I am not into “cat think” yet, unlike people in the cat litter marketing video I’ve watched about ten times.
I try. Take today for instance. I imagined I had run around outside chasing things, getting tired, perhaps tasting raw frog or feathers. Then I came inside and took a nap in a really warm room for hours, perhaps a little mouth breathing. I wake up and I imagine I’m getting really thirsty.
Why would I walk past this
And do this instead?
Why? Why?
Most people my age have had numerous pets of their own, and also have had their children’s pets to contend with. In addition to that, I have a soft heart for strays of all kinds and have successfully passed the gene on to my daughters. I have grandpets. I truly know the joys and sorrows of pet ownership. Most people my age could live very well without any more pets, thank you.
But there was this small cat, barely out of its kitten hood, that my brother and his wife found. It was under their car as they were leaving a graduation party this spring, mewing pitifully. It was skinny, wet and cold, probably hungry. And it was black. For some reason, being black is a strike against a cat. They are least likely to get adopted once they are abandoned. My brother tried but could not find the owner and since the cat was overwhelmingly friendly, they took it home.
More than that, they had their vet look the little creature over and give it some drops for its eyes and an appointment to be spayed. It was litter trained already and acted grateful for a warm bed, food and people petting it.
This is where I came in, thinking that the husband might enjoy having a cat to pet and take care of. He’s retired and spending a lot of time at home without much to do. He’s gotten attached to cats in the past. It seemed reasonable. And the first few days, when the cat was tired and half starved, were peaceful days. And then it got frisky.
Now, several months later, I am very much reminded of what cats do. I have wiped up mounds of semi-digested cat food from the carpet. I have awakened in the middle of the night to find the cat sleeping on my chest. I have taken to smelling any pile of laundry left on the floor for the all too familiar odor of cat pee. I frequently walk around the house feeling like the cat is tied to my leg with string, trying not to trip over it. I sneak to doors and try to get through them before the cat hears me. I could go on – you’ve all heard about cats, if not experienced them yourselves.
So Shadow, as my niece named her before I took her, finally got well enough to keep her surgery appointment. We thought she might be in heat because of the way she kept running to open windows and trying to get through the screens. It was hard keeping her inside. I was glad she was getting spayed.
The vet called later that morning. “You have a very lively cat”, he told me. “She’s unusually active (which made me wonder what kind of fun they had anesthetizing her) and it took a little longer than we had anticipated. Oh, and by the way, we couldn’t find any female organs. She must have been spayed already. We looked extensively to make sure so she’s going to be pretty sore for a while.”
She was. There were a few more peaceful days until she had recovered somewhat. I cautiously let her go outside to sit in the sun. That’s what I would have liked to do if I were a cat. I would leave the sliding doors to the patio open just enough for her to squeeze through. She was definitely an indoor/outdoor kind of cat, who loved both worlds. She came running when I called her and loved to nap inside, but was just as eager to get out again.
It wasn’t long after that when I realized what she was doing outside. She was hunting. One morning I found a mostly dead mole, inside the house. I found him by following the trail of blood spatters on the floor and wall. It had to have been a tortuous way to go. This was followed in short order by several frogs who also bled and lost body parts. I got suspicious of her antics any time she seemed to be having fun “playing” with something.
I knew her skill was increasing one day when she brought in a bird. She had it cornered under a bookshelf and I was able to rescue it. It was so tiny and had a numb, dazed look in its eyes. I took it outside, wondering what to do with it, when it flew away!! I had saved it! I wish I could have done the same for the next two she caught. But I had to wonder… how is she catching birds?
We were having dinner on the patio one pleasant evening. The cat was also out and we were watching her tear around the lawn. Without hesitating she aimed at a tree and went up it like a squirrel to a fairly high branch. Hugging the dark branch, with leaves all around her, she was hard to see. I think that’s why the large flock of sparrows flew into the tree all around her and perched – poor unsuspecting things. So now we know she doesn’t wait for them to come down. She goes up and gets them.
This brings me to today. This morning Shadow brought in a small grey mouse and let it get away. She was waiting patiently by the couch where it had fled for shelter, waiting for it to come out and play again. I got down on the floor with the flashlight and witnessed it scurrying back and forth, trying to find a safe escape route. Definite mouse panic. I felt sorry for it, but what could I do? I couldn’t get under the couch either.
