It was Christmas in the desert. Arizonas weather was sunny and warm. The smell of the holidays was in the air. The scent of burning mesquite wood from the fireplaces throughout the neighborhood signaled that people were in the holiday spirit. Many homes were decorated with colorful lights that twinkled in the cool night air. In the tradition of the season, strands of chili peppers were hanging outside our neighbor's doors.

Our family room was decorated with a beautiful tree. A warm, crackling fire was burning in the fireplace. Shamoka, the family feline, was rolling about under the tree, playfully rearranging the decorations. No tinsel for this house favorite! Every cat lover needs to know that tinsel can cause major problems for their pet. Her eyes sparkled from the glow of the fire and you could see the reflection of the Christmas balls in her eyes. What a beautiful cat she was. How very special.

Shamoka was not an ordinary cat. She was a beautiful part-Siamese. She had a creamy colored coat with stripes and dots strewn about. Her eyes where a sparking, bright royal blue. She had the traditional dark mask on her face like most of her breed. She was part of the family; someone who brought laughter and happiness into our home; someone who taught us to appreciate the joy of living in the present.

It was fun to watch the playful way she would stalk and tease, then fetch a tiny salamander to our back door. There are not many mice in Scottsdale. She would sit at the back door with her paw on its tail and meow, until someone would come to the door to see what she wanted. It was as if she were saying, "Aren't you proud of me? I may be 87 in cat years, but I've still got it!" All she wanted was to be loved. We would reach down, give her a pat on the head, pick her up and bring her inside, while the salamander scampered away into the bushes.

She refused to come when she heard, "Kitty, Kitty, Kitty! Here Kitty, Kitty!" She would just look at you with those beautiful eyes, tilt her head to the left just a bit and you would swear you could hear her say, "What's wrong with you guys? There are no kittens in this house!" When you whistled, she would come running just as fast as her little legs would carry her. Perhaps, we mused, she thought she was a dog.

My sister, Ginny, and her daughter, Staci, were visiting us to escape the cold of a Kansas City winter. We had not spent time together for several years. There was a noticeable tension in the air because of past family misunderstandings and I wanted everything to be just right.

We were having a great time making homemade tamales. It had been many years since we played in the kitchen together. The smell of turkey, New Mexico chilies, and corn masa filled the house with a wonderful aroma. The clanging of the pans and the shuffling of silverware didn't seem to disturb our family watch-cat in the least.

Shamoka was laying on a big chair. Her eyes were half closed. We could tell she was watching us. She would lazily change positions, often rolling over on her back and hoping someone would come by and rub her tummy, pretending not to notice all of the many aromas that filled the room. All the while she was twitching her tail and most likely thinking only of leftovers.

It was late. We were all very tired from the days activities together. The break from our normal everyday routine was taking its toll. Ginny and Staci shared the bed in the guest room. We had all said our good nights and had just settled in when I heard screams coming from their room. I thought, "Oh! My gosh! What on earth has happened? What could be ruining this perfectly beautiful day?"

I called out to Ginny to ask if everything was okay. She was laughing so hard she could hardly speak. It seemed that Shamoka, our little four legged friend, was playfully attacking their feet. Thinking quickly, I whistled and Shamoka came running into my bedroom, jumped upon the bed and went straight for my feet. I let out a scream and began to laugh.

It was their turn. They whistled and Shamoka ran back to their room. In the darkness I could hear my sister laugh and say to her daughter, "Where do you think she is?" Then, once again, screams and laughter rolled out of the room. Shamoka had surprised them again.

Again I whistled. I could hear the sound of tiny feet running down the hall but when she got to the door of my room she would stop, and sneak in so I never knew what end or side of the bed she was going to jump on. I just laid there in anticipation, wondering what was going to happen next. Then, all of a sudden, she would make a dive for my feet! Her paws wrapped around my legs, her back feet were kicking a hundred miles an hour and again, I screamed and started laughing. Back and forth. Back and forth. This went on for nearly an hour.

Full of energy, Shamoka seemed to never tire of the attention she was getting from her new adventure. She would have gone on as long as we kept whistling at her. We were exhausted. We all went to sleep that night with smiles on our faces. It had been a perfect day. Shamoka, curled into a ball at the bottom of my bed, finally and quietly drifted into a peaceful slumber.

Who would have ever thought that our furry little friend could bring so much happiness, laughter and joy into our lives? Many times over the years we have talked about that night with fond memories. I have thought of it often; remembering how the tension seemed to disappear; knowing that we will always remember the closeness we experienced as the family cat, never suspecting it was playing a major part in bringing us all back together, just did what cats do. It was a wonderful evening; one I will cherish forever.

The next morning we found everyone's favorite cat again pretending to be asleep in the middle of the hallway, waiting for the day to begin again. She seemed to be anxiously awaiting another opportunity to bring more joy and happiness into our lives.

"Thanks, Shamoka, wherever you are. Thanks for sharing your fun with us that evening. Your playfulness and your happy spirit brought us all closer together."

Copyright © MCMXCVI - Sandy Charveze.

Read: "The Older Cat: Helping You to Recognize Decline and Extend Life" by Dan Poynter and "202 Pets' Peeves: Cats and Dogs Speak Out on Pesky Human Behavior" by Cal Orey

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