The Hunger Chronicles of Humphrey the Cat

From the instant I first laid eyes on my orange cat, Humphrey, it was obvious he was destined for mischief, brimming with vitality and inquisitiveness that kept me constantly alert. His bright amber eyes sparkled with cunning as he would leap at anything in motion, whether a stray pen or my unsuspecting toes, transforming every moment into a lively escapade. Humphrey’s signature move was the gentle “play bite,” a teasing nibble meant more to provoke fun than to hurt, signaling he was always in the mood to play. Yet, his greatest skill was his stealthy knack for pilfering snacks, expertly snatching treats from shut cabinets or stealthily sampling unattended plates like a tiny orange ninja. Regardless of, or perhaps because of, these antics, Humphrey’s mischievous charm and playful nature brought me a daily dose of joy and amusement.

One afternoon, while I was away at work, Humphrey figured out how to open the upper kitchen cupboard housing the treat bags. With a quick and precise swipe of his paw, he popped the door open, grabbed a treat bag, and batted it down to Sammy, my ever hungry and enthusiastic dog. Excited by this unexpected alliance, Sammy eagerly tore into the bag, sharing the goodies with Humphrey in a silent truce that softened the usual cat and dog rivalry. When I returned home, I discovered them both sprawled out in a food-induced slumber atop the empty treat bag. Although I was annoyed by their thieving escapades, I couldn’t help but laugh at the furry bandits.

Upon my return to college, one of the toughest choices I faced was giving up Sammy to a caring family, fully aware that my busy schedule prevented me from dedicating the attention and time he deserved. Parting with Sammy was deeply painful, but Humphrey came with me to Vermillion. The adjustment proved difficult. Usually lively and carefree, Humphrey became visibly anxious in my new apartment complex. The noisy city environment, unfamiliar sounds, and the absence of his closest companion, Sammy, deeply disturbed him. To ease his transition, I devoted extra time to soothing him, arranging cozy spots filled with his beloved blankets and toys, and playing with him as much as I could. Despite my efforts, Humphrey grew increasingly nervous with each passing day.

During one notable weekend, my nieces and nephews visited, and their high energy levels promptly turned my small apartment into a whirlwind of activity. The kids’ favorite game appeared to be chasing Humphrey, who was clearly an unwilling participant. Eventually, I lost patience and stopped them when their relentless pursuit caused Humphrey to dart under the bed in terror. Hearing his distressed cries, I entered to find my nephews trying to coax him out with a broom. After I reprimanded the boys, I closed the bedroom door to shield the poor cat from their rowdy exploits. Humphrey remained hidden beneath the bed for the remainder of their stay, even at night when I tried to convince him to snuggle with me. Once they had departed, I observed a marked shift in Humphrey’s demeanor, leading me to suspect he may have suffered a minor stroke. His playful spirit never returned; instead, he grew cautious and hostile towards guests. Since I couldn’t afford veterinary care, I was left to question whether the stressful visit actually triggered a stroke. 

Following what appeared to be a minor stroke, Humphrey’s behavior changed in a surprising and amusing way that left me both concerned and entertained. Curiously, it seemed the event had altered his sense of hunger. He suddenly believed he was perpetually starving, his eyes always wide with that irresistible, pleading expression familiar to any cat owner. His food thievery progressed from occasional stealthy bites to almost legendary escapades: he would nimbly jump onto countertops, snatch unattended snacks from plates, and even outsmart the tall kitchen cabinets where I hid his treats. Each mealtime turned into a lively spectacle as Humphrey transformed into a furry food bandit, leaving me both entertained and frustrated. Despite my worries over his health, this quirky personality shift reminded me of his resilience and spirited nature, demonstrating that even after setbacks, Humphrey’s enthusiasm for life – and food = remained as strong as ever.

Amid my final semester, I met Ericka, who would become my wife. We fell deeply in love quickly, and when I accepted a position in Evanston, Wyoming, she chose to join me. After graduation, Humphrey and I relocated to the wide-open, picturesque landscapes of Wyoming to establish our new home. Shortly after settling in, I decided to grow our furry family by adopting a young border collie named Sampson. Though energetic and mischievous, Sampson was grudgingly accepted by Humphrey as the little brother he had never wished for. When Ericka arrived in January, she brought along her lively kitten, Jezebel. As Ericka and I adjusted to living together, our diverse group of pets also adapted to their new environment amid a few disgruntled hisses and growls. Before long, I was amazed to see our household develop a harmonious routine filled with affection and companionship.

As Humphrey grew older, his habit of stealing food became ever more daring, evolving from simple nibbling into outright culinary robberies. No longer satisfied with merely sneaking scraps off our table, he once audaciously helped himself to a pot of spaghetti sauce simmering on the stove, leaving unmistakable red food prints and a noticeably diminished meal for Ericka and me. His voracious appetite seemed to escalate with age, as though his boldness intensified along with his years. We started watching our meals more closely, covering dishes with lids and securing cabinets with childproof locks. Despite the annoyance, there was something undeniably endearing about Humphrey’s mischievous paw swipes and his soothing purrs, as if he truly believed his antics were acceptable cat behavior.

One particularly cheeky afternoon highlighted why Humphrey reigned supreme as the master of kitchen heists. I had just begun preparing dinner and placed a frozen steak on the counter, still sealed tightly in its plastic wrap. Unbeknownst to me, Humphrey had already fixed his sights on the prize. With quiet determination, he waited for me to leave the room before he jumped up and started gnawing at the corner of the packaging, his small teeth diligently breaching the barrier. Within minutes, he created an opening just large enough to snag juicy bits of the steak inside. When I returned to the kitchen loaded with pantry supplies, I caught him mid-bite, looking both guilty and immensely pleased, as though he had just pulled off a grand culinary victory. His cleverness reminded me that with a bit of feline cunning, no frozen feast was truly safe. Disappointed by my costly oversight, I resolved to be more vigilant going forward.

Another time, Humphrey’s playful mischief left us both entertained and puzzled. While putting away groceries, I noticed that a whole box of fortune cookies was missing from my bags. After checking the trunk and searching around the main floor of the apartment, I assumed I had forgotten them at the store. The memory of the cookies slipped my mind until days later, when I stumbled upon a carefully arranged pile of empty wrappers and scattered fortunes tucked away in a corner of the basement – Humphrey’s secret stash! It turned out he had not only dragged the box downstairs unobserved but had also taken the time to meticulously unwrap each cookie, leaving behind an endearing trail of paper fortunes, as if contemplating his own fate.

Even as his final days drew near, Humphrey persisted in his secretive adventures. Though the gradual onset of memory loss sometimes left him disoriented and unable to recognize us, his mischievous nature never faded. Watching him quietly snatch bites from our plates or pilfer treats from the coffee table was both touching and bittersweet; an expression of the playful character that had always defined him. These small acts of theft poignantly mirrored Humphrey’s lasting spirit, serving as a reminder that, despite his diminishing memories, the core of who he was remained strong and clear. After he passed away, the veterinarian confirmed my suspicion that several strokes had marked his final years. As I laid him to rest beneath a tree in the Uinta Mountains, I wished him joyous hunting in the hereafter, imagining him surrounded by a smorgasbord of delicious human food and filched cat treats.