Essays & Articles
Mother
Cat
My mother
always claimed she wasn't a cat person. Dogs were her preferred pet. It
wasn't that she disliked cats. In truth, Mother loved all animals. She
adorned her home with paintings showcasing a variety of wild animals,
from cougars to wolves. And while cats weren't her chosen pet, she was
often their choice.
The first cat to come into our
household was a feline simply named Mother Cat. Mother Cat first strayed
to my sister's bedroom window, eagerly searching for a handout. This
battered, worn, short-haired huntress awaited the baloney and milk my
sister and I secretly offered from the opened window.
These clandestine meals went on for
several weeks until my mom realized why this stray was lingered by our
home. Her first reaction was to discourage this animal, certain my
father would be unhappy with a new pet.
Ceasing the handouts did not daunt
Mother Cat. She persistently staked her claim to her new found home.
When an attempt to actively discourage the animal failed, Mom tried
something drastic, especially for an animal lover. She filled a plastic
bag with water and threw it on the stray. Mother Cat, drenched to the
bone, shook off the water and stood her ground, looking pitifully into
Mom's eyes. My mother, overcome by the callousness of her own actions,
sat down on our front steps and broke into tears. The cat was ours.
Or should I say, we were hers. Mother
Cat came and went at will. Several days after the drenching, she brought
us a gift; a wild little ball of gray fur. The kitten we named Walter,
in honor of my father, whose own head of hair was prematurely gray.
As the months passed Walter Cat grew
into a beautiful long-haired feline who often fooled people into
believing his lineage was Persian Blue rather than alley cat. Walter,
whose first weeks were spent living as a wild creature, was always
elusive and timid.
About a year after Mother Cat came to
us her origins were revealed to our family. A neighbor from down the
street came to speak to my mom and spied Mother Cat.
"That's our cat!" she exclaimed. "I
wondered where she went."
"Oh?" my mother quietly replied.
"She looks pretty good." the woman
mused. "She had kittens and our dog kept killing them," the woman
explained. Then she suddenly spied our beautiful, sweet natured Walter
Cat, who was lazily sunning on the porch.
"And that's one of our kittens!" the
woman announced possessively.
"Oh no," Mother interrupted quickly,
fearing the woman was about to lay claim to our precious Walter, "we've
had that cat for years."
Several days later the neighbor's
teenage daughter appeared, laying claim to Mother Cat. The girl told us
her cat's true name. It was long and exotic, an Egyptian sounding name,
difficult to recall. The girl snatched up Mother Cat and carried her
home. Mother Cat returned that afternoon.
Mother Cat and Walter remained with
us. Although they were never our cats, our home was theirs.
When Walter was a little over a year
old, we noticed his mother was once again pregnant. This of course was
in the days when controlling the pet population was not yet an issue. My
sister and I were delighted.
Father, who was a contractor, had his
office located in the garage. One day my mother decided to fix a comfy
bed for the new family, and placed it in Dad's office. She busily filled
a large clean box with soft rags, arranging the material carefully. My
dad noticed her activity and inquired as to what she was doing. He
laughed heartily when she told him.
Dad sweetly reminded mom that cats
have kittens wherever they choose and she was wasting her time deciding
such a location for this very independent outdoor feline. Yet, Dad soon
discovered he couldn't have been more wrong. One day, while doing
bookwork in his office, he heard noise coming from the box mom had
prepared. There he found Mother Cat giving birth to four mice-like
creatures. One would eventually resemble Mother Cat, another favored
Walter, the third looked like Sylvester the cartoon cat, and the fourth
was a calico, whom I named Gypsy.
Our greatest concern for the kittens
was the threat of Walter. We had always heard that male cats kill
kittens. My mother went to great lengths to separate Walter from his
siblings. But much to her chagrin she soon discovered he was not only
visiting his new brother and sisters, but tending for them as would his
mother. We were also surprised to find this large, overgrown, Persian
Blue look-alike, nursing from his mother.
Later, Mother Cat moved the kittens
from the box and began stashing them in assorted locations in the
garage. She must not have felt the box offered adequate protection for
her offspring.
Once again my mother intervened and
moved all the kittens into a ski boat stored in the garage. Mother Cat
loved it there. She could come and go at will, while her kittens were
well protected.
Although the kitten experience was
exciting, my parents felt it would be prudent to spay Mother Cat before
more kittens arrived. The vet informed us the cat's milk needed to be
dried up prior to the operation.
Dad's solution was to place chicken
wire over the boat, preventing Mother Cat from visiting the kittens. The
clever cat out maneuvered Dad. We soon found her laying atop the
barrier, her nipples dangling through the chicken wire and the kittens
standing on their hind legs eagerly nursing.
When it was time for the kittens to
leave the boat, we found homes for three and kept the calico. As the
weeks progressed our family became cat observers. We marveled as Mother
Cat carefully trained Gypsy. The kitten would find her way up our large
oak tree. Should she get stuck, Mother Cat would patiently follow her
into the tree and lead her down.
