The Cat Really Did That?: 101 Stories of Miracles, Mischief and Magical Moments

by Amy Newmark

  Ringo did not stop being an avid hunter, but he was fiercely protective of his rabbit friend. I don’t know what made Ringo decide to rescue this tiny bunny instead of eat him. Only he knew that. But they remained close friends for years. It was just one of those strange and beautiful miracles that animals can bring into our lives.

  ~Joyce Laird

  Finding Dexter

  Dogs have owners; cats have staff.

  ~Author Unknown

  Dexter never missed a meal, which was followed by a nap on the sofa. During his non-nap hours, he played at being wild on our three acres. But when it came to comfort, he knew that inside was the place to be. Dexter was an elegant cat who liked his outdoor adventures in small doses.

  One day, Dexter did not show up for breakfast. That was okay, but given his preference for staying indoors, I got really worried when he did not return by the evening. In rural Mississippi, there were all kinds of terrifying possibilities, so I spent hours calling for him outside.

  Before I went to bed I had to try one more thing. I leashed up Timber, our brilliant Jack Russell Terrier. Timber loved to play the “find him” game with our son. Maybe he could find the cat. They had been buddies for six years, ever since we brought Dexter home as a kitten.

  “Outside”

  Miraculously, Timber sniffed the air and headed off. “Good boy, Tim. Find Dexter!” I had no idea what the dog was smelling, but he was definitely following a scent. I hoped it was not a raccoon, or worse… a skunk.

  Timber stopped at the corner of our property where the fence was supported by a thick, round fence post, perfect for a cat to scale. “Did he go up here, Tim? Find Dexter!”

  The dog turned and looked at me like I was nuts. There was no way he could scale the post, but placating me, he walked back and forth along the fence, each time stopping and sniffing at the corner post.

  It was not a good idea to wander through my neighbors’ pastures in the dark, so I planned to go out first thing in the morning. I prayed that Dexter would be okay for the night.

  I barely slept at all that night, and I got up several times to see if Dexter was back. He was not. I forced myself to wait until good light at seven o’clock in the morning, and then I grabbed Timber, hopped in the car, and drove to the closest outside access to that corner post.

  “Find Dexter!” Timber took off with his nose to the ground. A couple of hundred feet later, we were stopped by another fence.

  My only hope was that Timber was truly onto Dexter’s scent. The dog was intent on a cat-sized hole in the fence. If he really was following Dexter, the cat was headed into the hayfield directly behind our property. Three abandoned silos stood there in the field, beckoning to all forms of small, wild animals and enticing an energetic explorer like Dexter. Timber kept air-scenting toward the silos.

  Across the fence, I bellowed loudly enough to wake any still-sleeping neighbors. “DEXTER!”

  “MEEEEOOOOOWWW” came the almost equally loud yowl echoing from inside one of the old silos.

  “Timber! You are wonderful!” I exclaimed. “Good dog! You found Dex. Good, good dog!”

  The next task was to remove the cat from the twelve-foot-high crossbeam inside the silo. He had gotten up there but, in classic cat fashion, could not get down. I retrieved a six-foot ladder and my six-foot-four-inch son. It would be a stretch, but a rescue was initiated.

  Successfully extricated and back in the house, Dexter chowed down and napped stretched out, taking up the major part of our sofa. As he snoozed, I wished I could read his kitty mind. Was he dreaming about his night on the silo beam? Was he planning a new adventure for us? Was he grateful or humiliated that he was rescued by a dog? Did he even care?

  Most likely, he simply felt that his rescue crew barely met his expectations, and that they were awfully slow in doing so.

  ~Gretchen Allen

  Cats with Benefits

  Looking at cats, like looking at clouds, stars or the ocean, makes it difficult to believe there is nothing miraculous in this world.

  ~Leonard Michaels

  After my wife died, I found myself suddenly homeless, along with our two cats. My wife’s house was in a trust and had to be sold as part of settling her estate. This was no problem for me… I was mobile. I planned to travel anyway, because I no longer wanted to live in our home without her. However, I could not take the two cats on the road, so I had to find homes for them.

