the accidental cat

Crossing the road and walking past just one house from my neighbor's house to mine, my sister, Laura, and I encountered a little, furry, grey kitten.  "If that kitty follows us to your house, you need to keep it."

I already had two cats.  I wasn't looking for another.  I responded with one of our usual responses--"whatever" or "I'm sure" and kept walking.  The kitten kept walking, too, following us across the yard and up to my front door.

"If this kitty comes into your house, you have to keep it," she said while she literally nudged the little fuzzball with her shoe towards the open door. He walked in.  My fate had been sealed.

That was over 17 years ago, and that little kitten never left, even though he was the only cat I really ever let outside for any length of time.  He loved to roll around on the concrete, covering his back and sides with dirt and dried leaves.  He would literally go out with the dogs and come back in when they were done.  It seemed that for whatever reason this cat had made a conscious decision to live with me.  Maybe he heard and understood Laura's imperative.  We had made a contract with each other, a commitment formed without words.  We were in this together.

From the beginning, Eli was different than any cat I'd ever met.  He seemed somehow mature and knowing.  I spoke to him like he was human.  On some level, he was.  When there were no words, we communicated telepathically.  I believe that it was our connection that saved his life during that first year.

I was doing laundry, transferring a load of items from the washer to the dryer when he somehow got into the dryer.  I didn't see him in there when I started it.  I walked away and started the shower.  I had just climbed in when I heard something and felt my stomach drop to the ground.  I ran to the dryer, opened the door and called for him.  I felt around with my hand.  I didn't see or hear anything right away.  Maybe he wasn't in there.  But, I somehow knew that he was.  My greatest fear had been realized!  Eli had been killed in the dryer!

Then, I heard a faint meow.  I frantically started pulling things out of the dryer until, finally, a visibly shaken Eli wobbled into my hands.  It was late on a weekend night, so I called my vet and requested a call back through the answering service.  When Dr. Dircksen called, he asked me to describe Eli's condition and told me what to look out for.  He agreed to call me every 15 minutes for a status update.  We spoke throughout the night until we were both satisfied that Eli would be ok.  Before we hung up the last time, he pointed out to me that in my initial description I had said that Eli was "extra fluffy" and we had a laugh over that and joked that he was now "April fresh."  He was no worse for the wear from his ride around the inside of the dryer, but years later, Mitchell joked that maybe we should run all of our cats through the dryer to make them come out as cool as Eli.


Whatever lesson he might have learned from this experience, though, certainly wasn't generalized to the dangers of climbing into other large, metal objects.  About 10 years passed without incident, but early one morning, Eli decided to climb into the open trunk of Mitchell's car while he packed for a business trip.  He went unnoticed and seemed unconcerned until Mitchell was over 30 minutes into his voyage.  Somewhere just outside of Andrews, NC, Mitchell heard the panicked and harried meows emanating from his trunk and pulled over.  I was surprised to see him return home, but I wasn't surprised to hear the reason.  Once again, I was just grateful that Eli's curiosity hadn't gotten the best of him and that he had found an effective way to communicate.

Otis

BoBo

It was in that year that Eli's life really changed.  He had already moved with me from Indiana to Tennessee and then to North Carolina, but he had always had his brothers, BoBo and Otis, to keep him company.  Unfortunately, though, BoBo lost his fight to chronic kidney failure that year at the age of 16.  The younger duo missed their older brother, but then welcomed a new brother into their lives a few months later when Manny came to live with us.  Towards the end of the year, Otis got sick for the first time ever in his 12 years.  In January, he was very sick as we made our next move to Connecticut, and by March he had lost his life to intestinal cancer.

Manny

Eli suddenly went from the "baby" of the feline branch of our family to the patriarch.  And, he took his new role seriously.  When Manny pestered me to go outside on the deck with Eli, Eli gave me a knowing look and assured me that he would take his brother under his wing and would keep him safe.  I watched cautiously from the back door as Manny jumped down from the deck into the yard and headed toward the corner of the house.  Eli immediately fell in line, following him and then circling around in front of him and corralling him back into the backyard once that invisible line at the edge of the house had been breached.  I watched him do this time and time again until Manny had been trained to stay inside the area defined as safe by Eli.  Manny was allowed to hunt and play in the backyard, but he knew not to ever leave and he learned from Eli to come in when called.  Eli and Manny became good buddies, and they spend a lot of time together enjoying the sun from our deck.

