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

by Amy Newmark

  Petey was in heaven! He quickly showed us “The True Petey.” We discovered he liked to crawl up and knead, suckle, and purr on the shoulders of staffers. He didn’t discriminate. He would happily accept head rubs and treats from anyone. He did not even mind big, slobbery dogs, as long as they kept their distance.

  Somehow, it became a done deal. Petey became our second official clinic cat. In his former life, he was a house cat who had never encountered other animals, especially dogs. Now they are a regular part of his day as he supervises the entrance of a large veterinary practice with five doctors and many furry visitors.

  Patients and their humans enter into an expansive and open lobby with a wide, circular counter. Petey has a spot front and center, stretched out like a sunbather. Sometimes, he sits near the computer keyboard; other times, he hangs out near the waiting-room fireplace. You might find him dozing on the doctor’s desk or enjoying a snooze in the arms of staffers on break. He works the room, so to speak. Petey, who has been renamed “Pete,” particularly likes playing in his water bowl, scooping the liquid out with his paw and then licking it off. Pete also delights in splashing the toilet bowl water. You might find little paw prints on a wet seat — be warned.

  Even though my fellow employees and I were silent about Pete’s presence, he did not go unnoticed. Within a month, twenty-five clients asked to adopt him. At that point, we were all in love with our new Allisonville Animal Hospital “Goodwill Ambassador.” Finally, I told all the staff that he would not be put up for adoption. Technically, he’s now my cat, though others claim him as “ours.”

  Our other clinic cat, Joe, is around seventeen years old. Joe is a black shorthair. He keeps a low profile and mostly resides in a back office, looking out the window. He is very happy to greet strangers and request a scratch under the chin or behind the ear, but people must come to him — the opposite of Pete’s “in-your-face” approach as he patrols the hallways and common areas to make friends.

  As for the boss, Dr. Greg, I had every hope he would fall for Pete like everyone else. It took about two-and-a-half weeks for him to finally acknowledge and agree that Pete is a part of the office management. The prodding of another vet, Dr. Ward, helped to move this along.

  This white-and-orange wonder is petted by around thirty people a day. We have a “Donation for Pete” set up where clients read about his story and donate money for his special food and insulin. Pete’s rich already. He looks it, too. His hair has grown back, and his eyes are bright and eager with anticipation.

  As for the previous owner, she follows me on all social media platforms and “likes” every picture and video of him that I post. She did reach out to me via text when this first happened and told me how appreciative she was for what I did. Pete inspires me, too. He has touched hundreds of hearts and given hope to other impaired animals and people, as he redefines his life and rises to his potential.

  ~Meredith Engerski

  A Band of Brothers

  It is impossible to keep a straight face in the presence of one or more kittens.

  ~Cynthia E. Varnado

  We already had a stray cat. But Eggroll happened to bond deeply with me — and only me. Unfortunately, he merely tolerated my eleven-year-old daughter despite her best efforts. She fed, watered, and cooed at him, but it just didn’t matter. He was a finicky, one-person feline.

  One winter night over hot chocolate and a game of checkers, Emily handed me her Christmas list. She had just one wish — a kitten of her own, and preferably one that would not snub her. Then she announced that if she couldn’t have a kitten, she would like a little brother.

  Well, I’m a single mom, so the little brother idea was completely out of the question. But, a kitten… that I could do. We had room in our hearts and home for one more pet. So, I asked around the office about local animal rescues. My boss mentioned Special Pals, and I visited the shelter during my lunch hour. There were so many adorable kittens that I wasn’t sure where to start.

  “Those two are brothers,” offered the shelter volunteer, pointing at two tiny fur balls. One was a tabby, and the other was gray and white. The tabby stuck his paw out of the cage and waved.

  “Two? A pair of kittens? Good Lord, I need that like a hole in the head,” I joked and moved on. But after looking at a half-dozen adoptable candidates, I found myself gravitating back to the brothers.

  “Can I take just one, the one that waved at me?” I asked.