I don’t know where the mouse is. I came in the living room this afternoon to find the recliner upside down – the one the husband usually sits in. He’s doesn’t know where the mouse is now either, but he’s pretty sure it was in/under the chair. I think we now have two house pets.
Do I hope the cat will catch the mouse? I can’t quite decide. But I am renaming her. I’m calling her Shadow of Death because it fits her very well. Just sayin’…
They were friends. She didn’t know why it happened and she hadn’t really asked for it. They had moved in to the house where her new friend apparently had lived sometime in the past. Let’s call the new friend… call her Kitty.
She knew Kitty hung around, a lot. Most of the others ignored her or actually shunned her. But she hung around outside a lot too and that’s why she and Kitty got used to each other to the point of toleration. She didn’t look for Kitty, ever, but Kitty evidently kept an eye out for her and came running whenever she came out the door. As she walked around the grounds she had a companion at her side. When she sat on the deck at the top of the stair, Kitty sat with her.
Although they didn’t have a lot in common, except the time they spent together, that was enough. They became a pair, a pair of friends.
It looked almost like love.
Yeah, love comes in crazy forms.
It was love. She didn’t mind at all.
Zoe, I always thought your name was a little unusual
but that it was suitable for a cat who was not the usual kind.
I could not determine if you were strange to me because
of your breed or because of your life experience.
Long of leg, large of body, small in head – your were not
the cat we photographed often. Your stare was unsettling.
I knew you when you belonged to your previous owners,
a beast barely tolerated by some, and you busied yourself
staying out of the way of dogs and scratching leather furniture.
When your claws were removed, and you could not defend yourself
they were afraid to let you outdoors. You were famous for
filling the litter box all too quickly, and making loud noises in the night.
You came to us when others became allergic. We took you
in for love of them and not out of love for you. I don’t
think you loved us. I knew you when you were overweight,
and your hair came out in great clumps. I knew you when
you chewed yourself bloody where the fleas congregated.
You didn’t look at us very often, you didn’t look happy.
But for all your mess, things we had to wash up, scrape off
and deodorize, for all the times when you fought the other
cat and left fur all over the room (you both were gray and we
could not tell who had won), we began to love you. You stopped
eating desperately and became slim. Your fur became soft
and easy to pet. And you watched us differently.
You learned to go through the cat door, to love the outside
and to run to the sound of your automatic feeder. Your favorite
place was on the man where he was soft and warm and you purred.
The man gave you special food and doted on you. You made loud
noises looking for him, often in the night when you were lonely.
I loved that you went outside and no longer used the litter box.
You no longer needed to look out for the other cat (she died)
and you relaxed and all the space became yours. You only ran from
the vacuum cleaner and small children. You and the man became
very much alike, with your routines and the places you camped
out as you watched television and napped. You were all the animal
we had and I guardedly say that we enjoyed you most of the time.
Today, you are gone. I am sad, but especially the man is missing you.
Feeling that you may have had a terrible fright at the end and violence.
We would not have chosen that for you but neither would have had you
be ill and lingering and miserable. As I said, you were never impressive
for your looks and not much photographed. But you were loved and
part of our family, even though your stare was still a bit unsettling.
Sometimes it is just too hard to figure out what is happening in life. It is hard to think of something to write, something that is a finished thought, when you get nowhere with thinking. I have been on a very simple track of just doing what seems necessary and not a lot of questioning for weeks now. And I still don’t feel anything worthwhile on the verge of appearing. What I do know is that even in times like this, especially in times like this, a cute dog or cat is still undeniably cute. That is why dog and cat videos abound in cyberspace. We run to their cuteness like we run to comfort food. Even better is having your own cute dog or cat in your house.
I have been thinking a lot about cute dogs since I am with two of them. They belong to my daughter but they’ll settle for me when she’s not around. How can a dog appear so content just lying in one place or another, most of the day, waiting for it’s person to move so it can follow? How can that be enough?
As I said, any person, even myself, can be adopted by a dog if they can be closely associated with food and petting. I have been here only a week and already this dog knows my patterns of sleeping, waking and taking walks, all of which he accompanies. His name is Charlie and he “dogs” me all day except when my daughter takes him for a walk without me. I get to observe a lot of his cuteness.
Charlie looked like this when I first came. He seemed to have a lot of fluffy hair. That changed when I got to take him for a session at the doggie spa. He had “the works” and although he probably didn’t lose much weight, he looks a lot thinner now. He was so hyped up when I came to get him, I could hardly make him sit still for a picture. All the grooming girls said he was very cute – they noticed, and how could they not?
