Mission Accomplished, Part Deux!

I am delighted to write with the news that Saint has found a wonderful home. I was beginning to have my doubts about whether I could find someone to adopt her. I was searching high and low for about a month, dispatching “kitty flyers” via e-mail and imposing on friends to post announcements about her on their firms’ Intranet sites. The idea of advertising a cat adoption right beside promotions for used-car sales was slightly foreign to me. But the online matchmaking system worked.

In fact, four people stepped forward electronically within two days to express interest in adopting Saint. I vaguely knew two of Saint’s potential parents, and I did not know the other two people. One woman also hailed from New Orleans and was attracted to Saint’s name, chosen to salute the Super Bowl champs. Ultimately I chose Saint’s new Cat Lady based on her oft-repeated desire to give an abandoned cat a safe home. This Cat Lady was eloquent in her e-mail messages, and her lilting voice truly sounds like that of an angel.

I had promised myself to be stoic when the time came for me to say goodbye to Saint. I had already experienced a bit of withdrawal after relocating her from our backyard to Dr. O.’s clinic. I missed the markers of her existence on the back deck of our house: the food and water bowls, the catnip toys, and the heating pad for when the nights were unusually chilly, at least for Houston. At the clinic, I told Saint that I knew she was ready for the next stage of her life, and that I had been privileged to take care of her briefly. In case you’re wondering whether the staff of Dr. O.’s clinic thinks I’m nutty for talking this way to a cat, I can assure you that they know me all too well. My not saying farewell would have been out of the question.

I had asked my husband if he, too, wanted to meet me at Dr. O.’s so that we both could bid Saint a very fond and sweet adieu. He said something that has stayed with me: “That's OK. We’ll always see Saint in our memories.” This has proven to be true, although I have imagined the Friday evening when Saint went “marchin’ in” to her forever home. Mission accomplished!

Query of the Day: How many people do you typically contact before you are able to find a home for an abandoned cat?

Octomom Gets into the Act

Attention all Cat Ladies. We can welcome an honorary new member to the club: Nadya Suleman, aka the Octomom. Well, not exactly.

Ms. Suleman is being paid $5,000 by People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals (PETA) to place a sign in the front yard of her house that advertises the perils of animal procreation (and procreation, and procreation): “Don’t Let Your Dog or Cat Become an Octomom. Always Spay or Neuter.” In addition to the handsome payment, which is intended to help save her house from foreclosure, the Octomom is receiving a month’s supply of veggie burgers and hot dogs.

I sometimes jokingly refer to myself as the Decamom because of caring for ten cats. But the resemblance to Ms. Suleman stops at the numbers game and does not allow for financial incentives. I can’t imagine profiting from doing the right and responsible thing when it comes to our pets.

Even if I win an award one day for “Cat Lady of the Month” (a variation on “Yard of the Month”), you won’t see a sign stuck in the middle of my front yard. I like to do my work quietly, behind the scenes, far from the madding crowd that follows the Octomom.

Query of the Day: Would you grab the glory to promote spay and neutering?

Timing Is Everything

When I wrote the other day about the change in Daylight Saving Time, I didn’t comment on the passing of time that is manifested in the behavior of an aging cat. On one hand, Lucius’s precision is still a marvel to behold, a quality that all editors admire. I also neglected to mention in a previous post that Lucius dutifully arrives on time, both in the morning and at night, to accept the insulin injections required to treat his diabetes. I can tell time by his twice-daily appointments in the kitchen, when he hops onto the counter at an exact moment and waits on his favorite placemat to receive his shot. He knows that the fast-acting medicine helps him feel better.

Editors always look to beat the clock, to turn back the hands of time and recoup minutes or days lost in a production schedule. Sadly, Lucius does not have the magician's (or editor's) ability to create another window for a longer lease—in his case, on life.

It suddenly occurred to me this morning that, if I were to calculate Lucius’s age in human years, he will turn 84 this summer, and he is four years older than my father. No wonder Lucius appears to be suffering of late.

I have detected a slightly arthritic halt to his gait, and Lucius does not always measure distance correctly when he approaches the litter box (if you catch my drift). He looks exasperated and very tired, as well he should be. I am tired at 53 years old!

I never have needed to call Dr. O. to discuss problems associated with a senior, if not geriatric, cat. I sense the time has come.

Query of the Day: How do you deal with the aging process of your cats?

“Put Your Blinders On”

As a Cat Lady, I hear those fighting words often from people who have not yet discovered the irresistible qualities of felines. When I drive to work, I see stray cats. When I leave the office and head to the parking lot, I see stray cats. I live and breathe the world of cats, and I long to help those in need.

That is why it is impossible for me to “put my blinders on.” I rebuff this phrase and get even more agitated when it becomes “You better put your blinders on.” Don’t dare me!

