by Amy Newmark
However, I am not one to obstruct the natural inclinations of critters, domestic or wild, so Kitty pretty much came and went as she pleased, at least when the bears weren’t visibly about. She was an efficient hunter, could scurry up and down trees and clothesline poles with the best of them, and was as surefooted as a mountain goat on rooftops and fence rails. I am quite sure that, given the opportunity, she could leap tall buildings in a single bound, but I was in no way prepared for what she actually did one balmy summer afternoon.
I was at my usual station at the desk when I heard a commotion outside. I had let Kitty out a while before, and thought she had probably caught a squirrel, black snake, or some other prey that was putting up more of a fight than a mouse or mole normally would. So, I stepped out onto the porch and came to a dead halt. Kitty was facing down a large, male black bear on the ridgeline trail just a few yards away. I watched as Kitty took a few slow, low-to-the-ground stalking steps forward — and the bear took a step back. Then she took a few more stalking steps forward, and the bear took another step back, never taking his eyes off her. After about thirty seconds, the bear stood up on his hind legs, clawed the air for a few seconds, and turned tail and ran back into the woods. Kitty rushed behind him until he disappeared into the trees.
Of course, I was stunned by this performance, and spent several days twirling it around in my brain. It was obviously a freak occurrence, but what on earth had happened? Did the bear not know what she was? Did she have a funny smell for some reason? Did he think she was a skunk? Then, about a week later, I glanced out the window and saw a repeat of the same drama! I don’t know if he was the same bear or a different one, but I do know that aside from our regular morning visitors, I didn’t see another bear close to the house all summer!
As for Kitty, I still wouldn’t let her go out and play with the cubs, but she took to greeting them paw-to-paw through the window every morning and forgave me for my overprotective eccentricities.
~Deb Louis
Ripple in the Snow
Human beings are drawn to cats because they are all we are not — self-contained, elegant in everything they do, relaxed, assured, glad of company, yet still possessing secret lives.
~Pam Brown
Ripple, named for the ripple-like effect her tortoiseshell coat gave her, was a peculiar cat, to say the least. Maybe it was because of the way my mom found her: underneath a parked car, her beautiful tortoise coat covered in oil and grime, her ribs presenting themselves as large, spindly bumps on the sides of her body like her skin was pulled too tight. Whatever the reason, Ripple liked to follow my mom and dad everywhere they went, and once I was born she took a great liking to me, too.
Our house was just a mile from my preschool. My dad was legally blind and had been that way all my life. So instead of driving every day to my school, we would walk down a wooded path that was just over the road from our house. It was almost a straight shot except for one fork in the road a little way down the path. At the fork, we would take a left, which would take us the rest of the way to my school. If we didn’t turn left, the path would lead us deeper into the thicket of the forest, far away from town.
Ripple would follow us down that path every day, her paws delicately stepping over every stick and stone, seemingly content just to be in our presence and to be included in the journey. Every weekday, my dad and I would get ready for our walk. Hand in hand, or sometimes with me on top of his shoulders, we would trek down that same unpaved path that weaved through the pine trees and the manzanita, our trusted feline companion following close behind. When we got to school, my dad would drop me off inside as Ripple waited patiently at the door. I don’t remember what the other school kids thought of our cat, or if they even noticed her at all. What a sight it must have been to see our small troop walking down to the school building! After I was safely inside, my dad would then start his journey home, with Ripple following closely behind.
One day, it was snowing, and a thick cushion of white blanketed the northern California landscape, with more wet flakes falling at a steady rate. Still, we bundled up and headed out with Ripple following close behind. We walked for a while, our heads down to avoid the blowing snow. It was miserably cold and I was surprised that Ripple decided to accompany us.
My father and I did little talking, as our faces were pressed into our scarves. Because of this, when at one point a small sound broke through the snow and the wind, we looked at each other in puzzlement, wondering if the other one had said something and it was simply muffled through our winter attire. But no, as we listened more, we could make out a small mewing sound. It was barely audible, but still there, and it made us both turn around to see what was making that foreign noise in this white and forlorn landscape.
It was Ripple. No longer close behind us, she sat in the snow and the cold a good distance away from where we now stood. She was so far away, in fact, that I had to squint to see her little brown body in the fog of white. She was meowing so incessantly that my dad knew something must be wrong. But what was it? Was she cold? Had she had enough of the snow and sleet? We walked back to her, my dad confused and concerned. However, when we got to where she stubbornly sat, he realized something. She was standing in the fork in the road, the one where we were supposed to turn left. We had missed our turn, but Ripple had remembered. She tried to alert us the best way she knew how. And it worked.
We conceded that Ripple had a better sense of direction than we had, and we set off down the correct trail. This one would lead us to my preschool, not deeper into the woods. Ripple stopped her meowing as soon as she saw us going the correct way and followed us as usual all the way to my preschool. Then she went back through the storm with my dad to the warm house where, I’m sure she was praised and rewarded with a treat.
