The Cat Who Loved to Fetch

This winter when the neighbors moved out I was surprised that they had abandoned their kittens. 

I guess I should not have been.  She seemed to be the type of person to collect men kids and tattoos; cats seemed the logical progression.  I had to give her credit though she named the black and white critter quite well; his legs were covered with white patches from foot to chest and all the way up his hindquarters, while the rest of him was black as a moonless night sky—thus she called him Moon-boots.    Not the typical “Socks”, “Sooty”, “Shadow” nor “Smudge”.  No, she named him Moon-boots, and it suited him perfectly, an unusual name for an unusual cat.  

Blissful Moon-boots who ran up to you mewing his greeting, wanting nothing more than love in the sunlight while I was gardening, or to jump into my lap when I was writing on the patio.  Moon-boots who was the only cat I knew who loved to play fetch with my eight year old son, his fishing rod and a catnip filled toy at the end of the fishing line.

What was not so surprising was that she had decided to take Moon-boots with her, to the disappointment of my son and I, while leaving three cats in his wake--a huge ginger tabby and two twin grey and black tabbies.   I made the discovery when I was walking up the driveway one day and saw the cats emerging from under the market next door.  Perhaps I should explain.  There is a local grocery market next door to us and it has a residence in the back of it.  They are together in one building but separate, and it was from under this that they emerged.  I was saddened.  Not only were they abandoned but now they were left to find shelter under the old market.  It wasn’t right. 

I re-traced my steps back to the market to find out if I could get any more information from the teenage employees working that night.  I found out that the renters were indeed gone, and they had left the cats.  (I thought perhaps there was a chance that they could not find the cats on moving day and would be back to collect them, but alas this was not the case.)  I asked the girl what she thought about it.  She said that she wanted to take the cats herself but couldn’t because she already had three of her own.  I asked her what the owners thought about the situation and she told me that she hoped that they didn’t know about it because they would call the pound and have them rounded up.

There was a foot and a half of snow on the ground and I wondered when the cats had eaten last.  I asked her when the tenants had left, three days ago she told me.  That was it; I grabbed some cat food and asked her if they had any plastic containers I could use.  I couldn’t have the cats in my house because of allergies but there was no way I could let them starve. 

I paid for the cat food, went up my driveway again and then I lined up all three containers, filled them with food and then came back with a bigger container full of  water.  Then I went into the house to see what would happen and how long it would take until I saw some movement.

It wasn’t long at all before I saw a pink nose quivering just shy of the shadowy darkness, it hovered there for a moment, then back it went, only to reappear a moment later with some whiskers this time too.  I could tell it was one of the little twins.   So timid it was, coming out slowly, eyes wide with caution, little pink nose never letting go of the promise of food.  Then it was eating with gulps so big I thought it would choke!  Eventually I trained them to come to the back patio for the food and water so that the rain and snow would not make it swell. 

It was supposed to be a temporary thing, this adoption of these three furry orphans.  Just to give them a fighting chance over the winter.  But it seems that my heart has come to enjoy their presence and their routine.  They are still quite flighty and will run at the sound of the back door opening, but I hope that will change. 

I am not quite sure what to do about the crows and other birds that come to steal their food.  At first I took to the patio every time I heard them cawing to their counterparts, I must have looked like a mad woman flailing my arms in an attempt to scare off the black feathered jackals.  But even if I did, it didn’t seem to faze them, they would just come flying and hopping back again as soon as I left or closed the door.  It would make me so angry thinking of them stealing the cats food!  It infuriated me to think that they would take from these little souls who had so little. 

Then as I thought about the problem more deeply I found that it wasn’t a problem at all.  It was just that I was looking at it all wrong.  I originally wanted to help the cats and alleviate their suffering, but the crows and the birds had just as much right to the food didn’t they?  They too were sentient beings.  Why should I put the cats over the birds?  Weren’t they just acting in the way of their nature?  Opportunities arise and we are provided for, it is no different in the animal world.  Besides the crows keep the eagles out of the yard, and I would really hate to see one of my kittens flying away.

So now when I hear the call of the crows, I don’t worry as much.  It will be what it will be and it will be perfect as it is.  And hopefully in the summer, we will have 3 more cats who love to play Fetch. 

