Wow, it’s been two months since I’ve blogged. I truly apologize to the 11 people who read my ramblings. You must have been shaking and twitching with excitement and concern….wondering what had happened to me.
This morning, at 6:00 am on a Monday morning during the summer, I was awaken by a barking dog. As I walked through to the kitchen, a small brown bird flew into my head. After screaming loud enough to alert the neighbors, and possibly peeing my pants, I thought that–once I have enough caffeine to help me shake off this utmost rude awakening–I might use this opportunity to blog a bit. Let me just go put a dab of Neosporin on my temple, where a tiny bird beak punctured it, and see if my husband needs any help catching the wild bird that has now flown into our bedroom, and I’ll get to it…..
Much has happened, actually, but one thing in particular has taken over a large portion of my time, money, and whichever side of my brain that controls pure obsession. And that would be….CATS.
I have prided myself, all my life, with the fact that I am a dog person. 100% dog. One of my many tattoos (sorry Mom) is a dog paw on my left wrist. Not only do I love dogs more than I love most people, but my love for dogs actually highlighted my dislike for cats. I care for all animals, don’t get me wrong….but I’ve had a few run-ins with cats in the past that left me literally scarred. Scarred and scared. Once, a cat jumped out of a pitch dark room and landed on my head. It’s claws were literally sinking into my skull and I screamed what I was sure was my last breath. I may or may not have peed my pants. Once I rubbed a cat the wrong way, from the tail up towards his head, because in my opinion, if I were a cat, I think that would just feel really nice. The cat didn’t agree. He latched on to my arm with both claws and left such deep gashes, it took six months for them to disappear. Again, may or may not have peed my pants. I prayed every night that I wouldn’t get cat scratch fever, which is a real thing, apparently.
Well, the major turnaround in my life started almost a year ago….the end of last summer. My daughter and I were hanging out at the dock down at the lake when I heard a little sound that was by no means a “meow”–more like a little troll trying to sing in an unheard of high key. A matted wad of white fur appeared…no bigger than a hot dog bun. His eyes looked awful, infected, and he was so skinny that I had to hold back tears. I spurted the words that every southern woman says when they see something this sad….”well, bless his heart,” and tried to distract my child with the fun of the sunny summer day. Let’s just make the rest of this part of my story short. In a nutshell, within an hour, that sweet boy was wrapped in a beach towel, in my daughters lap, on his way to his new home…our home. I had crossed over into the land of cat people. A nice, nice vet bill later, eye and ear medicine, a nice warm bath in Dawn dish soap to kill all the fleas, and we had us a kitten. “Pete the Cat”–named after my favorite series of children’s books. I grew to love Pete the Cat very quickly….I had quietly become a cat person. One cat. One nice little cat to add to our family of dogs. It felt good.
Those of you who live here in the south know what a rough winter we had…and we were one of the hundreds of families that went days with no power. After a couple of nights, I thought it would be “fun” to pile all four dogs, plus Pete the Cat into the car and head to my Moms. She had power, a warm shower, and she happened to be making some homemade soup. I thought it sounded cozy. I was wrong. Her three dogs plus our four, plus a cat….it was a mad scene. Years ago, I talked Mom into taking our bird–a little finch that loves to sing–and that night I apparently lost my mind completely when I said, “I’ll just put Pete the Cat in this room while we all settle down.” Right as I closed the door I met my Mom in the hallway…and right as she was about to say “where is that cat?”–I realized what I had done. I put that cat in the same room as the birdcage. I ran back in to find Pete the Cat sitting on top of the birdcage, which hangs from the ceiling, swinging it as fast as a kid on the playground swing. Bird seed and water were flying all over Mom’s neatly kept room, Pete the Cat was having the time of his life, and that poor bird couldn’t have been more terrified. Poor bird looked like he had been put through the spin cycle of the washing machine.
Later that night, exhausted from cleaning up all the birdseed and feathers, we finally sat down to have some soup. Looking out Mom’s big dining room window, I thought I had finally gone off the deep end when I saw, on her deck, two cats….all snuggled up in a flower pot. I knew good and well that my Mom would never have a cat…and sure enough, she assured me, they are just strays….who are probably just looking for somewhere warm to stay. Being the non-cat person that Mom was, she planned to just let them sleep out there under the eave of the house, then go out the next morning and say what all non-cat people say when they see a cat: “Scat!”
We all finally got a little (not much) sleep…..all seven dogs, one cat, and one very angry bird. A few days later, thankfully our power was back one, I got a call from Mom. She had been doing a little cat watching….observing these felines that had apparently shown back up at her house. One appeared to be pregnant. The other one had a horribly mangled leg…broken, or crippled from birth, apparently. She was just sick with heartache, seeing it. I knew from that moment, that she was no longer anti-cat. She had crossed over to my side. To the cat side.
But these cats were wild. Feral. Scared to death. But you see, when my Mamma and I set our minds to do something, it gets done. It might take months, which it DID, but we were going to get these cats to trust us. We were going to get close enough to them to get them the medical help they needed.
As school ended, and my teacher friends were off to Disney, the beach, and other relaxing spots, I had cleared my schedule to do nothing but one thing. Catch those cats. And let me add that I’m no longer talking about two cats. By this time, Mamma cat’s kittens had arrived. Four. One didn’t make it, but three did, and boy were they active. Several items were involved in this cat-catching adventure, including my determined Mom, a large storage crate (with adequate air holes, of course), and lots of peroxide and Neosporin to tend to the scratches that we accumulated every day for a week. Days on end, we would get so close….sometimes even having one of the cats in our arms, but losing grip on it before we could get it in the box. We’d go in the house feeling defeated, cleaning our wounds with the peroxide and Neosporin, laughing at which one of us was bleeding the most.
Mom had worked so hard gaining the trust of these wild cats, putting out food and water every day, getting them to come to her for a little scratch behind the ear….we had not only crossed over to the cat side of the world, but we had started out own little mission. Mary and Mom: Cat Rescuers.
Here’s the end of this story:
Mamma Cat was named Jimmie, by my daughter. Jimmie with an I-E, you know, to make it feminine. She has been spayed, is adjusting to domestic life, and now lives with us. She gets along quite well with Pete the Cat….who, looking back on the timeline of all this, may very well be her brother. Her three babies also live with us. Yep. Ralphie, Cosmo and Kramer. And let me just say, watching kittens play is good for your soul. It just is.
Johnny B was named after my Grandfather, who would have gotten a big kick out of seeing us try to catch these cats. The doctors looked at his pitiful leg, that had literally caused us to cry over the past months, and decided that it had to be completely amputated. My Mamma now has a beautiful, sweet, three-legged cat living with her, along with her dogs and the bird, who has now fully recuperated from his traumatic winter night.
This morning’s bird episode was actually not the first, but the second time one of our feline friends has brought in a friend. I suppose they can tell what animal lovers we are, and just want to add to our family. If I could only get them to understand that we’re good….but thanks anyway.
I’ve learned a lot from this adventure. First of all, NEVER say never.
To name a few others….
~Dogs and Cats can actually get along better than most humans I know
~All creatures just need to be given a chance
~If people learned to do things as fast as cats learn to use a litter box, our world would be a million times more brilliant.
“I have studied many philosophers and many cats. The wisdom of cats is infinitely superior.” – Hippolyte Taine
Kickin' & Screamin' 