The Crazy Cat Lady

Shortly before I left my last job, I had a conversation with Cocoa. She was asking me how Cookie was getting on. Cookie is a cat I have been fostering since last December. I ended up with him because my neighbour, who wanted to take him in, couldn’t at the time. Her house, to put it bluntly, was a disaster and no place in which to bring a scared, semi-feral cat. But she was moving in April and the plan was that I would keep Cookie until then. Sure enough, April rolled around and my neighbour told me a week before she was moving that she couldn’t take Cookie. I suspect that was the case all along.

It wouldn’t be such a big deal except that Cookie was the sixth cat to join my household. That’s a lot of cats. But as Cocoa pointed out,“If you had that many dogs, no one would call you a ‘crazy dog lady’would they?”

Would they? I don't know. But there seems to be a perception seared into the public psyche that if you’re female and have a lot of cats, you must be a mentally ill, socially inept recluse. I’ve even lied about how many cats I have just to run interference on this perception. I had a job interview a couple of months ago where we got on the subject of pets. I mentioned that I had cats and when asked how many, I said “Two.” Why? Well I think it’s all fine and good not to give a damn about what other people think, but sometimes you just have to be pragmatic.

How did I get here? Well the fact is that my cats, each in their own way, have found me. I can only assume that this has happened for a reason.

Therefore Friends, Romans is proud to present:

A HISTORY OF ZESTY’S CATS

Cat #1 – Mojo
Mojo arrived at my doorstep on Christmas Eve 1997. My boyfriend at the time (“the Maritimer”) was walking back from the convenience store when Mojo jumped out in front of him on the sidewalk, demanding his attention. The Maritimer walked in the door and said, “I just met the nicest cat. I don’t think he has a home.” Charmed by this, I walked downstairs and opened the door. There was Mojo. I said “Hello little honey!” at which point Mojo said “Mep!” and walked on in. It was after this that I discovered that I was no longer allergic to cats. The dye was cast.

Cat #2 – Miss Possil
Possil is my “Bette Davis” cat and takes absolutely no crap from anyone. This is why I named her after Possil Park, one of the toughest areas in Glasgow. It’s also my own miniature tribute to the strength of my maternal Grandmother and Mother, two key women in my life who have both lived in Possil Park, admired Bette Davis and have never taken crap from anyone. Possil was originally a neighbour’s cat. She was left outside constantly, starved and uncared for. My old apartment was on the top level of a house and the summer I was ill, I’d leave the window open so that Mojo could come and go from the kitchen window out on to the roof. Possil decided to avail herself of this opportunity as her guardians had been busted for drugs and arms possession (I swear I’m not making this up). Their house had been abandoned along with Possil – and her kittens.

Cats #3 & 4 – Chudleigh and Lolly

Chudleigh and Lolly were part of Possil’s three kitten litter. One kitten, essentially feral as they were outside all the time and unsocialized, had been given away with disastrous results. Of course my neighbours did what any sane person would do. They abandoned the remaining kittens, coming by once in a blue moon to feed them. Sigh.

At this time I had called Annex Cat Rescue and explained the situation.They said that the kittens would be hard to place, but if I could feed them and start socializing them, they would have a chance. I started leaving out Tupperware dishes of food on my porch. This was May. October was the first month they let me pet them. By November, Chudleigh and Lolly got brave enough to come inside, by which time I could not give them away for adoption.

Because I had named them Chudleigh and Lolly.

Cat # 5 – Neko

I was coming home one day in the summer of 2001 when a gorgeous, albeit emaciated, Siamese tabby ran out from under a car. “Mep!” she declared, taking a page from the School of Mojo, and thus Neko entered our lives. I did try to find to find her a home. My friend “Georgie” was looking for a cat at the time, as her other feline, Tomsk, was on his own. This was due to the all too soon departure of his sister Tasha. It all seemed so perfect. Until Neko started terrorizing Tomsk and depriving him of his food. By then, Neko had my spouse wrapped around her baby forepaw (tramp), essentially circumventing any sway I had in the matter. Neko joined our household shortly thereafter.

Cat # 6 – Shuggy

During the time of Neko’s arrival, there was another cat in the neighbourhood. I remember thinking at the time that he looked rather strange and I wasn’t really sure if he was a stray or not. Some cats just have a look about them. I know now that that this is because Shuggy had been starved for some months, and that the short haired strange looking black cat I was seeing was actually a long haired cat. But at the time, he was solid muscle. It was really hard to tell.

I would also leave him out food. He wouldn’t eat it all at once, a trait otherwise typical in strays. I meant to get him to my vet, but I was pretty sure he had a home and never got round to it. We moved to our new home in the fall of 2001. I left food for the new tenant and asked him to keep an eye on “Blackie” as we called him then. It was a bad call.

In November, dear little Mojo died. We believe it was due to poison that was left out by someone with a vendetta against raccoons. Unfortunately, a number of cats in our neighbourhood have died this way. We just didn’t know it at the time.

After Mojo died, I thought all winter about the little black cat we’d left behind. I’d make a point of going down my old street on the way to work to see if he was there. Finally on Mother’s Day 2002 (of all things) I was getting my sister some flowers at my preferred florist. It’s by my old apartment, and although it was quicker to keep going straight to get to the highway, a little voice told me to turn down my old street. There was "Blackie", being picked on by my old neighbour’s cat.

What I found so heartbreaking about this reunion, was that he remembered me. He meowed and dropped on his back looking for a belly rub. This is a standard show of affection in cats. Even having starved through a bitter winter, with half his ear blown off from a ruptured abscess and close to death, here was this cat trying to ingratiate himself to me, asking for help. I took him to the emergency vet and then transferred him to my own. He was F.I.V. positive and didn't have much hope of being adopted as most people are ill informed about this condition. Shuggy moved in with us about a month later once he had recovered.

Cat #7 – Toby

I already mentioned Cookie. Toby is the name I’ve given to a long haired black cat who showed up in our yard in April of this year. I saw the same signs I had seen in Shuggy; the emaciation, the short fur on his body, but long on the tail, the copper colour developing in his fur as malnutrition set in. It wasn’t until two weeks ago that he trusted us enough to stay in the yard and take food. After that, he couldn’t get enough affection. I got him to the vet last week where he had to have most of his teeth removed. They were all abscessed and diseased. He has been staying upstairs with Cookie and they are the best of friends. Cookie has really come out of his shell and I’m hoping to find them a home together.

People hear about all this and ask “Isn’t it tiring?” It is some days. “Do I wonder why I do this?” Yes, sometimes I really do. But I also acknowledge that my cats have brought very real joy and comfort to my life. They have loved me as much as I’ve loved them, and they have taught me much.

Have I mentioned that my spouse is a saint?

I don’t know why these cats find me. Maybe they pick up some sort of vibe. What I do know, is that it has been such a pleasure to give these lovely creatures a home, to see the stress leave their faces and life return to their eyes. Whenever I see Lolly relish his dinner, or Shuggy stretched out on a warm blanket on a bitter winter’s night or Possil giving Chudleigh kisses, I'm reminded to cherish life’s most simple and basic pleasures; warmth, shelter, food, companionship. My cats are living, breathing reminders of how powerful simple kindness can be.

I don’t expect anyone to do as I have done or to make the choices I have made. But I suppose this is a “Cri du Coeur” of sorts, my way of not justifying what I have done, but of at least explaining it.

Because for me, to see a sick, starving and scared cat, day in and day out and do nothing?

Now that's just crazy.