by Amy Newmark
Deploying to a disaster zone is hardly glamorous. The work is vitally essential and in the end gratifying, but it is also exhausting, dirty, and hazardous. Volunteers live in one of five giant American Humane Rescue vehicles, sleeping in bunks after arduous eighteen-hour days coaxing frightened, starving, and often ill animals out of trees and wreckage, surrounded by stagnant water, sharp rubble, and downed power lines.
Janet was trained and prepared to deal with all these conditions, but was still shocked when she saw the magnitude of the destruction created by raging waters that in some places crested at twenty-six feet over flood levels.
“It was terrible,” she said. “There was mud everywhere. The people who came to us for help had heartbreaking stories about losing their homes. They brought in their pets who needed attention after having been in floodwaters. In some cases, they had lost one of their pets to the flood and brought in a surviving cat or dog. All the people who came were so glad we were there. They were truly grateful to be able to get the necessary care for their companion animals.”
Swanson was one of a corps of ten highly trained volunteers and animal doctors who deployed to rescue and make sure veterinary care, food, and plenty of love made their way to the lost and abandoned animals whose owners’ homes were destroyed. Using one of the fifty-foot American Humane Rescue trucks as a base of operations, the team set out to find animals missing in the flood zone and set up a mobile veterinary clinic to provide first aid, wellness checks, vaccines, and food for sick and hungry pets, treating more than 100 animals in one day alone. The rest of the team scoured the area for lost and injured animals.
That’s when a volunteer found a trio of tiny kittens huddled together on the lid of a trashcan in the middle of a creek bed. Tragically, their mother was gone. When the small litter of animal orphans arrived at the safety of the mobile clinic, the kittens were trembling, covered in fleas and ticks, and swollen from painful parasitic infections. They were hungry and dangerously dehydrated.
After giving them emergency veterinary aid, the team provided the feeble kittens with around-the-clock care, even sleeping with them and waking up every three hours to bottle-feed them, slowly nursing them back to health. Because of this tireless dedication, all three kittens made full recoveries. The tiny creatures stole the hearts of all the American Humane responders, and they were passed around with big smiles during the daily briefings and debriefings.
But a serious problem arose. The kittens were still extremely young and the surrounding area had been destroyed, which meant there was no local foster care network left to take care of them. The rescuers discussed the situation. One of the trio, a tortoise-shell cat with warm, grateful eyes, had touched Swanson’s heart. Naming her “Hava” (a variant of the Hebrew word for “Love”), she agreed to take her home and adopt her.
“I had never adopted a baby that young,” said Swanson. “Almost every companion animal I have ever had was an older rescue coming either directly off the streets or from a shelter. These kittens would only be two weeks old on the day we left and need frequent bottle feedings as their mother had been lost in the flood. When I heard that there was nobody to take care of them, I agreed to take one and got a crash course in bottle-feeding, with a full sheet of instructions on just what to do and how to do it.”
American Humane Rescue veterinarian Dr. Lesa Staubus ended up taking the two other brothers with her, so all three found good homes in which they could finally relax after their ordeal.
Since the rescue, Hava has been doing great. She is now part of a loving family that includes four cats, two dogs, three parrots, and a bunny — the perfect environment for a lively and curious cat.
When they were rescued, Hava was the first to do everything and was always the most adventurous of the three kittens. She would explore everything first, before her brothers, to the point where the rescue team would laugh and dubbed her the “nosey” one, always wanting to check everything out.
Janet said she continued to be that way once at her house. She says, “She is now a happy, healthy girl who will soon be a year old. She still comes to me every day, just to be held and cuddled the way she did when she was a little one. Stories like hers are why we do what we do at American Humane, and for her part, Hava has lived up to her name, returning love to me every day.”
~Dr. Robin Ganzert
Fashion Diva
Cats do not have to be shown how to have a good time, for they are unfailingly ingenious in that respect.
~James Mason
When Vinny, a chocolate European Burmese, moved in with me, I had no idea that he loved wearing clothes. It all started when Vinny was training to become a registered therapy cat with Love on a Leash. I thought the nursing-home residents we visited might enjoy seeing him wearing some cute things. So, a bandanna here and a bowtie there led to Halloween and Christmas outfits — and Vinny was all for it. He even wore his Halloween pumpkin costume, including the stem hat, for our entire one-hour visit! I think he enjoyed the extra attention and reactions from the residents.
I know not everyone approves of clothing on pets. Let me say immediately that I do not in any way force this on him. Also, he only wears apparel under close supervision.
Vinny enjoys dressing up at home, too. He purrs when modeling, and he seems to know when to pose for the camera. He’s even been known to photo bomb when I try to take pictures of my other cats! Vinny loves being the center of attention.
One Halloween, I entered Vinny in our local Petco’s costume contest. I found an Egyptian crown and necklace for cats, and a friend made him a kilt and neckpiece. Vinny liked his Egyptian Pharaoh costume. The only problem was that he kept tripping over the kilt! At Petco, he was directly up against the dogs in the costume contest… and he won first place. I was so proud! The next year he placed third, as a peacock. The year after that he was back in first place again, as Zorro.