Like most dogs,he likes taking walks. The first one we took together was a little ambitious for us both. There was a lot of hill climbing and I had to lift him over some fallen trees. But perhaps it bonded us that I was able to get us back home in one piece. He slept very well that night and so did I. Over the 4th of July there were fireworks being set off all over the neighborhood. Dogs, as a rule, do not like these loud noises but Charlie didn’t pay much attention to them. I think he may have had a little anti-anxiety medicine to help him, still he went to bed and didn’t whine or be restless, and I would have expected some of that. His night cuteness is that he curls up in his bed on the floor and sleeps pretty much until I get up. He’s there a lot during the day too, just being cute.
I’m just sayin’ that this reliable cuteness seems like a gift from God when the rest of life is not making a lot of sense and is not being very reliable. I’m thankful for Charlie (and for cat videos – I watch them all).
They just showed up one day and started hanging around our back porch for the shelter, I guess. Fred and Skippy, two dogs probably out having fun, but of course we thought they were homeless, starving, needing love. So we named the big, fuzzy brown one Fred and the short legged black and tan one Skippy, and adopted them as our new farm dogs. My brothers were always happy to have a dog or two around to play with and this curious looking pair was friendly and seemed to have adopted the boys too. Then Fred had puppies.
Obviously, the naming came before anyone cared what gender they were, and looking at them it was much easier to imagine the big one being the boy and the little one being the girl. But, no. We don’t talk about Fred very much past this point and I think it’s because he she ran out on us – too much family responsibility I’m guessing. My brothers decided to raise two of the puppies, again picking noble doggie names for them – Steve and Andy.
Everyone’s memory is kind of fuzzy about what became of Steve and Andy as well. One of the problems with farm dogs was that they often craved the excitement of chasing cars. That was a problem with this rambunctious pair and likely the cause of their demise. Which brings me back to Skippy, the one we remember most fondly.
It became apparent that Skippy had at one point been someone’s house dog. He was very comfortable coming in and generally well behaved. Even mom liked him. He was always willing to eat leftovers that no one else wanted and that was his main diet. No one ever thought of buying food specifically for the dog, not on the farm. There were always other “things” for them to eat. And here comes the part of the story that we always laugh at when talking about Skippy.
When we milked cows, the milk was poured into a funnel like strainer with a heavy paper filter at the bottom, and into large metal cans. Washing up the equipment, we always took the filter out and tossed it – into Skippy’s mouth. He loved the wet, milky circles and pretty much swallowed them whole. Evidence of this would come in the spring as the snow melted and exposed the little white piles all over the lawn. They were composed of milk filter material and tin foil, swallowed with his leftovers.
Skippy was an adventurer though. He considered us his home but the world was his playground and he would be seen at neighboring farms and sometimes out in the woods. He often came back with wounds and bite marks, looking as if he had been fighting with other dogs. For a small dog, he had an amazing amount of hormonal motivation leading him to wanderlust. He may have just disappeared, like he came. No one remembers exactly. We’ll just say that maybe he and Fred found each other again and lived happily ever after…
Things change. Back from a ten day trip, I spent the morning picking up the water bowl, the food bowl, cleaning out the litter pan, putting the towels and sheet used for bedding in the laundry, uncovering the furniture in her “sick” room. Then I sat alone at my writing table thinking about all the times that sitting there would have guaranteed a cat in my lap within a couple minutes. I will miss her and she was a good cat.
She came to us as a kitten, found alone by one of my daughters in a city parking lot. She was very young, very scared and spent the first week hiding under my daughter’s bed. We weren’t sure if she would make it. What a way to start. I think her memory of that contributed to her quietness, her timidity, her reclusive nature. She grew to tolerate other cats but was never one to initiate friendship or cuddle up to any of them. She grew to trust some people and be affectionate but that trust had to be earned. The sound of strangers in the house always made her disappear. She would come out from her hiding place when things got quiet again.
her magnificent green eyes and a pretty white bib
When my daughter moved away to school she left Grey Kitty with me, which was fine since I had grown fond of her. I had inherited another cat from my second daughter and it would have been nice if they had gotten along but they didn’t. They fought like, well, like cats. They had both grown up being “only cats” and didn’t want to share their humans. We had to keep them separated or there were consequences of loud cat growls and tufts of fur everywhere. Once when we were away they were accidentally shut in the same room. We found them sitting quietly in opposite corners pretending nothing had happened, but the room told a different story, way different. I thought they might have gotten it out of their system and become friends, but no.
