I had been bereft of cat for about two years when my then-girlfriend and I moved into an old farmhouse. We'd only been in the house a few weeks when she discovered that we had field mice coming in. "You've got to put out traps!" she implored. "No, we need to get a cat," I replied. At the time, she was not a "cat-person", but, in her defense, she was pretty much carrying her father's attitude about cats-"they're sneaky, they're aloof, they're a lot of trouble."
I'd had cats since I was 12 years old-in fact, I was the reason my family ever had cats at all. So I insisted to her, "if we rely on traps, we'll be setting them all fall and winter; if we get a cat, that'll be the end of the mice!" She relented, and I set about finding my kitty. Now, it's true, some cats are sneaky and aloof, but my experience has borne out that a cat's personality very much reflects the way it was nurtured when young. I'd learned from experience, that if I was going to be happy with a cat, I needed to get her young and pliable; after about a year, that cat's core personality is set, and then there's only so much you can do to moderate it's behavior.
My search began in the area we lived in, but after several weeks I began to despair of finding my kitty. The search was complicated by the fact that my last cat had been the best to date-smart, sweet, loving, funny, energetic, friendly-a perfect feline companion. I will have to tell her story some other time, but for now, let's say she set the bar pretty high. And I admit I get a little Zen-mystical about something like selecting a cat-I knew, in my heart, that I would know her when I saw her. My then-girlfriend was getting impatient; "are you ever going to bring home a cat!?" It was getting late in October, and the mice were getting pretty bold. I had some time off work coming up, so I took a day and drove the 90 minutes to the place I knew I would be likely to find my cat-Open Door Animal Sanctuary in House Springs, MO. Back when I'd been a newspaper reporter and lived down there, I'd covered the opening of the sanctuary and I've been a supporter ever since. And there's a cute story about Open Door, and my then-girlfriend, but that must come later.
When I arrived I was surprised and gladdened by how much it had grown. I went to the desk and explained my purpose, and the gal I talked to asked if I knew what kind of cat I wanted. She was a bit abashed as I reeled off my list: "American Shorthair, tortoise-shell, female, preferably the runt of the litter." "Female torty shorthair runt," she noted. "Well, we've got a torty litter that's just barely old-enough to adopt, if you don't mind a really young cat." I just smiled.
She led me back, through room after room of spacious and clean cages; every room also had a play-area, for prospective adoptees to check out the kittens in a homey enviroment. Open Door has always been a class-act. Finally, we came to the last room, with the youngest litters. She walked me over to a spacious cage with about 6 torty kittens; as we approached the cage, all the kittens surged to the front, mewing for attention, patting at the screens-all but one. There, huddled off to one side, was the tiniest one, mostly black but with a painted foot and a tan streak down her nose. She looked up as I stood there and the look in her eyes said, "Are you just looking, or are you buying?" Then she turned her head away. I turned to the gal with me and said, "there's my cat. Right there." She sort of glanced at the more boisterous kittens and then looked back at me. "Well, let's take her out and let you hold her." She barely filled my hand, but, held close to my chest, after a moment, she leaned her head against me, still not purring, and looked into my eyes.
"Yeah, this is my kitty," I told the gal. And the little kitty pushed her head into my chest, and started to purr.
As we started the long drive home, she crouched in the perforated box, she began to mew, plaintive and uncertain. I talked and sang to her, and started trying out names; her adoption papers showed the folks who'd brought the litter had named her "Mud", and the sanctuary people had christened her "Margaret". Of course, neither of those could possibly do. But, being Zen-mystical weird and all, I wanted her input on her name, so I tried different notions I had, calling them softly, singing them to her; when I said, "is your name Lila?" she suddenly mewed more loudly, and as I started singing that name, she started mewing in reply. I'd picked that possible name because I'd just finished reading Robert Pirsig's book Lila and I liked the fundamental question posed, "Does Lila have Quality?" Okay, Lila it would be.
