The Claudius Chronology
We lived at Metropolis Motorcycle Works. My brother Warren Wilson and his wife Michelle lived in the loft upstairs, and Paul, Ducati, Claudius and I were in the office downstairs. In between were the show room and the garage. Claudius turned out to be a silent cat. The closest he ever came to actually meowing was a "M---!" which trailed off. Ducati took him under her wing and taught him everything she knew about bikes and ripping around the office at 150 miles an hour. When they wrestled they looked like a furious hairy Oreo. Sometimes Claudius would wander among the bikes, hopping up on the seats and sneaking behind the tailpipes. Fortunately, he didn't go far, even with two inviting, large, open, garage doors. I have a memory of a photo showing someone holding a serious-looking Claudius up by his scruff, and next to him a soda can. They're the same size.
Claudius lived in three other places in Columbus. The cottage on 9th Avenue just between the decaying helicopter-ridden not-Short-North-anymore and the Ohio State University is where he learned to open doors and cupboards. One day I took Claudius outside to the yard to smell the lovely fresh air. We were standing in the sunshine, and suddenly a dozen balloons appeared out of a delivery van just over the hedge, and Claudius just took off. Fortunately he didn't go far, and my scars are almost invisible. He also liked to take baths, as long as the water in the tub wasn't more than 6 inches deep. It was at that house that he first ran for office. My house-mate, Jaime Barden, had a huge black cat named Damien, who was nicknamed the Mayor. Claudius used to get into boxes or laundry baskets and we'd drive him around the house arresting people, and so he was elected Sheriff. At the one-bedroom apartment on the other side of the river Claudius met a friend, Lonnie McGee, who was the first person to identify that quality which would endear the Sheriff to so many people in the next 13 years. "He's just like a dog," Lonnie said. Claudius didn't pant or drool or bark, so I guess it's his willingness to sit in any handy lap that makes him so popular. And in the studio apartment on Hubbard Avenue, Claudius was sitting in the open window one day while I made up my futon. I flapped my blanket and suddenly Claudius was gone. Fortunately I lived only about 10 feet above the alley level. Fortunately, he didn't go far. Claudius moved to Alexandria, Egypt, with me, where we shared an apartment in Saraya. He found hiding places that I never discovered, and it was there that I found out he loved to play hide and seek. He would suddenly brace himself, look at me, say "M--!" and race off. If I couldn't find him, he would suddenly reappear, flicking his tail in a most superior fashion. Then it was my turn. I would put him in a closet or a bathroom with the door mostly closed and then run off to hide, hopefully in a pla The quarantine laws of Taiwan required 6 months' stay in detention facilities, so when I moved there, Claudius decided not to go. My dad and stepmom kindly hosted him for 2 years near Ann Arbor, MI, and when I came back, I found my kitten had been replaced by a hulking CAT. He was still quiet, though, and took easily to living with the two new cats from Taiwan (the quarantine laws are much kinder in the US). Claudius, Iota, Shred slept, played and ate together. They formed rumble groups; when Claudius and Shred (a male) fought, we called it Boys in the Hood. When Claudius and Iota fought, (Iota is a female, and was a very tough cat in her younger years) we called them Fight Club. When the two Taiwanese kitties fought it was called China Youth. During the hot months of a Michigan summer, a good friend, David Zinn, inquired as to the "poor bedraggled sweatsock." Claudius never complained once of the heat. Or the nickname.
--------- PS: Did he not have any flaws you ask? Well, he was pretty near perfect, but he did tear up a lot, I mean a LOT of toilet paper when he was 1 year old.
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Claudius comes from Columbus, OH, as far as I know. Picked up off the street at the age of 4 months, this silent black-and-white feline was named Stash by the Humane Society people, and he quickly became a favorite among them. I think they named him Stash because he had only half of a white mustache, but maybe they busted him with a dime bag; his past is cloaked in mystery. In the Autumn of 1992, at any rate, Paul Walter and I wanted a cat, and it is a COMPLETE COINCIDENCE that Paul's cat Ducati was also a black-and-white kitty. And yes, it was Paul who chose Claudius from the ranks of adoptable cats. I have to say he made a good choice. I wanted to name the cat Claude, after Claude Rains, but Paul pointed out, as the van rattled back to the Short North, that everyone would think I was saying "Clawed." I was reading I, Claudius, by Robert Graves at the time, and it seemed like a good compromise, especially since the kitten had a cold and kept sneezing. To this year people still occasionally remember Claudius Sneezer. 
ce where I could see him coming. He would walk around the apartment silently, poking his head into each room, looking left, right, then easing back into the hall and looking carefully around. If he couldn't find me, he'd say "M--!" again, and I'd whistle, giving him a clue. Sometimes we took the train to Cairo to visit my mom, who had a long shiny hallway that they'd play in. Claudius would run down the hall towards her and she'd say "Whooo!" and poof up her nightgown. Claudius turned, scrabbling, like the Roadrunner, and suddenly get traction and take off down the hall. Claudius visited the Pyramids by bus that year, and lost all the hair on his tummy. Fortunately, it didn't stay lost. 
Since then, Claudius has lived in Boston, Concord and Franklin, MA. He welcomed Teabag, our dog, and Darjeeling, the abandoned Himalayan cat, into the group, and still played hide and seek every few days. He liked to sit on Teabag's feet. Mostly he sat on my husband, who works at home. He sat on Eitan's lap. On his laptop computer. On his hands while he was trying to use the laptop. In the evenings he would come into the bathroom and lick shower water off my feet. Suddenly, his kidneys began failing, and he became thirsty all the time. He rediscovered the joys of the bathtub, standing in kneedeep water and drinking and chasing underwater shadows. Recently he started trying to go outside. Actually, he succeeded quite a few times, racing around our ankles and between the dog's legs, onto the porch, down the steps and into the yard. Fortunately, he didn't go far. I guess he never will. 