  “They are such a comfort to each other,” said the volunteer. “We’d really like to adopt them out together.”

  “Is there a two-for-one discount?”

  “No discount,” said the volunteer. “But they’ve had their shots. You’ll just need to sign a form promising to have them neutered when they reach about five months.”

  “I see,” I said, grimacing at the thought of two adoption fees and two neuters, which weren’t cheap. But I could see how bonded the kittens were at twelve weeks, tumbling about at peak cuteness as if they had an acting coach. They melted my heart, and I could envision them playing with Emily. So I filled out the adoption paperwork on the spot. That required three personal references, my employment history, and my vet’s contact information. If I passed inspection, the shelter would notify me within three days.

  I felt a bit crushed leaving the brothers behind, but the delay gave me time to buy kitten chow, bowls, a cat carrier, an extra litter box, and some cat toys. I hid it all under a blanket in the back of my SUV. That way, if my application was rejected, I could return everything. I said absolutely nothing about the adoption to Emily, just in case it fell through.

  My cellphone rang the very next day. I had passed muster, and the kittens were ready for pickup! Thankfully, my understanding boss gave me the afternoon off to prepare. I rushed home, set up all the kitten gear in Emily’s room, and then brought the brothers home. The dynamic duo helped themselves to the litter box and began to explore their surroundings. Within minutes, they scaled Emily’s bedspread and tumbled around on her stuffed animals — a perfectly seamless transition. I was so grateful the shelter volunteer recommended adopting them together.

  Emily normally took the school bus home, but that day I arranged to pick her up.

  “What’s up, Mom?” Emily asked. “Why aren’t you at work?”

  “It’s a surprise!” I answered.

  “A surprise? What kind of surprise?” Emily asked as she buckled up.

  “Oh, you’ll see soon enough.”

  Finally, we pulled into the driveway. I told Emily that the surprise was in her room and to open her door slowly and gently. The look on her face was priceless when she spotted two kittens curled up together and snoozing on a blanket.

  “Mom,” she gasped. “Are they really mine?” She became so overwhelmed that her eyes welled up.

  “Yes, sweetie, they are really yours!” I said, hugging her. “And they are brothers. What are you going to name them?”

  Emily reached down to pet her new kittens and then proclaimed, “Checkers and Chocolate.” It was my turn to sniffle when she reminded me that we had been drinking hot chocolate and playing checkers on the night she asked for a kitten.

  The brothers stayed in Emily’s room over winter break. Eggroll introduced himself by pushing his paws under the door. Of course, the brothers thought that was a hoot and did the same. After many days of playing footsie, we allowed all of our felines to meet and mingle.

  We crossed our fingers that finicky Eggroll would bond with his new sidekicks and show them around the house. Sure enough, they became a trio. Best of all, Eggroll finally warmed up to Emily because the brothers hung out in her room a lot, and he followed suit.

  Through the years, we’ve come to think of them as a merry band of brothers — Eggroll, Checkers and Chocolate. But, most of all, they are a part of our family. Adoption really does change lives, and we needed these cats just as much as they needed us. All three have infused comfort — and giggles — into our everyday existence, and we ca
n only hope that others experience the same joy through adoption.

  ~Melanie Saxton

  Lucky for Love

  A cat assures its owner of good luck.

  ~Chinese Proverb

  On a rainy December morning on Long Island, I drove thirty miles to Save-A-Pet animal shelter to look at kittens. Among the chaos of kids, barking dogs, and parents, I picked up a black kitten. She appeared to be six months old. She clung to me and purred as I petted her silky coat. How could anyone find a black cat unlucky? I had to take her home.

  But I was just there to look. I didn’t have a pet bed, food, or bowls for her. Furthermore, that night I was going out with Ed. We had been friends for quite a while, but this was our first “official” date.

  I had to leave the kitten. “Goodbye, Muffin,” I said and handed her to Kyle, the shelter volunteer.