The sad truth is that kitten season is upon us, and now, more than ever, Cat Ladies will need to be in the trenches, rescuing strays who have lost their ways or who have been rejected by their mothers. If we avert our eyes, or pretend not to see, we are falling down on the job.

Cats are counting on us, ladies, so let’s put our glasses on and stare down the reality of feline overpopulation. Bright lights and dark alleys are not deterrents to those of us who refuse to wear blinders.

Query of the Day: Have you rescued any kittens today?

Daylight Saving Time–Curses!

I have decided that I hate Daylight Saving Time because it wreaks havoc with my schedule for our cats. I have not been able to determine whether they are responding to the shifts in light or darkness, or to the later wake-up calls of the morning programs on NPR. Either way, they know that something is amiss, even though I have made sure that the 6:30 a.m. feeding campaign matches the corresponding 5:30 a.m. time slot of only a week ago. Disruption does not become the cat!

I remember after we first adopted Lucius that I asked Dr. O. whether cats could tell time. I was intrigued because Lucius would walk into the den of our house every Sunday at the exact stroke of 7:00 a.m., eager to join us in listening to a radio program of sacred choral music. I always intended to write to Richard Gladwell, the host of With Heart and Voice, and let him know that among his fans was a very devoted orange tabby cat who had not missed a beat, literally. I missed this opportunity when I learned that Mr. Gladwell died last year. But Lucius still arrives faithfully on time, relishing the repeat performances.

And although I do not travel much for business, Lucius seems to know the difference between a two-day overnight stay and a longer one. He can handle my being away for two days, but he has difficulty adjusting to my absence for a longer duration. How he measures time is a mystery to me. How he punishes me upon my return is painfully clear. I always have to save time for cleaning up the evidence of his anger.

Of course, a Cat Lady needs to operate on a 24/7 basis, and we all know that there is never a good time to be away from one’s beloved cats!

Query of the Day: How often do your cats give you the time of day?

Call of the Wild

I received a card of appreciation yesterday from the Anti-Cruelty of Society in Chicago for a small contribution I made recently. The front of the card carries a photograph of two precious kittens, one an orange tabby and the other all-black. It is gratifying to know that even a modest donation gets noticed and is meaningful to an animal-welfare society.

My late friend and professional mentor Virginia “Dinny” Butts established the Virginia Butts Berger Cat Clinic at the society, and every time I receive correspondence from one of its staff members, I think of Dinny and all of the cats whose lives she is helping to improve through her generous bequest.

The note on the card is forward-thinking. While many of our thoughts are turning to spring (in Houston, specifically, to air-conditioning tune-ups), the Anti-Cruelty Society is planning for another kind of wake-up call next month. April is Feral Cat Recognition Month. I like the clear-cut description of a feral cat: “a cat born outside and who has never lived with a human family, or a house cat who strayed from home and over time has thrown off the effects of domestication and reverted to a wild state.”

Too often, when people talk about feral cats, they act as if they are dealing with creatures in a leper colony. When I first got into this “business,” as a friend calls my feline rescue missions, I wasn’t familiar with the term “feral.” In fact, I thought that the Texas-inflected voice was referring to a “Fair Isle” cat, and I had no idea how a cat could resemble a sweater from L.L. Bean or a similar purveyor of preppy clothing.

Had I believed that feral cats were hopelessly vicious animals who could not be tamed, I would not have had the privilege of living for the past ten years with so many cats. Another friend asked me the other day, “How can you tell which ones you can ‘work with’?” Let’s just say that my heart has never led me astray.

Query of the Day: Have you rescued feral cats?

Not Yet

I keep hoping to write with the big announcement that I have found a home for Saint, but no such luck yet. I would like nothing better than to introduce a new leitmotif, to highlight other recurring themes in my blog postings. Call me obstinate, as I am having a difficult time accepting, after living in Houston for nearly twenty years, and being married to a seventh-generation Texan, that the two of us cannot identify one person to care for one cat. This has always been my simple mathematical formula: One person adopts one cat equals “makes a difference in the world.”

Perhaps my problem is that I am too grounded in reality. After all, there are now online games for young children and teenagers, such as FooPets, that enable users to “adopt” lifelike, digitally animated pets. These creatures become hungry, just like their living counterparts. FooPets obliges with “virtual goods” for sale, including food, which exists in the form of a photograph of a package proffered by a top pet-food manufacturer.

So, how do I, a middle-aged Cat Lady, crash the FooPets site and broadcast the news—to a community that numbers one million active members—that I really do have a real cat who needs real love and compassion, and who longs for a real home outside of the Web?

Query of the Day: Do you believe in “digital pets”?