Grey Kitty was hesitant about all kinds of things. There was the usual cat maneuver of standing in front of an open door, debating whether or not to go through. She had the nervous tail tic. It drove me crazy and I would sometimes pick her up and make the decision for her. But most of the time, in deference to our friendship, I just waited until she either bolted out or sauntered in the other direction. I think my willingness to let her be who she was made her like me as much as she did.
She had patience with me as well, Many times she would come up on my lap and get settled for a good sleep and minutes later I would have to get up to answer the phone. She had patience in the kitchen. She knew the sound of pans rattling and cans opening and would appear at mealtime. After circling my feet for several minutes in an attempt to get my attention (trip me) she would sit quietly and look at me with her best stare. The stare would continue right up through the meal until the husband would relent and give her a small bite of people food.
One day, years ago, I thought I had accidentally killed her. She was in the garage when I closed the door automatically and turned my back to go into the house. For some reason she waited until the last second to try leaving and got caught under the door. When I looked again I could only see the back half of her and the door was down. She evidently had been crouching low and hadn’t triggered the safety beam. I slapped the control and ran to get her but she ran out faster than I could get there. I was pretty worried about her but decided if she could move that fast she probably didn’t have a broken neck. She was always a little leery of the garage door after that.
As she grew older, she began to be a very picky eater. Dry cat food was not good enough. Canned cat food was better, but only certain kinds. She started losing weight, and her breath smelled awful. Tests at the vet’s office showed kidney disease, so we tried various brands of special food. She didn’t like any of them. Finally, to keep her from starving I let her eat anything she would eat. She was pitiful, and her soft meow changed into a more raucous sound that was disturbing and insistent. I think she had nausea.
This story ends as you might suspect by now. I took GK to my daughter the veterinarian and she and I, compassionately and with tears, euthanized her and laid her to rest. She served a purpose in my life, as I believe animals were meant to do. These awesome creatures that God made to share the earth with us make us think, make us love, make us give of ourselves and make us aware that we are not alone.
Now it’s a bit simpler at home – I don’t have to shut the doors to prevent cat fights, I don’t have to search for obscure brands of special food, I don’t have to clean up sick messes. Simpler, but not necessarily better. I’m just sayin’, she was a good cat and I miss her.
P.S. This is not to be interpreted as a request for another cat.
I love animals. I am in awe of their endless variety, the ways that they can interact with us humans, the comfort they can give, the lessons they can teach, their surprising intelligence (once we learn how to detect it), and the love and devotion they show. They are enough like us that it is scary at times and I am never more aware of this than when I look into my cat’s eyes. She meets my gaze and we have a moment of reading each other’s thoughts – or so it seems.
I say “my cat” (and she would probably agree) but in reality she was rescued by my daughter Julia. As the story goes, she was found wandering in some parking lot in Orlando, Florida as a kitten. Kittens do not survive well in parking lots, so my daughter, who is a rescuer by nature, brought her home and she became our cat. She had a few names, however the one that stuck, because it was easy to remember, was Gray Kitty. Not very imaginative, but it worked.
Years later when Julia moved away to attend veterinary school, she took two of her cats with her but left Gray Kitty with me. I didn’t mind. I haven’t seen very many cats that are as beautiful and pleasant to look at as Gray Kitty. Gray is a nice color to begin with, plus the added attraction of white feet and bib, topped off with white whiskers and brilliant green eyes – there is a pretty cat. Most of the time her voice was tiny, quiet and responsive. I would say her name and she would answer. I would enter the room and she would acknowledge me. I would pick her up and she would start purring immediately and not stop until I put her down. For a cat, she was sensible and seldom caused trouble or worried me.
There was a season in my work life when I would come home exhausted every day, barely able to make it to the recliner. No matter where she was in the house, the sound of the recliner being stretched out would have her in my lap within seconds. She would get comfy in her feline manner, and settle down for “our nap”.
She learned that kitchen noises were associated with food, for her and for us. She learned the art of silent begging. When we would finally sit at the table, she had her spot close by where she could fix her eyes on us and dare us to ignore her. She loved drinking out of the bathroom sink. She loved being outside.
