Today is National Pets Day. I have always had cats, even when I was a
baby. Mom had a black cat named,
predictably, Blackie. Mom believed
Blackie saved her from injury during a hurricane. Mom was pregnant with me and was taking a nap
when the hurricane struck with very strong winds. Mom was Deaf and didn’t hear the wind howling
as she slept peacefully. She was
awakened from a deep sleep by Blackie jumping all over her. She was annoyed, assuming Blackie just wanted
to be fed. She got up and as she exited
the bedroom, she felt a sudden rush of wind.
Turning, she saw that a tree had fallen through the window over her
bed. Blackie got special treats and was
treated like a queen.
Most of my feline family members were rescues of one
sort or another. A few years after
Blackie passed away, I found a little tuxedo kitten. I brought him home and begged my parents to
let me keep him. They said yes and I
named him Bootie for his little white paws.
Bootie came with us on our move from Long Island to Baltimore, MD. He seemed well adjusted but one night, he
didn’t come home. I missed him, calling
his name and looking for him. No
luck. About a year later, on Halloween,
my brother and I started out to go trick-or-treating. When we opened the door, Bootie streaked
in. Where had he been? We don’t know but he was perfectly happy to
be back with us.
When I was about 12, I was walking home from a school
fair. I saw a boy throwing rocks at a
box and realized there was a little kitten inside. I confronted him and told him to stop trying
to hurt the kitten. He said he hated
cats and I offered to take the kitten.
He wanted money so I reached in my pocket and pulled out all the change
I had. He was satisfied with it and I
brought the little thing home. It was
another little tuxedo and all its fur was standing on end. When I told Mom what happened, she said of
course we could keep it. She named it
Puffy. She became Mom’s cat and we enjoyed
watching her grow up. She would throw a
chicken neck into the air and then leap up after it. She’d jump up our stairs sideways.
Puffy and Bootie were both indoor/outdoor cats. Puffy began to annoy one of our neighbors
because on her daily trips out, she’d visit the man’s garden and dig in or chew
up some of the flowers. He complained
bitterly and we tried hard to keep Puffy away but she was miserable in the
house all day when we tried to keep her in.
One day we returned from a shopping trip and found Puffy trying to crawl
to us with her front paws, dragging her back legs. Her body was bloody and broken and she’d
pooped herself.
Mom scooped her up in a blanket and held her as Dad
drove us to the vet’s. He examined her
and told us gravely that someone had beaten her with possibly a baseball
bat. Her spine and back legs were
broken. He could try to save her with
surgery but her recovery was iffy at best.
My mother had me tell the vet to try and save Puffy. He fused her spine and put pins in her broken
legs. Mom would bring raw liver to the
vet to supplement Puffy’s meals. She
survived and eventually began to walk normally again.
She never went outdoors again. We were sure the neighbor had hurt her but we
had no proof. We tried to keep Bootie
in, too, but he’d always find a way out.
I found another kitten who could have been the spitting image of Bootie
except that he had a white tip on his tail.
I called him Tippy. Mom didn’t
want anymore cats and so Tippy was my outdoor cat. He wandered around the neighborhood but
always showed up to visit and to eat.
When I was about 17, I was walking home from school and
saw a tiny, wriggling thing in the grass.
I went to investigate and found a baby kitten. She couldn’t have been more than a few days
or weeks old. I carried her home. Mom looked at the kitten and said it couldn’t
live, it was too tiny. I knew she didn’t
want me to have another cat but I wanted to save this one and she finally gave
in. We got an eye dropper and fed the
baby milk and water with it. When we
were sure she would survive, I named her Pepper. She was all black, just like Mom’s cat when I
was a baby.
When I moved into my own apartment, Pepper came with
me. After what happened to Puffy, none
of my own cats went outdoors anymore so I was alarmed when Pepper
disappeared. I searched all over for her
and couldn’t find her anywhere. My
parents came and helped me search again and we still couldn’t find her. After a good 3 days of looking, I saw her
emerge from behind the refrigerator. She
walked stiffly and all her fur was standing on end. She looked like she’d been electrocuted. My parents convinced me that Pepper was
unhappy because I was gone all day to work.
I let them take Pepper back to their house. I missed her but was convinced this was best.
A co-worker friend and I began to share an apartment
closer to work. I guess I must have
mentioned my love of cats to the rental office manager because one day she told
me she’d left me a surprise. Wondering
what it was, I entered the apartment and looked around. I didn’t see anything out of the
ordinary. I went into the kitchen to get
dinner ready and when I turned around, there was a little tabby kitten staring
at me with wide eyes. I totally fell in
love with her at first sight. I was
going through a strong Irish heritage period and I named her Kushna Macree,
meaning “From the Irish term of endearment cushla macree, Gaelic
cuisle mo croidhe 'beat of my heart'.”
She was the beat of my heart, sleeping on my shoulder at night.
My pastor’s wife came to visit one day and asked us to
take in a rescue, an adult female. I
didn’t really want to. I was enchanted
with my Kushla but Joan said sadly the cat would have to go to the pound if no
one would take her. My roommate chimed
in and said the cat would be good company for Kushla while we worked, and so I
agreed. I regretted it almost
immediately. The cat was nothing but
mean to Kushla, hissing, spitting and chasing her away. All this cat did was eat and eat.