And what a Lila she has been, and is. For almost seventeen years now my constant companion, my closest friend and dearest love; if any of what's about to follow is off-putting to anyone, let me state now and emphatically, I don't care. If you have never known the love of a pet, I pity you. If you have never known the love of a loving cat, I pity you that as well. Lila's devotion has been a constant source of comfort and joy to me; at times in my life when I've been alone and far-removed from my family and friends, heartbroken and desperately sad, she has always been there. No matter how lonely I ever was, I was never too alone to bear, as long as she was with me. She figures preeminently in all my plans and actions; I have passed on dwellings otherwise ideal, because NO CATS ALLOWED. I declined a relationship with an otherwise wonderful girl because she was allergic to cats, and was offended that I suggested she take allergenic treatments just so I could have that cat. In the darkest moments of my most fractious years she was the perpetually-blossoming flower that told me Life still had joy in it.
I can wax eloquent for days about her, and feline pets in general, but I must not try to pack too much into a single post. I will write more about her, and her predecessors, and many others, in other posts. But I should perhaps include the ex-girlfriend Open Door story. Terri, having never been a cat-person, was converted by the charms of Lila. When we separated, I was very clear that the little kitty had to come with me, and she understood and agreed; there was a bond there she would not try to break. But she missed having a kitty, and not long after our parting asked me about getting one of her own. Of course, I directed her to Open Door. She, her new boyfriend, and his 4 year old daughter drove down to find a cat; when Terri walked into the converted house that was the cattery, she exclaimed, "My God, it's Kitty City!"
And when Terri's mother visited a few weeks later, she asked the little girl where they'd gotten their new kitten. With the solemnity of a four-year-old, the little girl replied, "Oh, she comes from Kitty City."
I know what you mean about the bond you can have with a cat. My bond with Molly is incredibly close. She's my constant companion. Cats also seem to know when you feel bad. Molly senses my emotional state better than most people ever could. When I'm happy she tries to play. When I'm upset or sick she snuggles up beside me to purr and comfort me.
ReplyDeleteMolly has her own ideas about running the house too. Take guests for instance. Staying for dinner is just fine but if you stay overnight she tells them to go home the next morning. It's very funny to watch. She'll circle around thier feet crying and meowing, then walk to the door and stare at them. Even people who never had a cat instantly understand what she's telling them.
Here are a couple of blog posts on molly.
http://itsanoirworld.blogspot.com/2008/04/calico.html
http://itsanoirworld.blogspot.com/2008/03/birthday-girl.html
Oh, I almost forgot. Lila is a beautiful tortie.
ReplyDeleteYour Molly is a beauty! I can definitely second the personality observations about calicos in your blog, although several I have known were very sociable and liked being petted and groomed. They weren't fond of laps, though.
ReplyDeleteLila is intensely aerial; in her earlier years, is was not uncommon to see her scale a door standing ajar with one huge leap and a little scrabble at the top. There she would perch on the door, looking around with great pride. When frustrated about wanting to be held, I had to take care, as she would spring from the floor to perch on my shoulder! She has always maintained a "nest" on my bedroom closet shelf; only in the last few years have I had to help her access by parking a stool in front of the closet, so she can do a 1-2 jump up to her bed.
And while she's pretty complacent about overnite visitors, it's MY schedule she has the most to say about! I'm an early to bed, early to rise guy, so around 8:30-9:00 she will start to fuss around me, hop up on my footstool and mip-murr at me, telling me it's time for me to go to bed. In the morning, usually about 10 minutes or so before my alarm goes off, I will feel a delicate little pat-pat on my cheek as she tells me "it's time to get up!" One might think this could be food driven, except she eats dry food almost exclusively and never empties her food bowl, so I think she just figures she knows what's best for me!
Cats have an intense sense of time I've never figured out. They know when things happen like wakeup time or bedtime or dinner. It can't be based on the sun because it rises and sets at different times during the year. Molly eats at 4. In the winter that's almost dark but in the summer it's still 5 hours before dark, yet she still knows when it's 4. It's the same for my bedtime too because Molly, like your Lila, comes to get me when it's bedtime.
ReplyDeleteI've had cats literally all my life. Mom had one when I was born and I've had my own since I can remember. I think the longest period I've gone without one is about a year and I'm 55.
