by Patricia Fry
It was Sunday. I’d planned to go horseback riding with a friend, but I had to find Rags first. I called Barb to ask if we could meet an hour later than our original nine o’clock date, and I told her why. She rushed right over to help me search for Rags.
I was frantic with worry and angry at the same time. I guess that was the strange emotion my mother told me she experienced when Brianna and I were teenagers and we didn’t come home when Mom expected us. This especially applied to my gutsy sister, who has always been more adventurous than me. Pretty much the most risky, dicey thing I’d done up to that point was to adopt Rags.
Well, that morning I didn’t have the foggiest notion where to start looking for my unruly cat. Then I began thinking about some of the reports I’d received from neighbors. Thankfully, most neighbors still got a kick out of Rags’s shenanigans. They’d tell me stories of him tantalizing their dogs from a safe distance, curling up with their children who were reading books, following kids to the bus stop, and sometimes greeting them when they returned from school. One woman said she had to bodily remove him from her car more than once when he climbed in with the children to be taken to school. A man said Rags sometimes showed up when they were entertaining out-of-doors. The woman with the Jack-a-Ranian puppies told me that Rags still visited Millie and the one puppy they’d kept. She said she sometimes found Rags sprawled out in the dogs’ beds on a lazy afternoon and she’d learned to check inside the dogs’ crates to make sure Rags wasn’t there before closing the door at night.
Maybe that’s it, I remember thinking. He went inside someone’s house at bedtime and they inadvertently closed him in.
“Let’s start with the people who have the Jack Russell-Poms,” I suggested to Barb. “From what Esther tells me, he goes there often.” We found Esther at home and the dogs alone. She hadn’t seen Rags all night.
The children he liked to follow to the bus stop hadn’t seen him that morning, either. Finally one neighbor said she was pretty sure she saw him the night before walking in the rain toward a stand of trees out behind another apartment complex. Well, I happened to know there was a feral cat colony in that area, so two things came to mind: maybe it wasn’t Rags who had been spotted. It may have been one of the feral cats. However, if it was Rags, the idea of him mingling with a whole colony of wild cats frightened me.
“They could tear him up,” I said to Barb as I hastened my pace. I believe Barb was as concerned as I was at that point. I knew this colony. It was being managed by a woman who volunteered at the shelter with me. I’d gone to the site a couple of times to help with feeding the cats and transportung them for spaying-neutering. But why would Rags go out there? I sure hoped my neighbor was wrong. The fact that he hadn’t come home yet certainly helped accelerate my concern. However, I was more worried than angry. I felt as though I needed that paper bag again; I was certain that I’d begin hyperventilating at any moment.
“I’m sure he’s okay,” Barb soothed. She chuckled. “He probably came out here to party with his friends.”
I found it impossible to attain the level of humor Barb offered. I just wanted Rags back and in one healthy piece. “Rags!” I called as we neared where the colony hung out. “Here, kitty-kitty! Rags!”
It may seem silly to call a cat as if you expect him to respond. But Rags did respond to my call most of the time. He was dog-like in many ways and that was one of them. “Rags!” I called again.
Suddenly I stopped and grabbed Barb’s arm. “Did you hear that?” I wasn’t sure what I’d heard, but it definitely sounded like a cat, or maybe a child, or a piece of machinery. All I knew for sure was that it was out of the ordinary—not something from the everyday sounds we were hearing around us. I wasn’t surprised that Barb didn’t hear it. I seem to have super-sensitive hearing; I often detect sound before anyone else does—you know, like Radar, the cute little assistant to the colonel on Mash . He always heard or sensed choppers bringing in the wounded before anyone else became aware of them.
By the time Barb heard the sound, we were almost upon the area where the colony stayed. I slowed my pace and called more quietly, “Rags! Here, kitty-kitty.” I turned to Barb. “Did you hear it that time?”
“Yes, it sounds like a cat, for sure. I wonder if he’s hurt.”
“Gads, I hope not,” I whined as we slowly walked forward. The sound seemed to be much closer and I crept ever so carefully, scouring the area, fear gripping me with each step. “Rags!” I said one more time.
