Voodoo, the Lady's Man

Voodoo, the Lady Killer

If a cat could talk as humans talk, Voodoo would have had a tale to tell. As cats go, he was the cat's meow, the top banana and every cliche I can think of for being top dog, in this case, top cat.

Voodoo was a large, black cat, weighing about 20 lbs. He was long, muscular and looked much like a panther when he went on the prowl. His eyes were yellowish green, lovely really. He was all black. We could not find even one hair on him that was not solid black..

When we, my little daughter and I, were deciding on names, we first thought to call him Lucifer. However, that seemed to be tempting the gods to mess with his mind and perhaps cause him harm, or us, so we looked at other names such as Devil Boy, Unlucky and Death Ray. We finally decided on Voodoo which we felt was respectful of his dark nature but not too anti-Jesus or politically incorrect. This was in the late 1960's when political correctness was just beginning to plague our society. It was also before mutilating, uhm, spaying animals, was popular for population control.

We lived in a large city full of condominium neighborhoods. In our neighborhood, Voodoo came to reign but only after many fierce battles and near upsets. Several times, he came home with large strips of fur missing. We would clean the wounds, push the fur back into place and apply a soothing salve. He lay quietly for our medical care, but he would not tolerate bandages. He always miraculously healed. I didn't have money in those days for vet bills, so Voodoo had to trust in me and my daughter for his cures.

One day, our closest neighbor came to call. He said, "Voodoo finally did it. He fought and won and now is the only male tomcat in the neighborhood." As though knowing we were talking about him, Voodoo stretched to his full length and paced around the room a few times as though to say "look at me, ain't I grand?"

I was really quite fond of the cat although I pretended to be disinterested most of the time. Why? I have no idea. Once, however, we almost came to blows.

Voodoo liked to sleep on the stairway leading from the upper story bedrooms and bath down to the lower living areas and kitchen. Once, in the middle of the night, I was walking barefoot down the steps, did not see him and stepped squarely on his belly. He let out a howl that could have frightened the dead, screeched and scratched and his carrying on actually threw me headlong down the steps. Fortunately, my neck was not broken but I suffered a painful back for months and had the expense of four chiropractor visits. He never learned to stay off the steps, but I learned to watch out for him more carefully.

He found a feline girlfriend once and stayed away for seven weeks. That was his longest vacation, and my daughter and I looked for him high and low, traveling the highways of Richmond, Virginia in our trusty green Nissan. One day, he just walked in as though nothing had happened. So, I fed him.

A few years later, after much love and affection (from us to him as cats I've known didn't show affection), Voodoo died. That's the only time I took him to a vet, trying to save him. I was told he had cat's leukemia. I didn't know cats could get leukemia. Frankly, I was devastated.

Voodoo was a character, a beloved one and I miss him to this day. My daughter is now 35, and she and I sometimes still talk about our beloved Voodoo, "the lady killer."