  As I drove home, sheets of rain beat against the car. And I cried tears for my kitten. Why did I have to name her? I thought. Now, she is a part of me like a heart or a lung. I can’t abandon her now. I should be excited about my date, so why am I sad?

  At home, I looked at the clock: 3:00 p.m. If I hurry back to the shelter, there will still be time to adopt Muffin before it closes.

  I tore off my wet clothes, pulled on dry ones, and ran to the car. The rain had turned to hail. Golf-sized lumps of ice pummeled the vehicle. I struggled to see through the blurry windshield as I rushed back to the shelter to save my Muffin.

  I must have looked like a madwoman when I got back, but Kyle brought Muffin to me. “She’s been waitin’ on you.” I opened my wet coat and held her against my chest. She stretched her neck, stuck out her pink tongue, and licked me. Looking into her huge green eyes, my heart filled with warmth, love, and happiness.

  “How did you know I’d come back?” I said to Kyle.

  “Oh, you were hooked big-time. And the little girl, too.” He scratched her head. “I’ll get the adoption papers started.”

  “But I don’t have any food, a bed, or a cat carrier.” Through my shirt, I felt her heart beating. The winter chill was gone as she warmed me.

  “No worries. We have some food and a box to take her home in,” he said.

  At the checkout counter, I signed Muffin’s paperwork and paid a small fee.

  The volunteer gave me a bag of dry food and put Muffin in a carton. He carried her out to the car for me and put the box on the passenger seat. Outside, the rain had stopped. A glimmer of sun fought through the clouds. Muffin let out some meows.

  Kyle said to Muffin, “It’s okay, girl. This nice lady’s goin’ to make you a good home.”

  Shivering in my soaked jacket, I thanked Kyle and opened the trunk. I put the food inside, closed it, and got into the car. Then I peeked inside the box. Muffin was gone!

  I looked on the floor, under the seats, and in every corner I could find. No kitten. I ran into the shelter. I came back out with Kyle, and we went to my car. He pulled a lever on the bottom of the front passenger seat and pushed it forward. Muffin was huddled inside the small space.

  “What are you doing in there?” I said. I patted her head. She peered up at me. Kyle picked up Muffin and put her in the carton.

  “How did you know where she was?”

  “‘Happens all the time.”

  “Thanks again for rescuing us.”

  “Any time.” He went back to the shelter.

  I grabbed a blanket from the back seat, tucked it around Muffin, and made sure she had plenty of air. On the ride home, she cried. That was heart wrenching. Maybe I had made a mistake.

  Inside my apartment, I gathered blankets and pillows. I made a place for her next to my bed and filled bowls with food and water. But she was not ready to take a nap. Muffin wanted to explore. Sniffing the air, she dashed under the bed, around the furniture, and into the kitchen. I got ready for my date even though I really wanted to stay home with my new kitten. It was too late to call Ed and cancel, but I thought that perhaps I should make a spaghetti dinner and invite him to eat in.

  An hour later, I was dressed and ready. When Ed arrived I introduced him to Muffin.

  She meowed, “Hello.”

  He kissed me on the cheek and I said, “Her name is Muffin. I adopted her about an hour ago. Would you mind if I cooked dinner? I can’t leave her alone on her first night.”

  “Hey, Muffin. Sure, we can stay here.”

  We ate, laughed, talked, and played with her. I hoped there would be more dates with Ed.

  Ed and I celebrated our thirtieth wedding anniversary this year. And Muffin, an indoor cat, lived for sixteen glorious years.

  Often, we reminisce about the joy she brought us. Black cats are good luck after all — especially for love.

  ~Marilyn June Janson

  Cade & Cally

  The cat does not offer services. The cat offers itself.

  ~William S. Burroughs, The Cat Inside

  Describing a half-grown female kitten with the unfortunate name of “Godfrey,” the vet told me, “She’ll do best in a quiet home.” Godfrey was named after the road where she had been found. One of the clinic’s employees caught the abandoned, starving kitten and brought her to the clinic for care. Godfrey’s picture — posted to a pet-search website — had in turn brought me.