Ripple followed us many times after that until she passed away from old age. I have had many cats in my lifetime, but none as peculiar as Ripple. To me, she will always be the cat with the old soul, guiding us through the storm and protecting her family. For all those years, I had thought we were her saviors, but now I realize that she was the one watching over us.
~Kiva Arne
She Knew
It always gives me a shiver when I see a cat seeing what I can’t see.
~Eleanor Farjeon
Ten years ago, Kitty Kat — a gray cat with a white chest, white whiskers and white paws — arrived on our doorstep looking for food. For two days, she waited on our front porch for us to return from work, and then meowed to be fed. After a week of posting flyers on trees, no one claimed her and my husband agreed to let her stay and become part of the family.
Over the next seven years, I watched my husband and Kitty Kat bond. She waited for him to arrive home from work, and when he sat on the sofa to watch TV, she took her place beside him. Then, one evening, she crept onto his lap and went to sleep. I smiled to myself. For a man who was not raised with animals, he had developed a mutual friendship with Kitty Kat.
One morning, I awoke to find her sleeping on my husband’s pillow. When he returned from his morning jog, he chided me for encouraging our cat to sleep with him. I laughed and assured him I had nothing to do with it. In fact, I had become secretly jealous of the attention she was lavishing on him and he on her. For the next week, she followed him up the stairs and into the master bedroom at night. Without an invitation, she leapt onto our bed and took her place on his pillow. She made sure to leave him enough space to place his head. Once he settled, she curled up and closed her eyes.
One morning, I awoke to loud meowing. Curious, I reached for my robe and descended the stairs. As I did so, I became aware that something was wrong. The house was silent except for Kitty Kat’s meowing at the foot of the stairs to attract my attention. As I entered the dining room, she came running, almost tripping me, and stopped in the doorway leading into the kitchen. She turned and meowed loudly. I bent down and cradled her in my arms before entering the kitchen.
As I entered the room, I saw my
husband lying on the floor in front of the kitchen sink. He was unresponsive and had no pulse. I dialed 9-1-1. But it was too late.
Three weeks later, I met a friend for lunch. When I told her about Kitty Kat’s odd behavior and how she had stopped sleeping on his pillow after his death, she mentioned she had read how animals have an instinct about people and their health. I shrugged it off. How could animals know? Curious, I went online that evening and researched cats and their ability to sense serious illness in humans. I was surprised at the amount of information on the subject. An individual had recounted how the family cat had started sleeping on his wife’s chest. Puzzled, she consulted her doctor and learned she needed surgery for a hiatus hernia. After the operation, the cat never slept on her chest again.
After my research about cats and their ability to sense illnesses in humans, I became a believer. I have no doubt that Kitty Kat had a premonition the week before my husband’s passing. If only I had known then what I know now.
~Rosemarie Riley
Ellie, the Angel
Of all the things God created, from sunrises to rainbows, to black holes and humor, cats are the most fascinating to me.
~Jarod Kintz
My daughter was diagnosed with epilepsy her sophomore year in high school. She had a very difficult time dealing with the side effects of the medications and the fear of seizures. Because of this, she spent a lot of time alone in her room. One day, she came to me and asked if she could get a cat.
I was a little wary, since our last cat, although we loved her, had been a scratcher and very destructive, but I couldn’t say “no” to my daughter given the tough time she was having. I began looking at the various shelter and rescue websites for an adult cat that had already been declawed and was litter trained. That’s when I found Ellie at Father John’s Animal House. The picture showed a sweet, white face with dark, expressive eyes. They described her as a lovable “mush” who loved to cuddle. Based on that description, my husband and I made the two-hour drive to see her.
As they pulled Ellie out of the cage, I gasped with surprise. She was huge! But as I held that giant, white pillow of cat, she purred with the volume of a small tractor, put one of her enormous, soft, clawless paws up against my face, and melted my heart.
The shelter volunteer then gave us her history. Ellie had been found in an abandoned home with several other cats. She had been adopted and then returned twice because of difficulties with the litter box. The thought of litter problems did make me think twice, but that motor-like purring and the quiet way she had settled her enormous bulk into my arms overrode my fears.
The smile that lit up my daughter’s face as she gathered our new family member into her arms reassured me. From that day on, wherever she went, Ellie followed. My daughter’s days of isolation were over. At night, I would check on her as she slept. Snuggled up next to her, Ellie would raise her head and look at me as if to say, “I’ve got this. I’m watching her.”
As for the litter problems, she never had any problems at all with us. She has always been perfectly behaved. It’s as if she knew the home she was supposed to go to and did what she had to in order to make sure that she got there.
One afternoon, when I peeked into my daughter’s room, she was sitting on the floor writing in her journal with her back against her bed. Ellie was sprawled on the edge of the bed. Her head and one paw were resting lightly on one of my daughter’s shoulders and her other paw was resting on the other shoulder. It was such a posture of protection, companionship, and love. I think this cat may well be an actual angel.
~Mary Fluhr Bajda
How Daisy Earned Her Middle Name
Our perfect companions never have fewer than four feet.