  Several friends asked for Sweetie, the small, gray longhair who was an appealing lap cat. I chose Eva’s close girlfriend whose household had just lost their cat. One weekend, I drove Sweetie up the Pacific Coast from San Francisco to her new home in Eugene, Oregon. During the drive, Sweetie roamed free in my car, mewing nervously at first while I cooed, “It’s okay, it’s okay,” and played classical music to soothe her.

  Soon, she stretched to look out the window at the passing countryside, which my wife had enjoyed during her long illness. Finally, Sweetie curled up in my lap. Her new home in Oregon turned out to be ideal for her — after I was allowed to install a cat door so Sweetie could roam a wooded cemetery behind the house.

  Back in San Francisco, I faced the big problem. No one had volunteered to take grumpy Occie. Friends knew this fat, brown tabby would flop on her back to invite a belly rub, and then nip your fingers if you petted her the “wrong” way. From one day to the next, we never knew what mood Occie would be in, whether she wanted us to pet her or was luring us into a trap. Even my cat-loving sister said she would only take Occie as a last resort, if no other home was found.

  So I was truly surprised, even shocked, when an ex-girlfriend of mine named Janice told me over the phone, “Sure, I’ll take Occie.” She offered, despite never meeting the cat, and after I warned her about Occie’s strange temper. Janice lived an easy hour’s drive north of San Francisco, and Occie seemed happy with the house and its big back yard right away. Years later Janice confided she had taken Occie in hopes I would drive up to visit her more often, which did happen while I was in California.

  The real surprise for the cats’ new moms came several months later when Eva’s estate settled. Each of them received a $5,000 check to cover cat care.

  Our friends said, “You should have told us! Anyone would have taken Occie!”

  But I had kept those bequests secret. I wanted homes where people really wanted the cats. Now, I tell this story to encourage people to volunteer when they hear of homeless cats, because in addition to the obvious joy of sharing a home with a cat, you never know what other benefits might be attached!

  ~Sam Moorman

  It Takes a Village

  Kittens can happen to anyone.

  ~Paul Gallico

  The box meowed. My colleague struggled to get the heavy cardboard box in the door of the veterinary hospital without spilling its precious cargo onto the busy street outside. The box containing two adult cats had been left there during the night. Overnight they had lost their former identity.

  These one-year-old females were attached to each other, so we kept them together in a large cage. One was a gray-and-white tabby, obviously pregnant. We named her Bethany. She had a sweet face and demeanor, gentle eyes, and an aura of softness about her. The other was a spirited brown-and-black-striped tabby we called Jasmine. Since we couldn’t vaccinate Bethany — this would cause irreparable harm to the kittens — we made her comfortable. She was in her third trimester.

  Instead, we vaccinated Jasmine and decided to spay her soon. “Soon” meant a lot of things at our clinic. We were always busy, and the orphans often got bumped from the overbooked surgery schedule. “Soon” meant more like sometime in this lifetime when the stars align kindly, or something like that. But within a week, it became painfully apparent that Jasmine was also pregnant. Because of the vaccination, we would have to spay her and abort the defective fetuses. We all felt sorry for Jasmine, but the surgery was done more quickly than “soon.” Jasmine recovered smoothly and was reunited with her feline buddy.


  When Bethany went into labor, I separated the two cats and hung curtains over Beth’s cage doors so she could deliver her six kittens in safety and privacy. It was a large litter — three males and three females — and they were a colorful lot, all shorthaired, tiny, and perfect. There wasn’t a runt among them.

  The only one put out by the whole scenario was Jasmine. She watched Bethany’s closed-off cage from across the room and howled pitifully. Apparently, she still had enough hormones in her system to make her long for kittens herself. Jasmine had been deprived of something her body was preparing for. She was miserable, and I cringed when I heard her plaintive cries.

  Three days later, as I cleaned Bethany’s cage and examined the kittens, I let Jasmine out to get some exercise. All she wanted to do was sit outside Bethany’s nest and nudge me relentlessly. I decided to try something that felt a little bit crazy at the time. I let Jasmine in to see her friend.

