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

no going back now

I recently made my fourth long distance move in just over 11 years.  You would think that I would have a whole lot more confidence about starting over personally and professionally than I do.  Maybe I've become more realistic as I've aged, but the truth is that I have become more worried and more insecure with each move.  This move may be the toughest for that reason, and being here alone for most of the first five months didn't made it any easier.  Let's just say that I have decided that I'm getting too old for this stuff.

It still amazes me to think back about my first big move.  It really was the biggest one, and it stands out as one of the most important decisions that I have ever made--even if it was made rather impulsively.  I was 29-years old and recently divorced (a divorce that lasted longer than the oh-so-wrong marriage), on the verge of bankruptcy, experiencing medical problems, and wanting to literally run away from a magnetically toxic ex-boyfriend.  When my friend in NC mentioned wanting to move to Knoxville or Chattanooga, I impulsively said, "If you go to Chattanooga, I'll move with you."  Before I could come up with an excuse for my verbal diarrhea, she was finding us a place to live and I had contacted a realtor to sell my house. 

Besides my sister and my two precious nephews, the only real reason I could find to stay in Ft. Wayne was my job.  After years spent drifting from job to job, being unhappy, depressed, and restless, I had found something that I was not only good at but that I loved doing.  I was doing outreach and education for the local rape awareness program.  I had some amazing co-workers, and I felt like I was making a real difference in the lives of young people.  It was so illogical for me to leave the job, but I knew that I had to follow my heart, even if I didn't know exactly where it would lead me.

So, I gave 5 weeks notice, sent out resumes, and moved from Indiana to Chattanooga over three weekends in October.  I remember being so excited about the change of scenery.  The plan was certainly not without its obstacles, and I found myself moving from the first house there into a second within weeks, starting a new job in November only to lose it in January when the business shut down, in the middle of a colossal fight with my friend/roommate by February, virtually homeless by March, and served with legal papers in April.  In the midst of this chaos, though, I met Mitchell.

It really is a miracle that our relationship survived all of the drama surrounding it from the start.  In addition to the fact that he thought I was a lesbian when he met me, I had to be the least attractive choice for him.  My roommate did everything in her power to drive him away, including calling the police to his mother's house when I didn't come home one night.  I had a houseful of animals to which he was deathly allergic.  I was recently divorced, had family issues, was financially strapped, and friendless.  I don't know what he saw in me, but I'm glad that he did, and it all worked out in the end.

So, here I am back in Louisiana, but now as an adult, trying to re-establish myself yet again.  When I started this entry, I was still looking for a job, living on my own and not knowing when Mitchell would be joining me, and feeling lonely and depressed.  I've been at my job at the local rape crisis center for over three months now, and I feel amazingly more optimistic and confident.  I've become actively involved in the very busy and never-ending work of animal rescue in and around my community.  I've reunited with childhood friends, and I've been able to see my sister fairly regularly.

It's hard not to wonder, though, where I will be in a year, in three years, or in five years.  I've spent so long living my life knowing that my location was temporary that I've become accustomed to thinking of my life in terms of "what if" and "when x happens, then y is possible."  I'm still thinking that way to some degree, because I would like to return to school and pursue a career in counseling in the future, but I'm much more focused on putting down roots, creating community, establishing patterns, and finding favorite spots.

I'm ready to settle in, to make this place my home, to get comfortable.  And, I'm more than ready to do so with my partner, who has only been "officially" living in Louisiana for about a month.  We survived my roommate from Hell.  We overcame his allergies.  We have rebuilt credit and bank accounts.  We have bought and sold houses, moved from state to state (to state to state), and packed and unpacked many times over.  We're best friends, and we made our relationship legal after 10 years together.  We have worked hard to get where we are and will work hard to get where we want to be always.


