I think that we got Teela from my Aunt Jean. I’m pretty positive about this. That she was a farm cat, born outside, and forever an outdoor cat at heart.

Two things that stand out most about Teela, which led to something I learned about people, were that she was dumb (and it was hilarious), and she was an incredible huntress. I guess it was kind of a third thing that led to me to a better understanding of people, and I’ll tell you about it in a minute, but first —

Teela was this grayscale bobcat with triangle-like tufts of fur coming out from her neck and her jaw. She had long fur. She was poofy and sweet. She was one of those cats who, when your petting hand hit above her tail, she lifted her butt in the air and made a melodic brrt, like she was always in heat.

Teela was very light, and if you hadn’t picked her up before, even though you could see her fur was long and poofy, you’d still be surprised by how light she was. You didn’t really have to pick her up often because she was quick to jump on your lap. She’s probably the favorite cat I’ve ever had, although Athena comes pretty close.

My mother and I would laugh at Teela’s density — her dumbness. That was how we said it back then. It was the ’80s. It really wasn’t dumb, and I don’t remember much else besides her falling off the stereo receiver. We also witnessed — many times — her, walking along a table, lost in (thought) or something, and she inadvertently stepped over the edge, stumbled off of the table and fell to the ground. She would land on her feet, of course, but we would laugh, Oh my gosh! Teela is so dumb!

All of that — even everything about Teela — returns to me as warm and tender memories with my mother, who I miss very much, and with whom I later had such painful separation when we went to war in my adolescence and kept a cold distance interspersed with affections in my teenage years, and later endured a couple of decades of hair-trigger tenseness because she and my wife at the time did not get along, each guarding their own portion or claim to me. And then she died before I could get better and participate more fully in our relationship getting better. But at those dinners when my mom and I would be eating our practically separate meals because I was so picky and just couldn’t keep from gagging in response to 85% of the world’s foods and 95% of the combinations of those foods, those dinners where fairly often I’d be at the table alone because she had to excuse herself in order to not weep at the table. I could still hear her, sobbing in the bathroom, though. She was so lonely. She wanted a husband so very much. And we experienced some really delightful comic relief at the expense of Teela’s “dumbness”.

Of course, the more that I talk about it out loud now, I realize she wasn’t dumb at all. Teela’s ind was elsewhere. She was out there, inside, killing, living a fuller life.

Teela got pregnant, no surprise, and had kittens I don’t remember anything about. What I do remember is that a switch flipped in her. She began to bring all manner of prize into the house for her kittens. Even after the kittens were gone, she continued to bring things into the house. Birds in differing states of aliveness. Chipmunks as well. Large bugs. I don’t remember whether she ever brought any amphibians or reptiles in, but she once brought an ear of corn, growling like a real bobcat every time we tried to take it away. And then one day she was hit by a car.

That is a history that ended too soon. Up to now, I have merely kept a find affectionate of that cat.

With reflection, I can see a wat that Teela — the irrepressible, verdant mother — mothered both my mother and me. Accidentally and dumbly, but in a truer sense of the word.