I can't imagine not having the company of a cat. They give you unconditional companionship and love. In return they ask for nothing but a little food and if they can go outside to hunt, they don't even ask for that.
Cats are one of the small gifts we have on this earth. I treasure them because you don't have many. In a world where no one gives you anything and you have to fight for what you have; the cat will freely give you everything it has in the whole world to give...itself.
I think I'll have to co-opt that last paragraph. So very true!
ReplyDeleteI'm told by those who were around then that, as a small child, I was always fascinated by any cat around. Once, when I was being babysat by a friend of my mom's (I was maybe 3-4) she came out and I was sitting with a couple of semi-feral cats sitting right next to me. As my sitter approached they got up and ran away.
When I was 12 a friend's cat had a litter and I begged my parent's to let me have one. Poor Pharon had a short life, caught by a slamming screen door when I was away from home, and nothing could be done before he died. I was devastated. I soon got another cat, Phred, a yellow and white tom who quickly became the biggest cat for miles around-the last time he let me weigh him he was 24 pounds and still growing (about 1-1/2 yrs then). At about 3 years of age, he disappeared for a month and I was frantic-my parents made me keep him outside (we lived in a rural area) and he'd vanished. Then, unexpectedly, one of my younger brothers came to me to excitedly tell me Phred was at his buddies farm about a mile away. He'd gone there, overbore the alpha tom and taken charge of the harem. I went to see him and he came running as soon as I called, with a look that said, "well, what took you so long?" Not many weeks after that, he appeared in our yard in the company of two of his children, as though to show me what he'd been up to. He'd regularly visit me every now and then over the next year or two, until he just sort of stopped showing up. From what my brother's friend said, I think he just got a little worn-out with all those females, and keeping down the mice and such at the farm. I understand he lived a pretty long life for an out-doors cat.
I've had to endure some catless times in my life, especially when I was working as a travelling musician, and, too, I tend to mourn for a year or so before I'm ready to get another cat. My friend Dan, another cat-dad, thinks I should have a "safety" cat, so when Lila's time comes I won't be bereft, but I think I'm just cut from different cloth, and I think I would rather quietly mourn her until I'm ready to consider another cat. Lila's predecessor was the completely remarkable C'Mell, who will have to get her own post; it took me two years to even consider that I might be able to find a cat to compare to her. Unbelievably, Lila has proven to be not only as amazing, but in many ways, even more unique. While she's not as intelligent as C'Mell (a cat who understood how to turn off an alarm clock! a cat who could turn on a faucet! a cat who would drag her nearly-empty food bag to my chair to remind me to buy more food!) she has a fine intuitive sense about not only my moods, but my various girlfriends and roommates over the years. Where C'Mell was scary intelligent, Lila seems to be astoundingly perceptive and understanding. She seemed to know something was wrong with my last roommate, David, even before he'd been diagnosed with cancer. Although he was not a cat-fan, she seemed to go out of her way to try to engage him, get his mind off his problems and onto something lighter and happier. She seemed to genuinely miss him when he moved out to live with his son, and often went to his room to call for him, and then run to me, asking where he was and why he was gone.
As my friend Dan and I often remark, Life would not be nearly as enjoyable without our companions. I can understand the connection that dog-people have with their dogs, but, so sorry, I've never met the dog that can compare to a good cat. It's just a whole-'nother order of interaction.
Lila implores me to note, since it hasn't come up yet, that she is really and truly "the runt" of her litter; at nearly seventeen, and the biggest she has ever been, she's a whopping 6 lbs. Hence, one of her most often-used alternate names, "the itty-kitty." Still, when six pounds lands on your shoulder in complete surprise, it can be a bit disconcerting!
ReplyDeleteMr M's cat, Alice the bloodthirsty murderess, was an orphan. He took her to save her from a dismal (dead-like) fate. He is the ONLY person she lets pick her up or cuddle her. She'll play with other people, but after about 4 seconds of petting or rubbing, whammo, the claws come out.
ReplyDeleteShe also likes to stare at people. Disbelief? I'm not sure.