Herman Mayer

When my three kitties and I moved from San Francisco to Lebanon, Indiana in May 2014 I was a little worried about how they’d adjust to the new climate, culture, etc.  But all three settled in just fine – and Herman, my 20-year-old orange tabby, fell in love with Indiana instantly.  He’d spend hours perched at the front window staring at the squirrels, raccoons, birds and bunnies romping across the yard.  All that “critter action” delighted him – especially the bunnies, as he’d never seen any in San Francisco. I kept all three cats strictly inside the house for the first month, but one day I finally gave in to Herman’s insistent yowls to go outside and took him on a short walk with me.  He’d always been a hunter, and was such a champion mouser that my neighbors in San Francisco used to borrow him for rodent eradication duties.  On our walk that day he did a great deal of sniffing around various trees and bushes (alas, with no mousie action), but mostly “marked” different spots around the outside of the house to let any intruders know there was a new sheriff in town. Along with intruders of the 4-legged variety, Herman felt it was his duty to protect his household – and especially me – from certain 2-legged intruders as well.  Although he always welcomed my friends with purrs and requests for petting, he had a much different reaction to the assortment of carpenters, plumbers, and handymen who did repair work on the house for the first few months after we moved in.  He ignored some but hated others – possibly because he felt (or imagined) that they were up to no good.  When the cable TV technician arrived one day, he’d barely gotten through the front door when Herman confronted him in full Halloween-cat display – fur bristling, tail puffed up to dragon-like proportions, and hissing loudly through his bared teeth.  The cable guy, a husky dude who stood about 6 feet tall and outweighed Herman by at least 150 pounds, said, “What the —” and carefully took a couple of steps backwards, as if he’d stumbled on a rattlesnake. Long story short: I had to pick Herman up and lock him in the spare bedroom before the cable guy finally calmed down enough to get his job done. I think now that some of Herman’s happiest days came in September, when he fell in love with a beautiful gray and white girl kitty up the street.  Every morning they’d play in the fallen leaves for awhile and then lie in the sun together on the patio next door.  When he’d come home after these morning dates with his ladylove I’d always chide him by saying something like, “Herman! You should be ashamed, chasing girls at your age!” And he’d look up at me with his huge green eyes as if to say, “And just what are you going to do about it?” I often tell people that even though Herman was a cat, he was actually the best dog I ever had.  He was my constant companion and helper, whether bringing me luck when I played games online or standing guard close by when I worked in the garden.  Even on our walks around the neighborhood he’d usually stay close to me – and once in awhile, when he’d slip out of sight for a few minutes, he’d trot right back to me when I called him. Herman passed peacefully from this life on August 13, 2015.  He is survived by his brother Midnight, his sister Candygirl, and his many friends in California and Indiana.