Polydactyl: Adventures with a Six-toed Cat

Phil Roberts, 8-12-23 Our polydactyl cat, Cubby, had six toes on each foot. Found in the wild near Medicine Bow, his immediate family was presumably killed and eaten either by rattlesnakes or skunks. We had no choice but to take him with us. Winter was fast approaching; he wouldn’t survive the col He was a scrawny passenger in our van when we returned to Seattle with him that fall. He enjoyed the ride, ducking his head as we went under each overpass. He only slept when we did and ate when we ate. He taught himself to be cat-box trained enroute. When we got back to Seattle, we discovered that he wasn’t going to be welcomed into the housing area where we lived in a four-plex, surrounded by broad green lawns. He would have to stay hidden or we’d be evicted. He complied, running under a bed or under a couch, remaining perfectly silent if a stranger came to the place. We’d take him out to a park each Saturday afternoon and Sunday after he quickly learned he could go out our door to the van only if he’d ride–silently–in a paper shopping bag. At the park, he’d patiently wait for his harness and leash before stepping out of the van on my shoulder. Then, he could jump to the ground. Occasionally, we stopped at Skippers or Ivar’s for weekend treats of fish ‘n chips and always took him with us. He’d wait outside in the van, knowing a small treat was coming–a forkful of cod. Back home, he’d climb back into the paper bag to be smuggled back into our place. Once, the complex manager surprised me as he came around the corner. “Shopping?” he asked, seeing that I carried a shopping bag. “Yes,” I said, quickly changing the subject. Five minutes passed; Cubby remained perfectly still, only moving when I opened the bag when we were safely inside! He kept the habit when we returned to live in Laramie two years later. Back door? OK to go out. Front door? A paper bag, at first. Later, only on my shoulder, in and out. (See attached photo). We had fun chasing miller-moths around the house. He’d stand on my shoulder nd with his giant paws, he’d reach out with both paws, balanced on his back legs, and snag the moth and, in the same motion, stick it in his mouth. I’d be reading or watching TV and, once in a while, I’d hurl a hard cat food morsel at him or where he might not be able to catch it. Like Willie Mays, he’d leap up and snag it wherever it was aimed. He had a very respectable “fielding average.” He did jumping tricks, hanging on to an extended arm before momentary dropping to the ground only to jump up again. His claws were never extended–he used only his mitten-like paws, softly wrapped around the arm. Truly remarkable balance, intelligence, and empathy. He welcomed a succession of “Chisum” Laramie cats, training each one to the mores of the household, often carrying the tiny ones around in his gentle mouth. He did the same for a series of Egyptian and Arab cats. They all adored him. We were saddened when he died at a ripe old age early this century.