  “She’s very sweet and loving,” the vet continued, “but scared by all the noise. It’s not likely she’ll ever be a social cat, but you’d be doing her a real favor by getting her out of here.”

  I was listening to the vet, but I didn’t really hear her. A lifelong cat person, I was naïvely optimistic that I could bring this timid, little creature out of her shell. Plus, I had fallen half in love with her already. The scared kitten in the online photo, the pretty lady cat with the silly male name… all she needed was time, a new name — and me!

  The vet’s description turned out to be truer than my blind optimism. Callawassie (or “Cally” for short), as we named her, is a hide-under-the-bed-at-the-first-sign-of-trouble cat. She loves and trusts me, the person who “saved” her from the noisy vet clinic. She mostly accepts my husband and will allow him to pet her on occasion. She’s also managed to bond somewhat with our older son, born five years after we adopted her.

  That’s it! No one outside our immediate family even believes she exists. She’s not a lap kitty. She’s not a follower. She seeks out attention on her own terms and otherwise hides out of sight.

  I still believe we did the right thing in adopting her, but my hopes for transforming her have never been fulfilled. After ten years, I had stopped hoping for anything more — which is why her behavior following the birth of our second son has come as such a shock. Looking back, I should have realized that something magical was happening.

  During my pregnancy, I would wake from a nap to find Cally curled up at the end of the bed, against the back of my legs or against my stomach.

  “Whoa. Cally? Really?” I was surprised by the sudden change in behavior, but grateful. I thought that perhaps she knew I wasn’t feeling well and wanted to help. Or, I admitted ruefully to myself, the more likely explanation was that my pregnant body was a tad warmer than normal and had turned me into an irresistible magnet for napping cats.

  Within days of bringing baby Cade home from the hospital, however, I noticed that Cally was always present. Her home base moved from underneath our bed to Cade’s bedroom. She was there when he had his diaper changed, when we did tummy time, when I nursed him or rocked him to sleep. She seemed utterly fascinated, even smitten, and no amount of noise from him — and he could raise the roof, believe me — would send her running.

  At the end of the day, I’d shoo her out of the bedroom so I could shut the door while he slept. I didn’t think that she would do anything, but I wasn’t taking any chances. Cally responded by spending the night outside his bedroom door, just waiting for her boy to wake up.

  I noticed her fascination, of course. My Facebook feed turned into a Cade & Cally show. “You won’t believe this, but check ou
t these two unlikely buddies!” or “Sorry for all the pictures, but this is bound to be short lived,” I’d say. I figured that as soon as Cade was mobile, he’d cease to be fascinating and start to be threatening.

  And so Cade learned to roll… sit up… crawl… and now walk. But he did it all under the watchful gaze of his feline friend. The bond they have — between the quietest, shyest member of our household and the loudest, most rambunctious — remains true. It is a beautiful thing to witness. Cally braves a world that frightens her in order to be by his side. In turn, she’s teaching him how to interact with animals. If he gets too wild, she’ll edge out of touching distance. If he’s gentle, though, he’s rewarded with the opportunity to give her pets and hugs.

  Not long ago, he wasn’t feeling well and had been snuggling with me on the couch. Upon waking, the first thing he saw was his “Cally kitty” on the floor at our feet. Immediately, he wriggled off my lap to sit beside her, draped one arm over her back, and gave a little sigh.

  After caring for Cally for ten years, this turn of events still shocks me. We no longer have the “quiet home” the vet said she’d need, but it turns out we have something she wants even more: Cade.

  ~Megan Nelson

  Miss Adventure

  Cats like doors left open, in case they change their minds.

  ~Rosemary Nisbet

  We knew she wouldn’t be a typical housecat when we first encountered Lylah. We had adopted her and a littermate at a street fair, quite by chance. A small bundle of jet-black fur, tinted with brown and smoke-gray undertones, the little kitten with large, amber eyes made it clear from the start that she would be marching to her own drummer.