Meow .
“There,” Barb whispered. She pointed.
Before we could react, Rags appeared from under a shrub and greeted us with head-butts, body-rubs, and soft mews.
“Rags!” I said, crouching and checking him over. “He looks okay,” I told Barb. I asked the cat, “Are you okay, Rags? You’re not hurt, are you?” Before I could examine him further, he walked back into the shrubbery. “No, Rags,” I called. “Come back here.” I followed him with the harness in my hand, but he quickly disappeared into the underbrush. “Darn it,” I complained. Just as I started to panic, he stepped out again and meowed.
“He’s trying to communicate with us,” Barb said. “I think there’s something in that bush he wants us to see.” Without waiting for my response, she moved forward, pulled back the shrub, and gasped, “Oh, my gosh, Savannah! I think there’s a cat in trouble here.”
As I moved closer, I could see it. A cat that seemed to be fighting for its life. I remember muttering, “Good gosh. I wonder what happened.” I wasn’t sure how to handle the situation. This cat was feral, and most feral cats don’t want anything to do with humans. I had to do something to help, but I didn’t want the cat to bolt. I motioned for Barb to stand back, and I got down on my hands and knees so I wouldn’t be looming so big over it. I began to crawl slowly toward the cat, but it tensed up and acted as if it would run. What happened next startled both Barb and me.
Rags lay down next to the cat, and it seemed to instantly relax. When I saw Rags look up at me, I took that as a cue and I reached out and touched him. I then put my hand gently on the ailing cat. It tensed up a little, but didn’t try to run. After a few moments, I turned to Barb. “It’s a female. She’s trying to have kittens. I wonder how long she’s been like this. We need to get her to the clinic.”
“Are they open today?” she asked.
“I’ll bet I can get one of the docs to meet me there. They’ll usually open for an emergency during off hours.”
“Let’s go,” she said.
I asked Barb to stay with the cats and told her, “I’ll go get Rags’s carrier. I’ll be right back.” Before I left, I said to Rags, “You stay with her.” I had to smile at myself. I already knew Rags would do what Rags wanted to do and not necessarily what I said for him to do. Fortunately for all of us, he chose to stay next to the little female not only until I returned with the carrier, but on the way to the clinic, as well.
When the veterinarian on call suggested we put Rags in the carrier and leave him outside the examination room, I spoke up on his behalf. Dr. Brad knew Rags; it was he who had checked Rags over when I first adopted him. He also knew some of the challenging times I’d had with Rags over the subsequent weeks and months. I’m certain that he believed—and understandably so—that Rags might be disruptive. I told Dr. Brad, “She’s feral. When we found her, Rags was with her. He seems to have a calming effect on her. I think we should let him stay.”
Dr. Brad peered at me suspiciously. He looked at Rags as I held him in my arms, and finally said, “Okay, Jordan. I hope you’re right.”
I placed Rags on the exam table with the momma cat and he moved toward her, sniffed her a couple of times, then lay down a little ways from her. Dr. Brad looked at me and said, “I’ll be. I can feel her starting to relax.”
I just smiled, thinking, Rags, just when I’m about to give up on you, you come through in a big way.
As it turned out, I believe Rags was beneficial in the safe delivery of the kittens that
morning. It seemed as though he was a comforting support to the struggling feral cat. And he acted like a proud papa when he met the two calico kittens she delivered. The first kitten had died after being stuck in the birth canal for too long; he was quite large and evidently had trouble emerging into the world.
Thanks to Rags, though, two kittens made it and the entire family got a new lease on life. The momma cat and her kittens were turned over to an experienced human foster family. When the time came, momma cat and her kittens were spayed and they’d all become tame enough to be adopted into loving homes. The foster mom kept the female adult cat and named her Blessing, because she had become such a blessing to their family. The woman admitted that Blessing came to them still harboring a few feral fears, but that she had settled in quite nicely. I doubt that she had been living on her own for very long; she’d been someone’s pet at some point.
