Unintended Pet Cruelties Part 4

Cat Appears

For a few years we were pet-less. Then we were adopted – again: a gray cat appeared on our kitchen window sill. To understand the logistics of this, the cat had to jump on the fence that ran in our side yard between our neighbor and us, then leap across onto the narrow window sill. This was not during the summer or warm time of the year so the window was closed but we could see her and she, us, as she did the cat thing of meowing and rubbing her body on the glass.

I, of course, was all for bringing her in, my mother was against it but my father agreed with me and in she came – as if this was her normal way of entering a home. We watched her as she walked around the kitchen, sniffing everything and everybody. It had been a long time since Mergatroid died so we had no cow’s lung so we did what everyone does when they first see a cat: offered her a saucer of milk which she readily accepted then looked at us as if to say, “OK, that was a nice appetizer, where’s the main course?” My mother rattled around inside the refrigerator and pulled something out – probably chicken which she ate quickly.

She looked around, seeing nothing else to eat or interesting she strolled over to the back door and meowed. It was obvious we’d done all we could for her at this time so she was moving on. Sadly, I let her out.

Next day, there she was again at the kitchen window and again, we let her in. It was obvious that there was no better action in the area so we were being graced by her presence and so it went for the next few days until it was obvious we were bonding with her and vice versa so I got a box, put some newspapers in the bottom and put it in the back shed where Happy had her’s.

Now the question was, of course, what to name her: my imagination ran wild and I came up with “Cat!” I know. It’s stupid but that’s what we called her.

Back to the butcher went my mother for cow’s lung and shortly we realized this new visitor was pregnant, also, so, since we were old hands in this, we made plans for the birthing and got ready to send another generation of kittens out into the world.

When they came, they were as cute as can be: pretty much looking exactly like their mother – gray with some brown splotches around their face.

Because of the bad experiences we’d had with Lance we resolved to try to keep her in the house most, if not all nights but we didn’t look forward to cleaning up after her and her new little family. Then we discovered something remarkable had been invented: cat litter!

To the store we raced, dragged the bag home but then realized we had nothing to put it in. Being as ignorant as ever, he got a cigar box (regular size!) filled it up, put it on the floor in front of them and watched. It was as if they’ve been rehearsing this all their lives: Cat went right over to the box, crouched on it, did her “business,” got off, sniffed what she’d done and scooped some litter to cover it. Wow!

Even bigger WOW! The kittens had watched this, got in line!, and one by one used the box as well. That’s when we realized the cigar box was not going to cut it as it began to leak. We quickly put the box on newspaper, ran back to the store and bought a plastic pan. We must have finally gotten something right as Cat used this same pan until her dying day some 18 years hence.

Her kittens didn’t have it so easy, however, as the dreaded cat distemper struck again. One by one the kittens and Cat got sick and shortly the kittens died but, miraculously, Cat survived! The veterinarian said this was exceedingly rare on his, again, home visit when he gave her all the shots she’d [WE’D!] missed.

At this point, we realized our responsibility to Cat and when she had fully recovered, we had her spayed even though she still went out and in the summer often brought us mice she had caught, just as Happy had done. Usually, she brought them to us when we were sitting on the porch but sometimes she succeeded in sneaking them into the house to my mother’s consternation.

Years passed.

Suddenly, one rainy late weekend afternoon we heard an incredible howling at the front door. We rushed to open the outer door and there was Cat, hanging on the screen door virtually at eye level – something she had never done before. We opened the storm door and pried her off the screen and put her down on the porch but it was immediately obvious that she’d suffered some injury to her rear leg.

What to do? The veterinarian wasn’t open. My father called the police to find out if there was a veterinarian open in Strawberry Mansion but the police indicated that the only one they knew about was the University of Pennsylvania Veterinary School in West Philly. My mother wrapped Cat in a blanket and I drove us to the hospital.

They took her back and some time later they came out with the verdict: a broken hind leg which they could fix. But cats don’t get casts – they just wrapped up the leg with tape and she was ready to take home. Unfortunately, when we got back, she was behaving strangely, trying to shake the leg and biting the tape. We called the hospital and they told us to bring her back. Once there, they realized, it was too tight. Once they replaced the tape, they put her on the floor and she moved around OK without the shaking.

This wasn’t the end, of course, as we had to go back several times to replace the tape and check her out. My parents were, however, surprised at the bill, though they paid it, after all, this was a member of the family. I don’t remember how much it was but it isn’t even in the same universe as what Shirley and I regularly paid to have Persephone treated.

Unfortunately, when the tape was finally removed, we discovered that the leg didn’t heal properly and her leg was partially crippled – stuck in an outstretched line and when she walked it was with a definite limp. However, when she ran, she swung the leg out and was as fast as she ever was and this applied to her running up the steps, too.

When I got married to Attila and moved out, Cat stayed with my parents and when they moved out of Huntingdon Street to Roosevelt Boulevard, she came, too. My parents still let her out when Cat wanted, though she slept inside at night and had her litter box in the basement. She continued her hunting habits and now, not only brought birds and mice home but baby rabbits, as well, though my mother was successful in keeping them outside.

To get in, she regularly tapped the storm door to such an extent that after a number of years she wore the white paint off the door down to the bare aluminum and my parents always checked to see that she was alone and not baring any “gifts.”

She “shared” my mother’s cereal at night, though I’m not sure how this was done, but my mother described it as a daily ritual.

As the years passed, her kidneys began to fail and the vet said there wasn’t much that could be done. One day, she went out and never returned though my parents scoured the neighborhood in search of her and asked anyone if they had seen a cat named Cat. My mother said that Cat knew she was dying but didn’t want to die in front of them – she imagined a sort of elephant’s graveyard but for cats.

My parents never got another cat. I guess there weren’t enough strays around to adopt my parents.