Here's more fodder for those who claim my columns eschew topics of major world importance in favor of dumb animal
stories about tap dancing kangaroos and chickens who fall in love with lawnmowers. A cat in Columbus, Ohio is being hailed a hero
after reportedly dialing 911 to summon help for his owner who had fallen between his wheelchair and bed.
The cat, Tommy, supposedly hit the pre-programmed speed-dial button on the phone. His owner, Gary Rosheisen, said
he'd trained the cat to dial 911, which, on a degree of difficulty scale is the equivalent of training a dog to land a space shuttle
while blindfolded.
The very next day a 4-year-old girl in Taylorsville, Utah called 911 after her mom fell while taking down Christmas lights, and
too bad the little girl didn't complete the task a couple days earlier before a cat did, she would've seemed darn impressive
I don't think any of the cats I've lived with would take such heroic action as Tommy. I imagine if I fell the cat would
ever-so-slightly raise his head from the TV he was sleeping on and muse, "That moron who feeds me looks like he might be
dead — hope this doesn't mean dinner is late."
The dogs I've owned would be slightly more interested. "That guy who feeds me looks like he might be dead — if he
doesn't come to soon, I'll gnaw on his arm first, then the leg. Hope I get custody of the frisbee."
This is not to say I haven't benefitted from living near cats. Minutes before the 1994 L.A. earthquake I woke up after my
neighbor's cat begin making some unworldly noise. I'm almost willing to overlook the times hence I've been awoken by
a cat's screams, cried "Earthquake, everyone, earthquake!" and crawled under the doorframe only to realize two cats
were mating outside my window.
Don't get me wrong, I like cats. Cats are beautiful, mysterious creatures, it's just that on the list of something you
can depend on in an emergency I'd rank cats somewhere around 2 billion, 133rd place, right after a can of beans and just before
FEMA.
Growing up my sister had a cat named "Cat." (This may explain the mediocre SAT scores of myself and my siblings,
we weren't the most imaginative family.) The cat was something like 190 in human years, (a.k.a.,"Wal mart greeter age")
and just like a piece of furniture, the major difference being a piece of furniture was more likely to come if called by name.
So how did Tommy come to dial a phone and summon help? This may go down as just one of those "unexplained
phenomena", like why Matt Lauer's hairstylist is allowed to continue working, or how you can have 185 passengers in the
coach section of a plane, and each one paid a different price for their ticket.
My theory is Tommy was chasing his little ball with a bell inside when his paws happened to land on just the right button
and a 911 operator was called. Odds of this occurring are roughly 2 million to one.
However, maybe Tommy did see his caregiver in trouble, run to the phone, chose the correct button, and punched it. Odds
of this happening: 2 billion to one.
But reading this story encouraged me to train my brother's cat to perform arduous, challenging tasks upon command.
And it's going quite well. After working with Elvira for a week she's almost at the point where, when I shout "Sit! Sit!"
perhaps one out of eighteen times she'll actually turn her head and briefly look at me, before darting out of the room.
I tried to contact Tommy the hero cat for this story, but so far he hasn't responded to my requests for a phone interview.
However, in a text message today, in typical cat fashion he wrote ""Hate...people...I'm Queen...bow to me, you human
infidel."
But here's to Tommy and all other smart animals. And assuming this cat is capable of using a phone, in ending I have
four words for Tommy's owner — Do Not Call List.
