A rainy dayâ€¦and a cat story
There are no new titles anymore, just recycling what’s gone brilliantly before us.
We’re getting a little much-needed rain today, though not nearly enough. The temperature has dropped as well, which is fine. We all need some cool down time.
The other day I took Amazon to her holistic vet for her monthly checkup. Her vet has been away for a month, and toward the end of that time Amazon wasn’t feeling so well, and I didn’t want to wait until her next appointment. She’s actually doing great. In fact, she may well outlive me!
It reminds me of an earlier cat that cohabited with me when I lived in London, Cassie. Cassie was a “gift” from my first lesbian lover, whose parents had “owned” Cassie and had both died. I had a house, and Cassie needed a house to live in. Cassie spent the first year of our relationship hiding under the living room sofa, except for when she came out to eat and take care of business.
Though my human relationship ended shortly thereafter, my relationship with Cassie lasted many years, and she moved out from under the sofa onto the foot of my bed when I slept. She was never a lap cat, but we had a mutual understanding that grew into a great love over the years.
Cassie had come to me with the diagnosis of having a “bad heart” and so sometimes I wondered how she was doing. She always turned out to be fine. However, one evening she didn’t seem so fineâ€¦she wouldn’t eat, her nose was hot and dry, and I couldn’t easily see any breathing. Of course, it was near the middle of the night, and I was convinced she was near death. I frantically called ’round vets to find one that was open and I spoke to a woman who agreed to meet me at her clinic and have a look.
I didn’t even have a cat carrier, so I bundled Cassie into the front of my jacket and sat with her on my lap as I drove to the clinic, crying uncontrollably, alternately wiping my eyes and nose and stroking Cassie, who was quite quiet and might even have been asleep. So, I got to the clinic and, between sobs, described the symptoms I’d see to the vet, who tried her best to calm me down. Se did an examâ€¦andâ€¦Cassie had a cold.
Cassie went on to live several more full years as my companion. Sadly, I was unable to find a new home for her when I left London, and thought I had no other choice but to give her over to an animal clinic. I put her in my backpack and had that against my chest as I cycled to the clinic, which was about half an hour away, and, again was in tears the whole way there. Cassie wasn’t quiet this time. At the clinic I felt everyone sitting there knew I was abandoning my animal and was silently damning me for doing so. I had to fill out some paperwork, and then a white-coated man came to take her away from me.
She didn’t want to go. She clung to me and was wailing. Now everyone, for sure, was watching our struggle of separation. The man was being very gentle and saying to me that everything would be fine. I wasn’t so sure. Finally Cassie let go and I turned a fled the building. I cried all the way home and for days afterward.
I’m crying now. That was one of the hardest things I ever did.
So, when Amazon seems to be doing badly, I’m happy to rearrange my schedule and take her to the vet. I will do it in a heartbeat. As long as she wants to stay with us, I will help her do that.
|Bed kats: Boca, Amazon and Kali|
Now we have Amazon, Boca Grande and Kali living with us, all of them rescued from the streets. Boca Grande, the only male in our house, is a pain in the ass sometimes, but we love him, and we love his sisters.
Kali likes to sneak up when you’re busy on the telephone, or concentrating on something, or eating dinner, and insinuate herself into your lap, curled up like an armadillo. Then you’re stuck. Any movement elicits a grumpy growl and her claws might dig into your thigh. Ouch! If you do force her to move, she’ll get up, stretch and step to the nearest flat surface and look back at you with distain. Then she’ll pretend you’re not even alive and begin to clean herself, or move on to a more immobile resting place.
Boca Grande has his chair and his bed, and his place on the couch. Do not even think to sit there! If you do, he will begin an unending chorus of wails and outrageous, indignant shrieksâ€¦he will continue until you move. He’s not named Boca Grande for nothing, you know.
Amazon is the big sister and watches over the other two with a matriarchal grandeur. The waves part before her. She doesn’t have to say anything. A look will do. Oftentimes I’ll be working away and suddenly feel that I need to turn around. There’s Amazon, silently watching me and waiting for me to notice her. Then I get up and she leads me into the kitchen (for food), or to one of the doors to be let outside.
My partner and I have renamed ourselves “the can and door openers.”
I’m grateful to have them in my life. Till death do we part.