And now she has gotten old, and don’t I know how that feels! We have more in common than ever. But she has also fallen ill with kidney disease. Her appetite has waned and in the last few weeks she has hardly eaten anything in spite of special food, constantly available. She is as light as a feather. Her calls, or cries, have become different and more plaintive. She often sits or stands in odd places with a dazed look on her face, and sometimes loses her balance. She is failing. These kinds of things do not improve. The pain of seeing her suffer is at war with the pain of deciding to stop her suffering and I feel the weight of decision. It is heavy.
When you think about it, it’s a rare thing to step into someone else’s life and live there for a few days when they are not there. It’s a little surreal in fact. This week I am still me, but I am living as a “stand in” for my brother and his wife while they are gone on a well deserved anniversary trip. This morning after sleeping in their bed, with their dog, I got up and watched the sky get light from my sister-in-law’s favorite chair in her second story bedroom.
I walked over to my parents house for my first cup of coffee for the morning, and then back to have breakfast with my brother’s two children Claire and Evan. Today they are starting the week’s schoolwork which is scheduled in detail for them. They study at home and I’m warned there might be questions about algebra, geometry and writing.
My brother and his wife have a genuine interest in their children and their children’s friends. They invite a small group of teens from their church over to their house every other week – yesterday was the day for that and my brother explained how he hated to cancel it just because they weren’t going to be home. So he didn’t. I am glad my brother isn’t afraid to freak me out, and I’m thankful God keeps me calm and trusting when I’m challenged.
Evan and I went shopping Saturday and got healthy snacks and he cleaned up the family room in preparation. What a responsible guy! After church on Sunday, Evan and I got into the van and I sat waiting for the rest of the kids to come out and join us, I didn’t realize they were already seated behind us until one of them asked me what i was waiting for. What a quiet, well-behaved group! (this really happened).
At the house they had a great time cutting up apples and making hot chocolate. They spent half an hour eating and talking with each other, half ah hour listening to me talk about my experiences with teens in Cambodia, and half ah hour playing a game while waiting for their parents to pick them up. They were respectful to me, kind and encouraging to each other and still looked like they were having a lot of fun. What a refreshing look at today’s youth!
The family dog really misses my sister-in-law. He is a lap dog and it’s almost like having a baby in the house – one that wants to be held all the time. He is getting used to me though, as is the family cat. This morning they were both giving me “the stare” as I started doing things in the kitchen. The water bowl was empty and they seemed to know how to get someone to fill it. As i said, the dog sleeps quietly all night on the bed with me, and yesterday he took me for a walk too. What a sweet dog!
It’s all good so far and I fully expect the rest of the week to go smoothly. I suppose it’s partly a case of extra good behavior to go easy on Aunt Shirley, and that’s okay, but mostly I think it’s a blessed life that I’ve stepped into and get a chance to live in, for a few days. What an interesting opportunity!
One of my all time favorite tv series is James Herriot’s “All Creatures Great and Small”. How interesting and fun it is to now be watching my daughter live out her own version of that story. Real doctors treat more than one species, or so it says on the back of her t-shirt. Doctor J is a vet’nary specializing in large animals, mainly horses but also cows, pigs, sheep, goats and other farm creatures.
Although this is a long standing dream of hers, to be a vet, and she finds it meaningful and satisfying, it is not always pleasant, convenient or easy. In fact, it is often unpleasant, inconvenient and hard. She has a mobile practice and travels from farm to farm with her truck full of supplies and equipment. At present, the area she covers is wide and she spends much time on the road. Many nights she is not home until 9 or 10 and still has her own animals to care for, oh, and herself to feed and put to bed. …
Sometimes when I visit, I ride with her and pretend I’m part of her team (after all, I am a nurse – I know how to fetch a scalpel or a suture, or the lubricant…). From my daughter I learned how to hold a sheep and how to pull a horse’s tongue out of the way while his teeth are getting filed (floated). She has saved a choking horse and set a lamb’s broken leg. She does ultrasounds and x-rays on her patients lugging heavy equipment cases to the field or the barn. She endures the most awkward positions for hours while sewing up a bad laceration or bandaging a difficult area. And she is often called upon when owners decide that their animal needs that last compassionate act.
And who would have thought that someone with sensitivities to organization (sock drawer perfection) and cleanliness (professional house cleaner) would develop such a high tolerance for dirt, manure and horse spit? It’s all part of the job for Dr. J., Equine Vet’nary.
I Just Have to Say... 