We eventually decided to spay Gypsy,
as we had her mother. When Walter came home after his first big fight,
my parents decided it was time for him to be neutered.
Our three cats never allowed us to
take part in their lives, yet they enriched ours. Our home was located
in the country, surrounded by oaks, adjacent to a running creek. The
backside of our house was a wall of glass doors, looking out to a rustic
decking and the outskirts of a wooded area. Through the glass we spent
countless hours observing the relationship between these three animals.
Mother Cat was undoubtedly the
dominate, although Gypsy unsuccessfully challenged her dominance
throughout their relationship. Walter was simply a mama's boy and I'm
sure the idea of standing up to his mother never once entered his feline
brain. Gypsy, the same fiercely independent animal who tried to match
her mother, would turn to a lovesick kitten when near Walter. She adored
him. While Walter could never stand up to his mother, he was Gypsy's
master; only because the calico allowed it.
Our back yard became a theater and as
each year passed we watched the unfolding lives of these three animals.
They rarely allowed us close enough to pet them and had no tolerance for
even a short session of human affection. Yet, they knew they could trust
us.
Once my parents heard Walter crying
pitifully on the back porch. A thorn had wound tightly around his fur
causing the animal great pain. The only way to alleviate the problem was
to carefully cut a long strip of fur from his back. Amazingly, Walter,
the cat who wouldn't allow you close enough to pet him, sat perfectly
still for over thirty minutes as my father slowly cut the offending
thorn from his fur.
The only significant problem the cats
posed came from Mother Cat. Within our house lived a yellow canary named
Dicky Bird. Dicky was Mother Cat's obsession. On sunny days my mother
would place Dicky's cage in front of a glass window. There Dicky would
sing for hours. Outside, sitting up motionless, only her tail swishing
from side to side was Mother Cat. She would concentrate on the pet bird,
carefully calculating ways in which to enter our house.
She wanted that bird. She wanted him
badly. Several times each year, usually when a large group of people
were visiting, Mother Cat would manage to sneak inside. My mother
normally kept a close eye on our eldest feline and should the cat sneak
pass the guard, mom would yell "the bird!" and we'd all race to the
rescue.
Once, after many years of trying,
Mother Cat managed to break poor Dicky's wing. But, like the cartoon
Tweedy Bird, Dicky survived. In fact, the vet told my father he'd never
seen a canary that was so old, his feathers had turned gray.
The cats had been with our family for
several years when we had to move. Our new home was located even more
remotely, in the desert along a lake. There was never a question that we
would take the cats with us.
Sadly, all three animals contracted
cat fever shortly after we relocated. We were able to promptly deliver
Walter and Mother Cat to the vet for treatment. But our stubborn little
Gypsy just wouldn't be taken. Some say cats leave home when they are
ill, finding a place to die alone. This is apparently what Gypsy wanted
to do.
After numerous attempts to catch
Gypsy, my father finally succeeded. Almost. He instructed me to fetch a
pillow case, in which to drop our wild little calico, and then she could
be taken in for treatment. Unfortunately I chose the wrong pillowcase,
for when we dropped her into it, she slipped through a tear in the
bottom of the pillowcase.
By the time Gypsy made it to the vet
it was too late. The feline who adored her brother and challenged her
mother, was gone.
Walter survived cat fever and adapted
to his new home. Yet, several years later he contracted an inoperable
disk problem. My father, the man who never wanted cats, was forced to
put down his namesake. Dad was crushed. He vowed he'd never again
personally put an animal to sleep.
Mother Cat was once again alone. She
mastered the desert wilderness, including warning us of rattlesnakes.
Once my father pulled a nasty trick on the old girl. As she was
approaching a hose, Dad quickly jerked it, making the poor animal
believe it was a snake. She literally jumped several feet, straight up,
into the air.
She enjoyed visiting the nearby lake
and was known to nap in the boats moored at the docks. Perhaps it
brought back some wonderful memories of her time with the kittens in our
ski boat.
One afternoon my mother, who
frequently fed the wild animals, placed a cup of cottage cheese on a
large flat rock by our front window. Much to Mother's amazement, she
witnessed Mother Cat eating from one side of the rock, and there, on the
opposite side was a young coyote, eating his share of the cottage
cheese. The two animals seemed to be oblivious to the other's existence.
Suddenly, Mother Cat looked up, and was more than startled to discover
her lunch companion. Cautiously Mother Cat, her fur standing on end,
slowly backed away from the cottage cheese, wisely leaving it to the
coyote, who never acknowledged the cat's presence.
Mother Cat was with our family for
about ten years. Then one day she simply disappeared. We don't know what
happened to her. She wasn't sick, so we don't think she went off,
something Gypsy tried desperately to do. I hope she didn't grow careless
and fall prey to a coyote. Perhaps she fell asleep in someone's boat and
was taken away to discover a new home. She may have left, but the
memories she brought us will always remain.