  The two girls sniffed noses. There were no growls or hisses or protective postures on Bethany’s part. Suddenly, Jasmine began nurturing the kittens, cleaning them and nestling up with them. She assumed full motherly chores with the exception of nursing. Keeping a cautious eye out for this unusual pairing, I allowed them to stay together for the day. The mama and wanna-be mama made an excellent duo in tending to all the kittens. The babies got the best of both worlds.

  At the end of my shift, I separated the two mothers. Needless to say, Jasmine was angry. “Wait,” said the vet. “Bethany and Jasmine are bonded. The kittens are safe.”

  I blinked. “But won’t she eat her young or something?” I asked.

  “She hasn’t yet, has she?” This wise veterinarian had seen more than I had as a new vet tech. I reunited Jasmine with her adopted family.

  By the time the kittens opened their eyes, they had already accepted both adults as their parents. While Bethany rested or nursed, Jasmine cleaned them, played with them, and kept them from bothering their exhausted mom. Both adult cats were young, but together they muddled through their first litter with grace and ease. For a little comic relief, the staff would let the family out of their cage to explore the surrounding room. The kittens got into holes and cracks, so we quickly became adept at kitten-proofing this room of the hospital.

  Cats are purported to be solitary hunters of small prey, but I dispute that premise. I’ve seen enough cats display pack behaviors to wonder just how solitary they really are. I think we underestimate their ability to bond. In the fifty or so rescued cats that have come through my home at various times over several decades, I’ve observed strong attachments, and also, grieving behavior when one of the pair dies. Perhaps we deny their sociability. Jasmine and Bethany were a family, raising those kittens together.

  The kittens were eventually weaned and placed in new homes. Bethany was spayed to prevent future litters. The sweetest part is that the two mamas were later adopted together into a permanent home. They retired from their mothering chores and, last I heard, were happy, chubby housecats, living an idyllic life in the Hollywood Hills.

  ~Terilynn Mitchell

  Lion-Sized Courage

  Are we really sure the purring is coming from the kitty and not from our very own hearts?

  ~Emme Woodhull-Bäche

  “Look at this one, he’s gorgeous.” Orange and white markings adorned the kitten from the tip of his tail to the top of his head. I stuck my finger through the bars and scratched him as best I could, and then asked if I could hold him.

  “Sure,” the young girl said. “He’s only been here a couple of days. Cute, huh?” She plopped the plump kitten into my arms. He was heavier than he looked.

  “How old is he?”

  “Not real sure. He was dropped off without any information,” the girl replied. “Maybe six months?”

  “He’s really pretty,” my husband Roger said, which sounded funny coming from a guy, but I had to agree. “He looks strong, like one of those cartoon cats with a football helmet on its head. He’s probably healthy as a horse.”

  “Looks like it,” I said, and told the young girl we’d give this marmalade cat a new home. She was very happy to write up another adoption. We named him Red for his coloring, but we should have called him Smasher or Offensive Tackle. He smacked his head into anything he could, then rubbed back and forth. We soon learned it was to mark his scent on us and also to get his head scratched. He loved that part. We happily obliged.

  The best part came when I’d return home from getting color and a weave at the hair salon. Plopping myself on the couch after almost four hours in the beautician’s chair, I’d let out an exasperated sigh. That’s when Red would come running. He would jump up to the top cushion and proceed to head-butt me over and over. “Red, what’s gotten into you?” I’d say, but he’d keep going.

  “Why don’t you move,” my husband said with a smile, “or get off the couch?”

  “Nah, let him have his fun. I don’t mind.” After a few minutes, Red would sink into the pillow top and nestle his full-bellied body right up against my head. “What is it, the smell you think?” I asked Roger, not turning my head to talk to him but inquiring while sitting very still.

  “I don’t know, but he’s happy as a clam.”

  “And probably falling asleep, right?”

  Roger laughed. “Yeah, he is.”