One day, another friend came to visit. Spotting the cat, he asked: “When is she due?” I looked nonplussed because he added, “Didn’t
you know she was pregnant?”
I began to stutter.
“Are you sure?”
“I should be,” he answered. “I grew up on a farm.”
Well, that at least that explained the cat’s
hostility. A few weeks later, she gave
birth to six babies and we were now more than a full house. Our lease was due to expire and we were going
in different directions. Alice wanted to
keep the mother and one of the babies; I wanted to keep the orange tabby to
keep Kushla company. The other four
kittens were given up for adoption at a local pet rescue.
I had a new job at Gallaudet College and temporarily
moved in with my parents, bringing Kushla and little Leo to join Pepper in
their new apartment. Things went well
but then my dad decided Kushla and Leo had to be declawed; they were scratching
the apartment’s carpeting and the couch.
Something went terribly wrong with Leo’s operation, and he died on the
table. I was heart broken and called my
father over the TTY at work. He came
home immediately and was also weeping, feeling distraught and guilty.
No more declawing, I decided. Kushla was fine and I brought her home the
next day.
After my grandma died, I decided to move into her
house with my cousin until it could be sold.
My parents wanted me to leave Kushla with them but I couldn’t. She had to come with me.
In 1983, I met my husband-to-be, Rich. After our wedding in 1985, we moved back to
Maryland because we wanted to be able to afford a mortgage and a family. New York had become a very expensive place to
live. Kushla and I had to make a major
adjustment because Rich was allergic to cats.
Kushla couldn’t come into the bedroom anymore.
In 1987, our first baby, Billy, arrived. At that point, Kushla was slowing down. She was a senior and already had to adjust to
a new home and new house rules. Now
there was a baby taking even more attention away from her. Poor thing.
I was exhausted between caring for Billy and
working. One night I fell asleep while
boiling bottles and nipples. I woke up
to the smoke alarm sounding. The
apartment was filling with smoke and the smell of burning rubber. I ran into the bedroom, grabbed Billy, and
ran out the door. I thoughtlessly left
the door open. When the smoke cleared, I
brought Billy back in and put him back in his crib. I went and cleaned up the kitchen. Two pots were totally ruined, as were the bottles
and nipples.
Worse, I realized Kushla must have gotten out when the
door was open. I was heart-broken. I looked for her for weeks but never found
her. I really hope she just found
another nice family to live with, one that didn’t have babies. A nice older couple.
I did not want a cat again. After Heidi was born, we bought a townhouse
in Columbia and moved there. When I
became pregnant with Kristin almost 3 years later, Rich convinced me to adopt a
kitten to help reduce the post-partum depression I was feeling. I agreed but didn’t really bond with the cat
Billy named Paddywack.
Paddywack was a curious, independent kitty. She used to enjoy climbing our Christmas
trees. One year she brought it crashing
to the floor! We’d gotten gerbils for
Billy and Heidi and kept them in a converted fish tank with a wired cover. We didn’t realize that we had one male and
one female until we found a nest of baby gerbils. We had to separate the parents immediately
because the male would want to eat the babies.
The babies grew and they all scampered around inside the tank. Paddywack would watch them closely.
One day, I saw her jump onto the top of the wired
lid. The tank began to wobble and then
toppled to the floor. The lid came off
and the room was filled with panicked gerbils and a terrorized Paddywack. The kids and I hunted for baby gerbils and it
was like an Easter egg hunt! Finally, we
got them all back where they belonged.
Rich’s company was closing the Maryland office. Jobs were being outsourced and the only
available position for him was back on Long Island. There was only one townhouse available to
rent when we went looking and the owners said NO PETS. A very good friend of mine agreed to take
Paddywack.
We missed having pets.
In 2001, we’d been living in the townhouse for almost
2 years. Rich had a heart condition
diagnosed in 1987, soon after Billy was born.
Rich also was diagnosed with Marfan Syndrome, which had brought on the
issues with his heart. In the spring of
2001, Rich’s heart began to fail again and he passed away in May. It was the most traumatic event ever for all
of us.
A few months later, one of my friends asked if we
could adopt a cat named Amber. Amber’s
owner was moving to a new place that refused to allow pets. Well, we had the same issue but I decided to
appeal to the landlords. I said having
this cat would help comfort us as we grieved the loss of my husband and the
kids’ father. Reluctantly, the landlords
agreed. Amber was a beautiful tortoise
shell Persian-Maine Coon mix.
She was very reclusive, though, and hid from us for weeks.
Heidi was especially disappointed. She wanted a cat of her own to love. She was struggling with the loss of her
father. I thought: you know what? I’m getting her a cat. We went to a shelter and she looked at all
the cats before deciding on a young cat named Mouse. A cat named Mouse? How weird.
When we were going through the adoption paperwork, I
asked the shelter employee if he knew the story behind Mouse’s name. He said, “Funny you should ask that. I guess she’s a mouser. The owner didn’t want her anymore. Said it wasn’t his cat.”
