harv had proved his love, he’d protected me.
My two years were up. There was a job possibility in Washington DC, but when I found out that the apartments near the Pentagon mostly had ‘no pet’ rules, Harv and I agreed that we were better off in California. I retired and stayed right there.
Harv was no spring chicken, but then neither was I! He was having health problems, kidney trouble. I learned that that was the most common ailment in older felines. Such a sweet kitty, he put up a good fight but one day at the cat doctor’s, the vet said it was time to let him go. I broke into tears, my dear boy, my friend for so many years, and so many travels!
“Couldn’t I take him home for just one more night?”
“After 17 years, of course, you both deserve one more night together.”
Home we went, overwhelming sadness on my part, but just not feeling well on his. He slept with me, as usual, but was not himself, not at all. In the morning I knew I had to put him first. He was suffering, poor little guy. At the vet’s I stroked his still-curly fur as he went to sleep.
Farewell, most wonderful, special friend. Thank you, Harvey, for all the companionship, the fun, and the love!