The kittens found a home right in our neighborhood, and, for as long as we lived in that apartment, Rags and I often stopped in to visit the twin calicos. Riley and her sister Brady were social from day one. But then, they’d never lived the life of a feral cat.
As for Rags, that was the first time I witnessed his uncanny ability to sense when an animal is in need and how to help it. He’s the most sensitive being I’ve ever known. I did scold him for taking off like that, though, and making me worry all night. I was to learn over the years, however, that what I think or say carries little weight with Rags. He’s definitely an independent little soul.
Chapter 5 – Rags Makes Friends and Foes
I’ve been the recipient of Rags’s brand of compassion, but not always when I needed or wanted it. I’ll never forget how he behaved after my last break-up with Travis. It was one of those days when I just wanted to curl up into a ball and be left alone. Rags, however, had other ideas. He was hungry. But I knew he had kibbles and I just didn’t think I could make it all the way into the kitchen to feed him. I felt weak and sick. Turns out I had a touch of the flu, so maybe the break-up didn’t affect me as deeply as I thought it did.
Anyway, Rags was relentless in his quest to be fed that morning, so I finally crawled out of my cozy bed and made my way to the kitchen. As hard as it was to deal with the cat-food stench, I fed him. I thought he’d let me sleep for the rest of the day, but no. Here he came with his stinky breath, eager to go for our usual Saturday morning walk. Yes, he seemed to know what day it was. Maybe because it was one of only a few days each week that I’d stay home and try to sleep in. When he crept up and lay down next to me, I was pleased. There’s nothing like a sweet, warm kitty in your bed when you don’t feel good emotionally or physically. I reached out and petted Rags, love oozing from my heart for this beautiful creature.
It didn’t take long for Rags to get antsy, though. He began walking across me, sniffing my face, and pulling my hair with his teeth. When I buried myself deeper under the covers, he clawed at the covers and mewed impatiently.
“No, we’re not going for a walk today,” I told him. “Please settle down.”
But he was determined and persistent, at least for most of the morning. Eventually, it appeared, he realized that he wasn’t going to have things his way and he finally left me. I assumed he went off somewhere to sulk. By evening, I felt well enough to feed him and heat up some soup for myself. He ate, but he wasn’t very cordial—in fact, he seemed to be snubbing me. Later, when I curled up in a blanket on the sofa in front of the TV and coaxed him to join me, he looked at me for a few minutes, then disappeared into the bedroom, never to return that evening. So much for his sensitive side. It seems that he displays it only when it suits him.
Speaking of what suits him, this cat, unlike many I’ve known, wears his emotions on his paw. There’s usually no doubt when it comes to who he likes, who he’s indifferent to, and who he vehemently hates. Maybe hate is too harsh a word to use with Rags, but he has definitely exhibited his strong dislike for certain people on occasion, and it’s always with a reason. When he has grounds, Rags can be a regular rabble-rousing scrapper. You do not want to be on his bad side, so do not make him angry. I don’t care how tough you are or how large, when provoked, Rags just might attack. What makes him angry? Well, here are a couple of stories demonstrating Rags’s wrath.
****
As I mentioned earlier, it was while Rags and I were in Hammond helping my aunt get around on a broken foot that I met the local veterinarian—an absolutely over-the-top gorgeous, single, animal-loving hunk named Michael Ivey. Long and beautiful story short, we married. I became stepmother to his wonderful son, Adam, and Michael accepted Rags with an open heart. Over the years, he has questioned that decision—I mean the one involving Rags. And I have to say, I don’t blame him.
But how can you deny a cat that will actually fight for what he believes in—if, indeed, a cat has a belief system. Sometimes people doubt the things Rags has done. They argue, “Animals don’t remember, they don’t judge, and they don’t have a sense of retaliation, even if they were to judge.” After spending time with Rags, I wholeheartedly disagree. Since this is a topic of interest to me, I’ve observed and researched this area of cat behavior—in particular, a cat’s reaction to the various people he encounters.