Alla

Sadly, only a couple of years later, Manny succumbed to intestinal cancer, just as Otis had.  Eli was the only cat in the house for six months until we adopted Alla, a breathtakingly beautiful Birman cat.  She was just seven months old and brought a new energy and youthfulness into the home, and Eli loved playing with her.  Just seven months later, she withdrew from the family and lost weight.  A simple trip to the vet ended in a terminal sentence of FIP (feline infectious peritonitis).  Alla was gone within two weeks, and Eli was alone again.

Hazel

I was devastated by Alla's loss and didn't want another cat, but Eli made it clear that he wanted company.  I was so afraid of losing another pet, but I knew that I would have to take that risk to make Eli happy.  Only one month later, I found myself agreeing to adopt a cat from the Savannah, GA shelter after receiving her picture from a local rescuer.  I met the transport van the next weekend, and Hazel joined our family in a seamless transition.  Eli was happy once again.

Maybe it was his own rescue that inspired him, but I always felt that Eli was my silent partner in fostering and adopting new animals.  He welcomed every cat that came to stay, whether for a short time or for good.  I never heard him hiss at a cat who was scared or confused and who hissed or swatted at him.  He also allowed every dog to paw him, mouth him, and nudge him with its muzzle.  He never showed fear, and he never reacted.  He showed the most spastic, cat-chasing pup that there was more reward in being calm than in running after a cat.  He showed the paranoid, possessive, and territorial dogs that there was no difference between the cat in your yard and the one walking by your yard and, therefore, no need to freak out.  He was brilliantly effective in a completely unassuming way.  He was steady, confident, and constant.  He was literally the coolest cat I'd ever known.

It's now been seven weeks since Eli let me know that after over 17 years he was ready to leave his little body behind.  He had lived for several years with an intense allergy that caused his intestines to thicken and lose their ability to absorb nutrients from his food.  He had been diagnosed through bloodwork after I took him to the vet saying that there was something wrong with his belly.  "He's meowing weird," I said.  "I think his stomach hurts."  The vet looked at me strangely, but then apologized when his values came back.  "How the hell did you know what was wrong?" he asked, and I explained that I just understood Eli. 

I understood Eli, and he understood me.  He was more than a cat.  He was my friend.  He had been my friend since he walked through my front door that night.  I miss my friend.  I miss him so incredibly much.

Alla & Eli

rescuing me

For four years, I ran an animal rescue. I named it after my dog, D.J. A rescued dog herself, D.J. came to live with me after my first dog, Trapper, died suddenly after ingesting rat poison. She filled an empty place in my heart and was my rock through some difficult times. D.J. was sweet, funny, and gentle, and she loved playing nanny to the newcomers in the house. She suffered from a degenerative disease which affected the discs in her spine, but she never let it slow her down, particularly when it came to providing leadership and guidance to the animals in the house. At one point, she was paralyzed in her front legs for almost 2 weeks, but even that couldn't dim her spirit. Sadly, though, in the end, her spirit was unable to overcome the limitations of her body, and D.J. died very suddenly at the too young age of 11 to kidney failure.

Though I am no longer actively involved in rescue, I still get a lot of emails and postings about animals in shelters who need rescue and about animals who have been rescued and need transportation. Whenever I can, I send some money to help those in the trenches, and I have driven a bunch of dogs up and down the highways. I've even provided overnight accommodations as needed. But, until very recently, the idea of adopting another pet hasn't been on my mind. I have a full house--3 dogs & 2 cats--oh yeah, and an allergic human partner.

