I met Pammie shortly after moving into my apartment in 2001. It was the normal neighbor thing ``Hi, how are you'' when you ran into someone in the elevator. In August, I told her I was taking my mom and aunt to Ireland for vacation. Her first question was ``Can I watch your cats?'' I had made arrangements for a professional sitter to visit for one of the weeks I was gone, but she wasn't available the second week. A friend promised to check on them every day. There weren't enough keys for everyone, so I arranged for Pammie to get one set of keys that she would make duplicates to give to the friend. And so I went off on vacation.
When I returned to New Jersey, where my aunt lived, I called the friend to tell her I would be driving down to Washington the next day and make arrangements to pick up the keys. She said she never picked up the keys. Throughout the four-hour drive, all I could think was that my cats had been left at the mercy of a stranger for a week, and there was a good chance I'd find them starving or even dead when I got home.
Pammie was waiting for me. She explained that, since my cats' names were Tennyson and Montague, she was sure they'd like the Shakespeare or an Arthurian legend, but it turns out Tennyson preferred the tales of the Arabian nights. Monty, being Monty, liked anything. Not only had she been going in to feed them, she had gone in and read to the them so they wouldn't feel lonely being all by themselves in a relatively new home.
The boys adored her. They would run up anytime she came into my place, and if my front door was left open they'd go running over to her place. They even managed to get along with Orlando, her cat, as long as it meant they could see Pammie. When Orlando died, they provided comfort to her. She would give them special treats, Christmas presents every year, and made sure Tenny was always stocked up with his fresh-sliced turkey breast. She told the deli people at Giant that she was making sandwiches for a church group. She'd call me to ask if I needed ``You know what for You know who.'' After a while, she shortened it to leave notes that simply said ``YKW2?''
Fast forward several years, and Monty developed cancer. I had heard that cats would run away when they knew they were going to die, so their owners wouldn't have to face the emotional trauma. When things got really bad, Monty took his pain-wracked body and ran away to Pammie's, where he knew he'd be safe. She came with me to the vet's when I took him that last time, but couldn’t stand to stay once my John arrived because she was just so overwhelmed.
Tenny couldn't stand being an only child and cried miserably for two months before I finally agreed to get another cat. We found Mindy's glamour shot on adoptapet.com and decided to bring her home. The rescue people had warned me Mindy was ``overweight and demanding,'' which I consider a breed trait for Maine Coon cats, but didn't mention that she was morbidly obese and sometimes rather abusive. She hit Tenny when they first met. But she loved Pammie from the start. She'd get peckish from my putting her on a diet, and would run over to Pammie's to complain. Pammie would give her love (and occasionally a treat) and let her roam around. It was great exercise. Mindy always wanted to get out and run to Pammie's door, looking at me in confusion when it didn't open.
It was also where Tenny and Mindy reached their detente. Tenny would go in, immediately scratch the couch while staring at Mindy as if to say `I was here first.' Mindy would pretend to ignore him and immediately head to the study where she would start her almost daily walk. As Mindy became svelte and more comfortable in her surroundings (including with Tenny), her sweetness came shining through. Pammie always said it was because I had promised Mindy she was in her ``forever home'' after a succession of owners, but it was the acceptance and love from her Aunt Pammie that really helped.
On the night Pammie died, the kids stayed home, comforting me, John Auchard and my John as the police and paramedics came through. The next day, I had my door open and Pammie's door open as John Auchard and I looked for a phone book to notify her friends. Normally, Tenny and Mindy would have streaked out of my place and run to Pammie's. Instead, they sat in the doorway of my apartment, just waiting for me to come home so they could both curl around me in comfort.
It took two weeks before Mindy would even look at my front door. When she finally did, she looked toward Pammie's door, and quickly away before turning down to go along the sunwell. They know they'll never find a better friend than their Aunt Pammie.
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