Bob the Cat

My husband and I had just arrived at Iraklion Air Force Base the day before and were having our first look around the Base my husband would be working on for the next two years. The convenient shop of any Base is usually the first store to browse through when an active member and his or her dependents come in because, if for no other reason, snacks can be purchased to take back to the temporary quarters. It was here where I first met Bob.

It was April and yet the sun was unusually bright and warm. Bob sat; or rather he sprawled against the side of the store that was across the walkway from the convenient shop. I was told that he had been declared the mascot of the Base several years before. From the way he looked, he was enjoying his reign immensely despite the fact that one ear was half-chewed off and his tail looked like it had been broken in several places. He just lounged there in all of his fat glory against the coldness of the cement wall waiting for someone to come out with a can of tuna for him.

Apparently Bob hadn't always in this physical state. In fact, when he had first arrived on this Greek island of Crete, he was a rather small cat owned by one of the active duty members of the American Air Force Base. Some said he was just a scrawny gray and white cat whose master really didn't care that much about him. When his master went on to his next assignment, little Bob was left behind. Luckily, because to residents of this Greek island of Crete view cats as free agents ready to serve humans, the local employees working on the Base would feed him every once in awhile and let him into the shops when it rained. Soon the Americans on the Base were treating Bob in the same manor. Presto, the mascot of Iraklion Air Force Base came into being.

Somehow Bob not only attracted people, but was also attracting the female cats native to the island. To everyone who knew about Bob, this was a great mystery because the original owner had had him fixed before bring him to Crete. As strange as it was, Bob had a harem of female cats around him most of the time. He was the feline fat version of Hugh Hefner.

Life went on this way for a while. The cats who were native to Crete did as they always have done, hang around the restaurants in the two villages close to the Base, being charming to the customers in hopes of food being dropped under the tables. Bob continues to hang out near the convenient shop on the Base and grew fatter yet. The troops just couldn't help but like dear old Bob and continued to feed him.

In the middle of the second year of my husband's tour of duty there, the American troops were informed that the Base would be closing the next year. All of us who had come to love the cats of the island were a little worried about the ones who had been relying on the people of the Base. This was especially true about what would happen to Bob. The native cats would be all right as long as they could find their way to the restaurants in Gournes and New Gouves. They would become the cats who eat the food the customers would drop and would be treated well by both the owners and patriots of the restaurants. Bob was different. He didn't know how to be charming and, with all that weight, he would never make it on his own to either village so that he could even try to live like the native cats.

Many of us associated with the Base loved Bob because we had cats of our own, either living with us or were being taken care of in the States. Most of us were hoping that one of the Greeks would take him in despite the fact that Greeks thought of cats as free agents.

As it turned out, one of the lieutenants decided he couldn't leave not knowing whether Bob would be ok or not. He adopted Bob and got him his shots so that Bob could go to Germany with him the next month.