The Day Mags Followed Me to the Beach

Mags followed me to the beach one quiet September afternoon when I was still in high school. It remains one of my favorite memories of Sugar Magnolia, the unusually smart tabby cat who shared my teenage years.

I have owned cats for most of my life, and every one of them has had a distinct personality. But Mags was one in a million. She was dog smart, although I would argue that she was probably smarter than most dogs. I have always said that if YouTube had existed when I was a teenager, Mags would have been a celebrity.

I have to admit that I cannot remember exactly how we got her. She may have come from a shelter, a friend, or even a pet store. Chances are that we adopted her from a shelter, but I do not want to turn a guess into a fact. What I do remember is bringing her home as a kitten and beginning the process of bonding with her.

Mags loved to play, and we had plenty of good times together. My favorite moments, though, were the quiet ones. She would sit on my chest, purring with her eyes half open and half closed, looking completely satisfied with everything.

That is one of the things cats do better than people. When they are content, they do not question it. They simply settle in.

Mags and the Raven

We first lived on Clipper Drive and later moved one street over to Brigantine Drive in Ocean City. Mags was an outdoor cat, as many cats were at the time.

After we moved to Brigantine Drive, a strange rivalry began in our front yard every spring. Mags would stretch out on the grass, and a raven would swoop down toward her. It would circle around and do it again and again.

The funny part was that Mags never seemed particularly concerned.

She might play along a little, but most of the time she remained stretched out in the grass, allowing this raven to make repeated passes over her. I do not know whether they were enemies, friends, or simply two neighborhood animals entertaining themselves. Whatever their arrangement was, it resumed around the same time every year.

That alone would have made Mags memorable. But one afternoon, she did something I have never forgotten.

The Day Mags Followed Me to the Beach

I was still in high school, probably sometime between my freshman and junior years. It was around the middle of September on a weekday, after the summer crowds had left Ocean City. The beach was essentially empty.

I lived about five minutes from the ocean and decided to go surfing. That day, however, I had a partner.

Mags followed me.

She walked beside me along the north side of 55th Street, looking around but staying close. When I stopped, she stopped. When I started walking again, she moved with me.

I talked to her the entire way as if she understood every word.

“Stop, Mags. Stop light.”

And I swear, she stopped.

Maybe she was watching me and responding to my movements. Maybe she recognized the tone of my voice. Whatever was happening inside her little tabby head, she seemed to know exactly what we were doing.

We continued all the way to the beach.

I went into the water and surfed for about an hour. Mags stayed behind. I could not see what she was doing while I was out there, and I suppose she could have wandered anywhere.

When I came back to the wooden stairs, there she was.

She was lying on one of the steps, watching me come out of the water with an expression that seemed to say, “Are you ready?”

She had waited for me.

Ocean City has eight miles of oceanfront beaches, but that September afternoon, the stretch near 55th Street felt like it belonged entirely to Mags and me.

A Stop at Wawa

For the walk home, we crossed over and headed west along the south side of 55th Street. Just past West Avenue, there was a Wawa.

After a surfing session, one of my usual stops was Wawa for a dollar beef hot dog.

I told her, “You have to wait here.”

And she freaking did.

I went inside while she sat outside near the door. Through the pane of glass, I could see her staring in at me as customers walked in and out around her. She did not wander away. She did not try to follow anyone else. She simply waited.

I bought my hot dog, topped it with chili, sauerkraut, onions, yellow melted cheese, ketchup, relish, and finally mustard.Back then, the toppings were free, and as a teenager, I took full advantage. After I paid for it, I went back outside. I sat down next to her, and she sat beside me while I ate. Admittedly, I shared some of the hot dog with her.

Afterward, we walked the rest of the way home together.

An Ordinary Night at Home

When we got back, I took a shower to wash the salt from my hair and body. By then, Mom had dinner ready. We ate and settled in for the night.

I had a black rocking chair that sat in the corner by the large front window. Mom sat on the couch. We would share a joint and watch Star Trek: The Next Generation with Patrick Stewart.

Mom dug Patrick Stewart.

At the time, none of this seemed especially important. It was simply the way the day unfolded. I went surfing. My cat followed me to the beach. She waited for me on the wooden stairs, sat outside Wawa while I bought a hot dog, and walked home beside me. Then I had dinner with my mother and watched television.

Mags lived into old age, but most of my clearest memories of her come from those high-school years. She belonged to that particular version of my life: Clipper Drive, Brigantine Drive, an almost-empty September beach, dollar hot dogs, and afternoons when I had nowhere else I needed to be.

I never put much thought into how quickly any of it could change. Teenagers generally do not. You assume the house will still be there, your mother will be sitting on the couch, and the cat will be waiting when you come home.

Looking back, what stays with me is how simple that day was.

There were no photographs, no phone videos, and certainly no YouTube channel documenting the smartest cat in Ocean City. All I have is the memory of Mags walking beside me down 55th Street, waiting patiently for me to finish surfing, and sitting outside Wawa while I bought us a hot dog.

Maybe that is enough.