His original name was Rocky but my mom and her husband Gordon, both motorcycle enthusiasts, changed it to Harley. And like a Harley owner he was a free spirit, an individualist and had a mind of his own. T. S. Elliot said that all cats have three names. Maybe Harley was one of his names and maybe it wasn’t. In any event, he never bothered to correct them and it certainly fit.

Mom always had a strong relationship with animals. That’s how we got Arfie. The town drunk found Arfie running in a ditch and brought him to us for some inexplicable reason. Dad was adamant; he didn’t want a dog. But Mom stood her ground. She called Dad from work and told him that the dog better be home when she got home or she wasn’t coming home. So Arfie stayed.

My mom’s segment of Harley’s journey began in a pet shop. He was alone sitting in his litter box in a cage and meowed at her with his deep, loud, throaty voice so common to Siamese breeds. It was January and the kittens that had shared his cage that holiday season had already been adopted. It seemed everyone wanted kittens for Christmas but no one wanted the five-and-a-half year old cat. He looked up at her with his impossibly blue crossed eyes; the eyes that - if he had been human - begged glasses. And just like Arfie, Mom was hooked.

Mom and her husband already shared their lives with several animals. They had a standoffish female wolf, Tatonka and a sheltie named Bear. They owned a lovable but rather mentally challenged yellow Lab named Gila. She, too, had blue eyes. My sister refers to Gila as a dumb blond.

There were two parrots whose loud chirps and occasional words I could hear in the background when talking to Mom on the phone.

Like me, Mom and Gordon never pictured themselves as cat people. They were too aloof, too independent sometimes even mean. As a kid, we had a couple cats. There was Midnight when I was very young. He hid from us by climbing into the back of the couch. Once I cut open the back of the couch with a knife to get him out. Hey, I thought he was trapped!

Then there was my Grandma’s cat Cotton. She was a queen from the start. We were simply her servants, mere serfs. She minced though the house as if she owned it. She never allowed herself to be petted unless it was her idea. And that idea seldom crossed her mind. She loved to sleep in the linen closet. Getting a new towel often meant getting a face full of cat hair.

So I was rather surprised when Mom told me she adopted Harley but knowing Mom’s connection with animals I knew it was going to be an interesting journey.

Almost immediately she began reporting cat tales. He wanted to sleep with her, an idea Gordon was against. He followed her around the house. He "talked" to her with that voice of his. He waited for her at the door when it was time for her to arrive home from work.

Like all cats, Harley loved heat and sought out the warmest place in the house. He liked to snooze on the heating vents. He would seek out the sunniest windowsill to lounge on.

Mom found that his longish fur needed brushing and it became a daily ritual that they both loved and which bonded them even further.

After a few months, Mom began allowing him outside. Her ranch-style house is situated far back from the street. The front of the house is a wide expanse of treeless lawn, but the back of the house is heavily wooded with a steep hill away from the house. Lots of wild critters make their homes in the woods. Harley loved sitting out and watching the birds, squirrels, woodchucks and other varmints. He also began to relieve himself outside to the point that Mom wondered why she was maintaining a litter box inside.

Remembering when Cotton lived with us, Mom knew that cats hate to have their canned food refrigerated. So she would feed him half a can, cover it and put it in an upper cupboard. But Harley loved his canned food so he devised a way to get the balance.

He proudly brought the dripping can into the bedroom as if to say, "Hey, Mom, you forget to feed me this part." Somehow, Harley had hopped up onto the cabinet, opened the cabinet door and carried the can into the bedroom. Very resourceful for a cat!

Harley had continuing urinary problems and Mom had to watch his diet and feed him special food. She could tell when he was sick because, like most cats, he hid when he wasn’t feeling well.

You will not be surprised to learn that Hot Springs is very hot during the summer. Harley celebrated the heat. He would spend most of his days outside on a lawn chair or under a tree. When he wanted to come in, he would sit at a door and meow in that near-human voice of his. Those blue eyes demanded, "What took you so long?"

Harley was a homebody. Sometimes he disappeared overnight but he always returned from his journey the next day. Cats have a strong homing instinct and there are many stories about cats wandering far from home or accidentally being left behind. Harley must have possessed this instinct.

It was Gordon who watched Harley saunter down their long driveway on the beginning of another journey. Gordon was concerned that he was heading for the street and worried that he might get hit by a vehicle even though the traffic in Mom’s neighborhood is very light.

Gordon called to him several times. Harley stopped but didn’t turn around. I can picture him standing there facing the street. Sunlight sparkled on his whiskers. His chocolate ears swiveled back toward Gordon’s voice and his tail twitched. And then he continued his journey.

This time, Harley didn’t come home.

They waited and they called his name. They let their neighbors know that Harley was missing. He was wearing a collar with their names and phone number. He didn’t appear that night or the next morning. When another day passed, they began to fear the worst.

Maybe Harley was sick again and he chose to hide. Maybe he sought out a hot garage or outbuilding for his own personal sauna - and then couldn’t get out. Maybe a car hit him.

Who can understand what goes on in the brains of our feline friends? Their actions are inscrutable and their thoughts not available to the human mind.

Goodbye, Harley. On behalf of Mom and Gordon, I thank you for allowing them to share your life for the past five years.

Wherever your wanderings take you, we bid you Good Journey.