I live in Louisiana now, and I'm here to stay...or, at least that's the plan.

in no particular order

Po-boys, crawfish, Cajuns, rivers, plantations, strawberries, catfish, Zydeco, the Saints, my sister, Bert, Lexi, Lucy, satsumas, King cake, Doberge, alligators, sugar cane, old friends, new friends, closer friends, bridges, kudzu, Mardi Gras, City Park, Camellia Grill, gumbo, magnolias, snowballs, streetcars, Mr. Bingle, the Moonwalk, St. Louis Cathedral, Jackson Square, Lee Circle, the Audubon Zoo, the neutral ground, beads tangled in tree limbs, pine needles, oyster dressing, Oktoberfest, shrimp, shrimp, and extra shrimp, levees, lagniappe, beignets, cafe au lait, Acadians, Lake Pontchartrain, the Causeway, Abita, bonfires, festivals, Zulu coconuts, Voodoo, Spanish moss, live oaks, bayous, outdoor kitchens, pecans, big copper kettles, Blue Dog, Brees, St. Charles Avenue, parading zombies, ghosts, hot air balloons, horses, returning to roots, new beginnings.

a love letter

"Home is a shelter from storms, all sorts of storms."
-William J. Bennett

You were my first love here, in this new place where I didn't know anyone and where everything seemed so foreign. You held me close, yet allowed me to branch out and to find my way. You sheltered me during the storms that waged outside and always provided me with a warm place to return. When I was alone at night, you helped me to feel safe and secure, and you greeted me each morning with the shining welcome of the rising sun.

You have protected those closest to me and have given them a place to live, play, grow, learn, and explore. You've been there as Iko navigated the difference between chew toys and Mom's slippers, as Brandi sailed down the stairs, as Bennie discovered quiet napping spots, as Alla chased balls and squeaky mice across the floor, and as Gator lounged on the deck. You were there to welcome the newcomers into what was likely their first loving home and family, and you beckoned Eli back home at the end of every day full of outdoor surveillance. And, when time and fate caught up with one of my pets, you gave me the space and the privacy to care for each as I needed to and to say good-bye when all other options were gone.

You've supported me through my own evolution. Since we've met, I took on a job working with sex offenders, something I never would have considered before, and I've learned volumes about myself and about others. I've finished my undergraduate degree and have determined the future educational path I'd like to follow. I've forged closer relationships with several friends and family members, while watching other relationships end or suffer from great strain, and you've been there through it all. Perhaps your steadfastness even played a part in my decision to marry my life partner after 10 years together. In any case, you sent me off with your blessing and welcomed me back with your congratulations.

And, now I prepare in my heart and mind to leave you behind. I don't love you any less today than at any point in our nearly 4 1/2 year relationship. In fact, as the deep snow and thick ice of this winter melted away and the grasses, trees, and flowers of spring came into bloom all around you, I felt myself loving you more. I love you so much that I would bring you with me if it was an option. I love you so much that I want nothing more than to find someone new to love you before I go. I dream of someone loving you so much that they give you things that will make you more beautiful. I hope that they will care for you lovingly as you age and that they will appreciate your imperfections as marks of character, instead of flaws. And, I hope that they will feel as happy to love you as I have felt all this time.

Though we do not know how much time we have left together, I will wake each morning and go to sleep each night loving you. I will reserve my good-byes until the time is imminent, but I want you to know how I feel today and what my thoughts about our future are. I want to cast away any doubts that might linger amid my frustration over forces beyond my control. Yes, I want very much to move on to another place, but this has nothing to do with how I feel about you. I'm grateful that we met and glad that I chose you as my own. And when I leave, I will remember you fondly, even as the years pass and I am unable to spend time in your presence.

It has been said that home is where the heart is, but I believe that you are a house with a lot of heart of your own. I know that all who have stayed here with us have felt that heart, and I pray that the next place I call home will share that attribute. I thank you for all you have done for me, for all that you have represented to me, and for all that you continue to do for me during this time of uncertainty. Thanks for being my home.