For example, when I was a pre-teen, I had a fairly social cat. Princess liked people and typically joined the family when we entertained. She was always around when my classmates came over to hang out. But when our family friend Dale came to our house, Princess hid under the covers in my bed. Dale liked cats and often asked me, “Where’s your cat, Vannie?” No one knew why Princess seemed to dislike—even fear—Dale.
Finally, my dad figured it out one day when Dale came to install an entertainment center in our den. Dale was a carpenter and he often did odd jobs for us. We knew that Princess was sensitive to unfamiliar sounds such as thunder or a trash truck clanking up and down our street, and she especially disliked it when workers were making noise in or around our house. This included tree trimmers, roofers, cleaning people, and repairmen. We figured out that she associated Dale with those noises that frightened her. It was as simple and as complex as that.
Obviously, most animals will react to kindness and remember those who have treated them with care. There are scads of videos on the Internet showing an animal’s reaction when someone they love and rely on returns after an extended absence. I’ve seen videos showing wonderful reunions between humans and their dogs, of course, as well as horses, cats and rabbits. But most touching was one showing a great horned owl upon recognizing the man who had rescued him. The owl leaped into the man’s arms and practically enveloped him in a huge wing-hug. There are also Internet videos showing wild animals such as lions and bears exhibiting exuberant joy upon being reunited with a favorite human.
Oh yes, I’m a firm believer that animals remember, care, understand, and can definitely feel and show emotion. They will remember and react to someone who was kind to them, but also someone who was cruel to them or who purposely or inadvertently frightened them.
Obviously not all animals are as emotionally tuned in as Rags is, and certainly each cat has a different way of assimilating and responding to their experiences. As you have gathered by now, and as I’m still learning, Rags is not a typical, ordinary cat in many ways.
Let me introduce you to one of Rags’s good friends, Detective Craig Sledge. Rags earned the detective’s respect quite early on and their friendship has developed in a rather unusual manner.
The detective came into Rags’s life on official business. Craig was surprised by Rags’s stunning ability to help—you know, with clues and things—but it took him a while to take Rags seriously. He didn’t easily warm up to the idea of working with a cat, but it eventually became second nature for him to rely on Rags in certain situations. So, not only did Craig become dear to our family when he married our good friend, Iris, but he and Rags sort of bonded. I knew that Craig had Rags’s back, but no one knew quite how the cat felt about the detective until a few years ago
.
Rags had witnessed Craig arguing with a homeless man. A couple of people also saw the altercation. It seems that the man had behaved rather aggressively toward Craig, but no one was actually hurt. It was no big deal, except that shortly after the incident, Craig went missing. Because of eyewitness testimony, the authorities considered the homeless man a possible suspect and they were out looking for him.
Now, there’s no way that Rags could have known that part of the story—that the detective was missing, but he sure had an opinion about a certain homeless man and he expressed it when he had the opportunity. In fact, he created quite a scene.
By then Rags was being featured in a series of children’s books, and he and I were doing some book signings around town. On this particular day my aunt and I, along with Rags and one of Auntie’s cats, were scheduled to make an appearance and do a reading for children at a local library. When I stepped out of the car in front of the library with Rags, he somehow got away from me. I was not happy with him, knowing that one of two things would happen. I might be able to catch up to him rather quickly, or he would take me on a wild-goose chase.
That day, to my chagrin, Rags wanted to explore—take a little walk on the wild side. I was pregnant with our son, by then and wasn’t in great condition for sprinting after an ornery cat. But someone had to do it, so I followed him while I called to him, which does little good in a situation like this, as you can imagine. Cats may obey and respond when they’re called, but only if that’s what they want to do. For that reason, and because Rags can be such a pill, I’ve learned to carry kitty treats.
I knew I would catch up to him eventually. He wasn’t racing off into the distance. He just seemed interested in sniffing around the area. I kept calling, trying to distract him, and I continued moving toward him. I didn’t think much of it when I saw him approaching a man who was sitting on a low wall in front of the library. In fact, I thought this might be my chance to catch the wily cat. He often walks up to strangers for petting or to see what they might be holding in their hands. It appeared that Rags wanted to make the homeless man’s acquaintance. But boy, was I wrong!