Sheets of Recycled Rain

The sky was overcast with dark grey clouds carrying sheets of recycled rain.  It echoed her mood perfectly.  She hoped that the youth and vitality on its way to her now would change that.  Sitting in her parked cherry red Nissan, she listened to the chattering raindrops amongst the litter and spent pine needles, while memories of happier times threatened to drown. 

Looking at her wrist for the twelfth time in five minutes she wondered if he would find out this time?  Not that he would care if she cuckolded him.  He’d probably be happy about it, it would give him the excuse he craved and it would give him free reign over her misplaced guilt. 

Youth and inexperience had convinced her all those years ago that being married to a firefighter would be easy.  Foolish love whispered that he would be capable of black and white thinking and his good would triumph over all evil.  He would have a deep sense of honor; just the fact that he put on the uniform and faced death everyday meant that didn’t it? 

She hadn’t added into the equation the groupies that seemed to come out of the woodwork whenever he was in uniform, or when a new calendar came out.  She hadn’t factored in that he would develop a god complex and see the women he took to his bed as befitting trophies of his status in society.  He risked his life everyday didn’t he?  He saved lives! He wasn’t like other men, he needed—no he deserved more.  She had heard it all when she confronted him about his indiscretions.  He didn’t even have the audacity to back pedal and apologize for his actions, and it was then that she knew she could never fill the gaping hole within him.

She wanted to rip up every last fairytale that led young girls to believe in fantasy notions of love and romance.  Why had her parents read them to her in the first place?  She cursed the Grimm Brothers and Disney with their tales that beguiled her childhood naivety.  They should have made the witches worse and the trolls more treacherous.   They should have been telling the pitfalls of men and lost souls, which would have made the children and the adults’ quake.  No, instead they made life with seven miners seem ideal.  Damn Barbie and her fashion sense.  Damn her career-less life telling young women everywhere that everything would be alright if you found yourself a Ken doll.  They never told you that Ken had a mistress in the closet and her name was Skipper.

She switched on the radio looking for anything to take her out of the funk she was spiraling into.  The view from the windshield was confused by rivulets of water; it looked like a constantly changing acrylic abstract.  The thought produced memories of painting in school, something else she had given up to be the wife of a faithless man.  In fact she had lost a whole world of herself trying to please the biggest mistake of her life.  She thought about the wasted time, the words and ideas that she had stuffed down into herself because he didn’t see the importance of them.  How had she let herself become so pathetic?  Exactly when had she lost her backbone? She used to stand up for those without a voice, why hadn’t she noticed the flames of her passions being snuffed out one by one?  More importantly could she rekindle them?

She looked at her wrist again and then at her phone.  Where was he?  That was all she needed, another man taking advantage.  This one was different though, this one was barely out of boyhood.  Would he know the same tricks?

He was tall and lanky, with a head of brown full curls and a mouth that knew how to pout.  It hadn’t gotten physical between them.  Not that there wasn’t chemistry.  She just didn’t want to be his “Mrs. Robinson”, or a cougar on the prowl.  Could she be considered a cougar at thirty-six?  The thought made her shudder.  Did she really have the energy to get out into the dating scene all over again?  This tryst had no future.  Knowledge of that fact made it easier to deal with and yet made it more alluring at the same time.  She could have it all without strings attached, it all sounded too good to be true.  It often was in areas of the heart and of the physical meandering.  He was like a present all wrapped up before her, and she was allowed to shake it to see if she could discern what was inside, yet never unwrap; a glorious male conundrum.

It was wonderful to have him listen to her when she shared with him her feelings on various subjects, to actually sit and discuss the great poets and writers of the past and present was so rewarding.  If she were honest with herself, she wished for more moments of his experience trumping hers.  When he didn’t remember the same music or television shows that she did growing up it reinforced the age gap between them making her question continuing the relationship. 

Finally she watched his blue neon pull over on the other side of the road while he waited for an oncoming car, then he pulled a u-turn and parked in front of her car.  She watched and waited for him with that all too familiar rush of all things butterfly.  She was aware of heat rising through her core, and it rolled down her extremities as it brushed her upper lip with pinpricks of moisture.  Her rapid breath fogged the rain pelted glass and she could only make out his shape colors coming closer.  A last vain and futile thought screamed through her mind, to start the car and drive off through the rain, before she could she could no longer hold this man outside her embrace.