I had a sudden thought from my gut. I asked, “Did the man’s wife just die?”
The employee was surprised. “How did you know?”
I answered, “This was just meant to be.”
Ted and I “met” on Match.com. At first, I felt he looked too much like Rich
but his profile kept coming back to me and I heard Rich say, “Give him a chance.” I looked at Ted’s profile and saw that he
liked cats. And so, I sent him a
message. He sent one back. We began emailing, then dating on weekends
because he lived in New Jersey and I was in NY with the kids. We took turns visiting each other, going out
to dinner and talking for hours. He came
to the house and I introduced him to Mouse and Amber. I encouraged him to make friends with them by
giving them a little ham. Ted was
totally in love with them.
We married, and the kids, the cats and I moved to New
Jersey. There was a vet in town who
began caring for Mouse and Amber.
It wasn’t too long before we began taking home more
kitties. We were in a pet store and went
by the cat adoption windows. Ted saw a
large tabby he absolutely fell in love with.
The tabby’s name was Kosmo and his tag on his crate said his owner had
given him up “for no good reason.” We
adopted him on the spot.
Up until then, Mouse and Amber were wrestle
buddies. They’d roll across the room
sometimes, latched together, and we just assumed it was female rivalry. However, once Kosmo entered the picture and
discovered my stuffed animals, he began kneading them and moving on them in a
way that indicated he hadn’t been neutered early.
Mouse began to copy him. One time Ted swept Mouse up in his arms, interrupting
Mouse and turning him over. “Mouse is
not a she,” Ted exclaimed, his eyes widening with shock. I looked and, sure enough, Mouse was
definitely male. When we told our vet,
he was astonished. He searched Mouse
carefully during that visit. Apparently,
there are different ways to neuter a male but the vet was able to determine
that yes, indeed, Mouse was a male.
We were shopping at the grocery store when I saw a
large pin-up on the bulletin board.
There was a picture of a pretty black cat. The message read that the cat’s owner, a
veteran, had just passed away and there was no one to care for it. The only remaining family member was moving
and couldn’t take the cat with her. I
felt compelled to get the cat and Ted agreed.
When we went to the house, the former owner’s niece brought
us in. She told us the cat’s name was Indigo
and that she was about 8. She took us to
a back room to meet Indigo and I called her name softly. Indigo immediately went into hiding. The niece explained that Indigo wasn’t used
to voices. Her owner had had his voice
box removed because of an injury and had never been able to talk to her. The niece was able to bring Indigo out and we
took her home. She wasn’t used to being
around other cats, either, and claimed our bedroom for her own. She would hide whenever Amber, Kosmo or Mouse
would come into the room. It wasn’t long
before she was climbing onto my hip to sleep at night. I loved it.
Someone contacted us about Sox and Cubby. I don’t remember how it came about but
anyway, their owner had died too. Same
story: no one else could take the two
together and they were bosom buddies. Well,
Ted and I had to have them. Their owner
had died from cancer. Her son was away
in college, and her father refused to have the cat in his house. Sox was a wonderfully friendly tuxedo with a
star on his forehead. He enjoyed jumping
in paper bags and stealing Doritos from us.
Cubby put Indigo’s timidness to shame. He was an orange tabby and terrified of
everyone. He hid under our bed for
weeks. At first, he would just poke his
head out but if anyone was looking at him, he’d dive back under the bed. Next, he would come out from under the bed
and if anyone looked at him, back he went underneath. Sox would roam the house during the day but
overnight, he’d go under the bed to stay with Cubby. I think Sox encouraged Cubby to come out and
stop hiding; it just took a while.
Finally, Cubby would come out and tolerate one of us looking at him. He began to freely roam the house too.
Word of our love of cats must have spread because
there was an animal rescue group that asked if we would take in a gray cat
named Munchkin. Of course, we did. Munchkin was sweet and loving with us but a
holy terror with the rest of the cats, especially poor Indigo. Tragically, we only had Munchkin less than a
year. One day she couldn’t walk and we
took her to the vet. She had a clot
disorder that occasionally happened with cats and her prognosis was very
poor. We had to let her cross the
rainbow bridge.
So it went over the years with the rest of our gang
and each loss was so very painful. Kosmo
had kidney failure. Amber had some
horrible disease where her skin began sloughing off. Sox, Mouse, Cubby and Indigo all had
cancer. Indigo was the last to go. She was almost 20 years old.
Ted and I were heart broken. About six months later, we realized we were
lonely for feline friends and so we went to the animal shelter. We adopted Bootsie and Bandit, then 1 and 2
years old. It was wonderful to have
furry family members again. About a year
later, Ted saw a post on Facebook. There
was an orange tabby Maine Coon who needed a home and Ted wanted him. The cat’s name was Tigger and apparently the
original owner gave him up after 8 years in favor of a new puppy. Another “for no good reason” but it worked
out very well for us. And to complete
the family, my friend Nancy asked if we would take a 6-month-old kitten she was
caring for. That was my baby, Nugget.
We are down to three right now. Very sadly, we lost Tigger to heart failure
after having him less than three years.
Sometimes we are tempted to look for another kitty but … not yet.