  What we didn’t know about this outgoing, playful, growing-like-a-weed cat was that his size and strength belied a hidden condition. And even if we’d known about it upon adopting him, we still would have taken him in.

  Red’s robust size of twelve pounds never gave him any trouble — a big but healthy cat. His meows and constant clamoring for attention were part of his charm, and we never tired of talking to him. Having orange and white cat hair stuck to the back of our pants was okay with us, too. It was a small price to pay for a cat who loved us.

  Then, when Red was almost ten, he began to lose weight. He never stopped doing his head-butts, and he still loved to be petted, squashed right next to one of us on the sofa. But he was losing weight rapidly, and his visits to the litter box became more and more frequent. I took him to the vet. “Diabetic,” Dr. Love pronounced. “No way you could have known or could have stopped it.” The kind vet looked me straight in the eyes. “Cats get it more often than you’d think. It can be managed.”

  “Great,” I said while rubbing Red’s neck. “What do we have to do?”

  After hearing all about the twice-a-day insulin shots and the diabetic-management cat food, we were armed for battle.

  “Okay, who’s going to give him the shot?” Roger asked the first morning. “The vet showed you how to do it, right?”

  “Yup, and it’s super easy. Call Red up here.”

  Roger stood at the kitchen counter. “Come on, Red. Get on up here.” Red jumped up on a chair, onto the table, and then onto the counter, and then immediately head-butted Roger’s hand and let out a huge meow. He stood stock still as I pinched his fur, inserted the short needle, and injected the insulin.

  “Done. Good boy, Red.” I turned to Roger. “Your turn tonight.”

  And that’s the way it went for five years. Red jumped up every morning and every evening, head-butted our hands, and then stood still for his insulin injection. There wasn’t a cowardly bone in his body. We came to call him our Courageous Lion because of his size and coloring, but also his courage. He seemed to know those shots kept him well, and after adjustments to the dosage to get it right for his size, Red regained all of his weight.

  In the sixth year after he was diagnosed, a trip to the vet revealed that he no longer needed the insulin or the diabetic-management cat food. We would have continued his regimen for as long as he needed it, but the tests didn’t lie. Maybe his Courageous Lion attitude had head-butted that nasty diabetes to the curb.

  During those years of twice-a-day insulin shots, I gradually began to see that Red’s fearlessness was teaching me something. Whenever I faced a challenge of my own, I’d think of him. If Red had
the strength and courage to meet his disease head-on, then I could meet my own situations head-on, too. My cowardly lion style was replaced by the same fearlessness that Red exhibited. What a great role model that little cat turned out to be.

  ~B.J. Taylor

  Unexpected Visitors

  A kitten is, in the animal world, what a rosebud is in the garden.

  ~Robert Southey

  The phone rang while I was preparing dinner. “Hi, Mom, we’re heading home now.” It was my son Chris. He and his friend Jenn had been out of town the day before.

  “Great,” I replied. “We’ll expect you in a couple of hours.”

  “Wait, Mom, I have something to tell you.” Just then, my oven timer dinged.

  “Tell me when you get here,” I said. “Pie’s ready. Got to go.”

  As I started to hang up, I heard Chris say, “We’re bringing some extra company.”

  Extra company? Yikes! Would there be enough food to go around?

  “How many?” I asked.

  “Four,” said Chris.

  “Four? Chris, I can’t feed four extra people on such short notice!”

  “Good news, Mom,” he replied cheerfully. “You don’t have to feed people. The company I’m bringing home is four abandoned kittens.”

  “Kittens? Chris…”

  “We’re stopping at Sandra’s on the way. She’s getting formula for them.” Our animal-loving daughter had a summer job at the local veterinary clinic. “They’ll have to be fed every four hours. Don’t worry, she’ll explain it all to you.”

  “Explain? Explain what?” Too late. Chris had hung up.

  The timer dinged again. My pie! I yanked open the oven door to a burned-apple smell. Too late for the pie, too.

  I made a cup of tea to calm my nerves and phoned Sandra.