Vinny now seems to have developed his own opinions on what is “cool.” Petco recently had a big clearance sale on apparel. Vinny was thrilled when I brought home seven new outfits and he happily modeled them. However, the Star Wars Yoda hoodie was not really his style (or maybe green is not his color!). He definitely liked Darth Vader, studded skulls, and faux leather better. Despite the purring, my little boy apparently likes looking “bad.” I don’t tell him, but I find most of his things in the dog section. Vinny is a big boy, 11–12 pounds, and usually wears a dog’s size medium.
Recently, Vinny decided to help me with my fashion sense, too. I had a beanie-style winter hat. Vinny apparently decided that the pom-poms looked dorky, so he chewed one off. Immediately, I cut off the other pom-pom. It’s definitely been fun and interesting living with a male feline fashionista!
~Leanne Froebel
Here’s Looking at You, Kid!
An ordinary kitten will ask more questions than any five-year-old.
~Carl Van Vechten
I was about to install a full-length mirror on the back of my bathroom door, but needed a different screwdriver. I leaned the mirror against the wall and went to retrieve the proper tool.
When I returned, my bull’s-eye-patterned, orange rescue cat was seated in front of the mirror, staring intently at his reflection. I smiled and waited to see what he thought of that “other cat” in there.
Gently, Simon reached out with one paw and patted the glass. Then he pressed his nose against the nose of his reflection and gave it a quick lick. Next, he walked around behind the mirror and came out the other side, looking rather befuddled.
“What’s the matter, my sweet little genius?” I asked him. “Can’t you find that other orange cat?”
He meowed. Ever since I brought him home from the shelter, he meowed at me whenever I ask a question. He’s pretty quiet most of the time, but when my voice goes up at the end of the sentence, he nearly always has an answer.
He turned to look at me, tilted his head, and turned back to the mirror. “Meow?” He nosed the reflection again and reached out
, tentatively at first.
Suddenly, he reared up on his hind legs and started batting at his reflection, effectively shadowboxing with an image he could not beat. His rights and lefts came swiftly: Bam! Pow! Kerplunk!
I leaned against the bathroom counter and laughed like crazy.
Simon looked over his shoulder at me. I couldn’t decide if he was asking for help or imploring me to stop laughing at him.
I swooped him up and carried him to the kitchen. “I’m sure that other cat has learned his lesson,” I told him. “And you’ve earned a treat.”
Setting him on the floor, I opened the cupboard and got out his box of special snacks. While he enjoyed his reward, I went back into the bathroom, closed the door, and installed the mirror — positioning it just a little higher than I’d planned.
I didn’t want the little guy traumatized every time he followed me in there!
~Jan Bono
Cat Got His Tongue
The smart cat doesn’t let on that he is.
~H.G. Frommer
Several years ago, I got a call from a fellow cat lover about some kittens in dire need of a home. Originally, there had been a litter of seven, but now only two females — a solid black mini-panther with golden eyes and a fluffy, longhaired, speckled girl — hadn’t been placed. My friend was desperate to find someone to take these last two, so my husband Dan and I agreed to adopt the pair. Nervous but excited, we headed out with our cat carrier to pick up the newest members of our family.
Upon arriving at the shelter, we learned that one of the other kittens — an orange-and-white-striped male — was suddenly homeless again. “His adoption fell through,” we were told. “The woman who was going to take him had to change her plans, so he has nowhere to go.”
The little guy looked at us with big, sad eyes that were as blue as the April sky. His sisters seemed heartbroken, too, sharpening their cries as we gently took them away from their brother and loaded them into the carrier. Through it all, he sat quietly, looking back and forth between his departing siblings without making a sound. The thought of this tiny, scared kitten languishing alone in the shelter was too much to bear, so Dan and I agreed to take him as well. We named the girls Harriett and Jane, and the last-minute addition to our crew was dubbed Raptor.
From that very first day, Harriett was incredibly vocal. She would meow loudly to complain about an empty food bowl, growl at the neighbors’ dogs, and coo like a pigeon when we stroked her fluffy mane. Jane was less noisy but still voiced her feelings, meowing softly when she was hungry or scared or just needed a little attention. Raptor, however, was almost entirely silent. Every now and then, he emitted a nearly inaudible purr, but other than that, nothing. At first, we thought he was just shy or scared, but after a few weeks, we began to worry there was something wrong with the sad-eyed, little fellow.
We took him to the vet, but a thorough exam revealed no physical issues, and the doctor told us not to worry. “Some cats are talkers, some aren’t,” she said after pronouncing him healthy. “Or maybe he’s just letting his sisters speak for him.”
We were reassured by the vet’s report even though we didn’t get any real answers. In every other way, Raptor seemed fine. He loved napping in the sunlight and chasing Jane and Harriett through the house, and he never passed up a meal. Still, we remained concerned that maybe he was suffering in some way we could not detect.
Then, one afternoon a full two years after the cats came into our home, we finally heard from Raptor. My husband and I had taken the three of them with us on a drive. Jane and Harriett were nuzzled together on the passenger-side back seat while Raptor curled up behind Dan, who was driving. About a half hour into the trip, a truck cut in front of us, and Dan slammed on the brakes, hard enough to send a startled Raptor onto the floor. We pulled to the side of the road and shut off the engine to make sure everyone was okay.