I think about D.J. a lot and even have her picture as the background on my laptop, but for about a week starting in the middle of May, she was heavy on my mind. I couldn't stop thinking about her. It wasn't until Tuesday, May 19th, that I figured out why. She was trying to tell me something--to tell me about a dog that she wanted to save. In the midst of those tons of emails and postings, I had found one dog, a young, female, yellow Labrador retriever, who grabbed my heart and wouldn't let it go. She was in a shelter in North Carolina. I am in Connecticut. It was impractical. It made no sense. It would be difficult, but I still wanted to do it. I wanted to rescue and adopt her.

I woke up before 5:00 am and started sending emails. I made phone calls all morning. I called Mitchell and broke down. He kindly reassured me that he would support my decision. When I said, "But, it's so impractical," he responded with a quick, "So what. Nothing about us is practical." Before I knew it, I was trying to arrange for the dog to be saved. The phone at the shelter was busy. I redialed and redialed. Finally, someone answered. I gave him the dog's ID number. He told me that she had already been adopted. My heart sank. I feared that she had actually been killed. I was disappointed that she wouldn't be with me. I considered adopting another dog, but my heart wasn't in it, so I donated some money to the veterinary care of the many who were saved that day.

I went through the rest of the day with an empty feeling. I had already fallen in love with this dog, and now I would never know her. I assumed that that was the end of the story until I got home and found a posting by the group who had rescued "my" dog. Apparently, a group of people who loves Labs had rallied around her and, through their online community, arranged to have her pulled from the shelter, checked by a veterinarian, and fostered until transport could be arranged. Multiple people donated money for her care, and a woman in Maine committed to take her. I posted a comment about how I had attempted to adopt her and was happy to know that she was safe. I sent in some money for her care. Once again, I assumed that was the end of it.

Later that evening, I received a message from the adoption sponsor in Maine. She wanted to know if I was still interested in adopting the dog. What?!?! Of course, I was! She said that there were others interested in adopting her, but that she felt that I might be the right choice. My hopes soared once more. I couldn't sleep that night. I looked at pictures and videos of her posted by her rescuer. I imagined what it would be like to have her join my family. I couldn't focus on much else. I was scheduled to leave in just a day and a half for a week-long trip to Indiana for a friend's wedding and visiting my sister and my friends, but I hadn't even started to pack. Instead of mapping my route and planning my lunch dates with friends, I was trying to figure out how to get the dog from eastern NC, where she was being fostered, to the western part of the state, where Mitchell would be attending his annual business meeting the next week.

After another long day of worrying and wondering, I got the call I had been hoping for. The dog was mine! I was so excited! Right away, my trip to Indiana was canceled, and I started planning how I would get the dog from her foster mom and brainstorming names for my new addition. I eventually settled on "Iko," a name that I had wanted to use for a while, but hadn't yet met the right dog for. And, as luck (or fate) would have it, I was able to coordinate with her foster mom to meet up for her exchange. Our long drive to North Carolina was made a little easier knowing that I would soon be meeting Iko for the first time. The hardest part was waiting out the next day and a half in a hotel room in Wilkesboro, NC, and even the series finale of "Lost" couldn't hold my interest or attention for long.

Iko was rescued from the Robeson County Animal Shelter in St. Pauls, NC on May 19, 2010, and I saw her for the first time in a McDonald's parking lot in Zebulon, NC on May 25, 2010. Since, then she's secured her place in my home, my family, and my heart. She is goofy, smart, loving, playful, and pretty.

But, once again, the story doesn't end there. As much as Iko's adoption came as a bit of a surprise, I have also been pleasantly surprised to have many of the people involved in her rescue become dear friends of mine. Though we've never met in person (except one), I feel as if I've known them forever. They get me in the same way my best friends do, fulfilling my first and most important criteria for friendship. I respect their passion and am in awe of their ability to achieve tasks which would seem impossible to most. I believe that there was something very special about the way that I was led to Iko and the series of events which unfolded to make her adoption possible. I believe that this something special has also brought these new friends into my life. They've reminded me of the need for boundaries and of the value in humor. They love dogs, and they dislike drama. They're "good people," as the old saying goes, and I have no doubt that D.J. would approve!