~Colette
In 2003, I casually mentioned to a friend that I wanted to rescue a black kitten from the pound. I’d heard that black cats and dogs were the last to be adopted because humans are silly and superstitious, and I tend to go for the underdog. Or, in this case, the “undercat.” So I wanted a black cat.
The very next day, a tiny, sick, black kitten showed up on that same friend’s patio. They couldn’t keep her, and while they said she looked like she was about to die, I agreed to take the little creature. The vet thought she was six weeks old when I first brought her in because she was so small. But her teeth revealed she was actually six months old and very malnourished. She’d had a rough start to life. I set about fattening her up and making her feel safe and loved.
She had obviously been roaming the Indiana countryside for quite some time. Along with practically starving to death, she’d clearly had a run-in with a sappy tree and a serious tangle with an angry skunk. She had a cleft lip as well, and the vet thought perhaps she’d been rejected by her mother. I called her Daisy because she was the opposite of a flower. She was a mess — a skinny, sticky, very stinky mess! And I gave her the middle name of Serendipity because of the timing of her arrival. I had wished for her, and there she was. Daisy Serendipity.
Seven years later, Daisy and I had moved to D.C. It was just the two of us. She was my roommate, confidante, and my best friend. And we were very in tune with each other. I joked that we were co-dependent.
I started having trouble with kidney stones early in college, but they passed relatively easily then. In D.C., the issue got more serious, and I landed in surgery. My doctor removed almost eighty stones from my right kidney. The surgery left me feeling pretty awful.
Four days after surgery, I went back to work. As the day wore on, I became convinced I had swine flu, which was in the news that year. The pain started from the top of my head, and as the hours passed, that pain and stiffness crept down my neck and shoulders to my back and hips. I finally gave up and went home for the afternoon.
I just wanted to sleep. I didn’t eat anything myself, but I fed Daisy before I climbed into bed with an ice pack at the back of my head. I fell into a deep sleep.
Hours later, Daisy woke me up by “push-pawing” on my cheek. I was accustomed to her pawing me, but this was different. It really hurt. When I groggily opened my eyes, I could see she was right in my face, nose-to-nose, her little mouth meowing like crazy. But I couldn’t hear a thing. Strange, I thought. I grabbed the remote to turn on the television. Nothing. I turned the volume way up. Nothing. I got worried.
I sat up quickly and very nearly passed out. I knew something was incredibly wrong. I called 9-1-1 and realized as I waited on the phone that I could not hear it ringing or hear if anyone answered. I took my best guess and said, “I hope there is someone on the other end of the line. Something is really wrong with me. I thought I had the flu, but I feel like I’m going to die. I can’t hear anything. I’m dizzy. I need help.” I stayed on the line for a minute and then hung up.
I looked at Daisy, who was pacing and still meowing — not her normal behavior at all. I grabbed her long-term feeder (the kind that lets food out as they eat), filled it to the top, and turned on the water faucet to a thin stream. I wasn’t sure how long I would be gone, but this felt like more than the flu, and I was worried about leaving her alone for days. Then I went to wait by the front door because I couldn’t hear anyone knock.
Luckily, an operator had heard me on that 9-1-1 call, and an ambulance arrived quickly. The EMTs and I communicated the best we could. I could talk to them; they motioned to me. They took my temperature and blood pressure. Then they looked at each other and helped me onto the stretcher. Their look said it all. I got really scared.
In the emergency room, I remember a lot of people moving around me at an alarmingly fast rate. I remember a nurse with a cute, brunette bob, whose main job was to comfort me. She held my hand and tried to communicate what was happening. As they got my blood pressure to rise, I was able to hear again. And the nurse’s face and voice were the only things that kept me from losing it. I heard some scary words. I saw some scary looks pass to and from medical team members. I remember a test in my wrist that was terribly painful. And then I woke up in the Inte
nsive Care Unit two days later.
I had sepsis. It was, we believe, a result of the cleaning out of those stones in my kidney. My urologist visited me every day for my entire two weeks in the hospital. He felt pretty bad, but I didn’t blame him. Things happen. The ER doctor visited me, too. And he said the team couldn’t figure out how in the world I’d woken up at all to be able to call 9-1-1. My blood pressure when I arrived had been lower than 55/40. I should have died in my sleep.
“My cat,” I said, smiling. “She woke me up.”
“You probably stopped breathing a number of times and freaked her out,” said the doctor. “Serendipitous. She’s a hero.”
Indeed, she is. And the fact that her full name is Daisy Serendipity was not lost on me.
~Kristin Ingersoll
Hidden Voices
It is impossible for a lover of cats to banish these alert, gentle, and discriminating little friends, who give us just enough of their regard and complaisance to make us hunger for more.
~Agnes Repplier
As a volunteer for Colony Cats and Dogs, I’ve seen the best and the worst of people. Whether it’s a hoarding situation or an abuse or neglect situation, the shelter always steps in to help. Colony Cats and Dogs is a cage-free, no-kill shelter. My task while I am there four days a week is to talk to the people who come in and educate them on the adoption process. I have seen many heartbreaking as well as heartwarming situations in my six years volunteering there. One adoption story in particular sticks out in my head; I will never forget it.