Harriett and Jane were sitting bolt upright and blinking at us, not sure what had just happened. Raptor, however, was quite animated. He jumped onto Dan’s lap and unleashed a truly unprecedented cacophony of meows — not long, howling mews, but rather a continuous outburst of loud yapping sounds. Neither of us speak Cat, but we clearly understood his message: “What was THAT all about!?! Seriously, you should be more careful on the road! Your driving is terrible! Do you realize you just flung me off my comfy chair and onto the FLOOR? What do you have to say for yourself, human?”
The cat we thought incapable of speech was reading Dan the riot act! I couldn’t help but laugh, which made Raptor turn toward me and give one last, gruff “hurumph!” before returning to his seat and resuming his curled-up position.
Dan smiled and gave Raptor a quick apology before starting the engine and continuing our drive. Then he looked over to me and said, “Well, I guess if this is the first thing he’s had to complain about, then we’re doing a pretty good job as cat parents!”
~Miriam Van Scott
Velcro
One must love a cat on its own terms.
~Paul Gray
My husband John and I headed for the local shelter to find the perfect fuzz ball to entertain us in the evenings after work. I had my mind set on a female, maybe a tiger cat or a black one with white mittens.
As I cooed over the assortment of kitties, I noticed John in conversation with the attendant in front of a cage containing a full-grown, sand-colored tabby with a brilliant pink nose. “He just came in,” the scrub-wearing lady said. “We have his shot records; he’s fourteen months old and neutered. The family said he’s too big and jumps on them, whatever that means. People surrender pets for some of the strangest reasons.”
“Is he friendly?” John put two fingers through the cage bars despite the signs warning: Do Not Put Fingers in Cages. The tabby revved up his purr and rubbed his face on John’s knuckles.
Uh-oh, I thought. This isn’t going in a kitten direction.
“Let’s take him to the visiting room,” the attendant said, catching the scent of a possible adoption. She hauled the long, leggy cat out of his cage and tried to corral most of him in her arms.
“Um,” I ventured. “Will he get much bigger?”
“No. He may put on a pound or so, but he’s grown.”
“He’s great!” John said, as the cat, now on the floor in the little room, threaded himself around John’s legs in figure eights, pausing for an occasional emphatic head bump. “I think he likes me.”
That did it. Fees paid and papers signed, I drove while John held the cat, whose legs dangled off his lap.
Once home, the name game began. Stretch? Magic, for Magic Johnson? Longfellow? Nothing seemed right until the cat named himself. While vining around John’s legs, he kept positioning himself behind my husband’s back. If John turned to face him, the cat circled around again, looking up at his back.
Then, with a swift, vertical cat leap, John had a fifteen-pound, sand-colored burdock clinging between his shoulder blades.
Velcro was named on the spot, and the habit, which we found was a persistent behavioral habit, was termed, “Doin’ a Velcro.”
Fortunately, I knew a young cat’s relationship to humans is often that of a kitten to mom-cat, so when Velcro began his circling routine, a quick tap on his nose with my finger and a hiss would stop him. He was also an ankle-biter, but the same corrections promptly nipped that habit in the bud, too.
However, Velcro did have a sense of when he might get away with some fun, and we had to be on the alert. One day, a less-than-favorite female relative stopped by unexpectedly and inconveniently. As we stood in the living room, Velcro began his circling routine. For a moment in time, John and I exchanged furtive and rather devilish glances, but reason won out. A split second before the leap, as I saw Velcro crouch, I short-circuited the cat’s plan with a nose tap and a quiet hiss. I gathered him in my arms stifling a laugh, as I said, “And this is Velcro!”
“No need to introduce me to the cat,” said Aunt Agnes, lowering herself even more in our esteem
.
Perhaps Velcro had his own opinions about some people, but in another setting he thrived, making friends and behaving like a gentleman.
We began taking him to our car dealership for the working day. He enjoyed the car rides, watching out the windows and jumping over the seat to the back windshield when a big truck passed. He was a man’s cat, indeed, with a passion for semis.
At the office, he contented himself with getting comfortable on the bookkeepers’ desks. They didn’t mind the laid-back cat sprawled on their journals or vehicle-registration work. They just pulled what they needed out from under him and propped the work against him. He had his own cardboard cave for nap times, never tried to leave the office, and had a fan club of customers. “Doin’ a Velcro” was not a problem at work.
At home, he was a house cat unless John invited him for a walk around our pond. While the man fished, the cat sat. When the man moved thirty feet, the cat followed. Just the words, “Velcro, want to go walk around the pond?” and the cat was up for an hour of companionable fishing time.
If only his original family had known how to discipline him, he wouldn’t have landed in the shelter where adult cats are passed over for amusing, little fur balls. But then we wouldn’t have had the fascinating and enjoyable years we had with him — once he stopped “doin’ a Velcro.”
~Ann Vitale
On a Mission
In a cat’s eye, all things belong to cats.
~English Proverb