The Cat We Don't Have, Part 1

Part I- No more pets

I thought that I would never forget the year 2012 because of the sadness that it brought into my life.  That, of course, being the death of our Max, our beloved 16 year old German shepherd, black Labrador mix.  Right before Max passed on, he was lying in the grass out front one day.  He was quietly watching the cars go by on the highway, when all of a sudden a tiny little puff ball of gray and white hopped into view.  The little puffball had huge, wide blue eyes and tiny pointed ears.  Quite obviously it was a very small kitten.  Max did not seem to mind this little visitor, and before long they seem to become friends.  There was just one problem: the little puffball did not appear to like humans. At all. Any time it caught even the slightest glimpse of me it would take off as if running for dear life.  I tried to coax it to come to me, but the kitten would have no part of it.

Well, in late May of that year Max crossed the rainbow bridge and it was a very long time before I could even think of him, let alone mention his name, without my eyes welling up with tears.  So, it was best to try not to think about his last few weeks on this earth, which, of course, meant trying to forget about the puffball as well.  I was determined to never, ever again let myself get attached to a pet.  The pain of losing them was just too strong and I was not about to put myself in that position again.  Or so I thought…. 

Spring turned into summer, and with it came a slight surprise.  A beautiful young cat appeared in my backyard one day.  It didn't look very old, nor did it look like a baby any more.  Strangely, it had the same coloring and marks as the little puffball did that I first saw a few months earlier.  It had boundless energy, and the cutest gray and white face I had ever seen on a cat.  Its tail sported perfect, concentric rings from beginning to end, much like that of a raccoon.  I guess you could call it a tabby cat but I swear, it seemed to be a perfect blend of different kinds of species.  Part cat, part raccoon, and part clown, its white beard and bib gave the cat an almost distinguished tuxedo cat appearance. 

Over the years, I developed a very bad habit of feeding the wildlife in my backyard.  I guess you could say that's what led Wicki the Wat to  me in the beginning (If you didn't read that part of my blog, please go back and read it.  You won't be sorry!)  Anyway, I have an entire gang of animals that come to me every day looking for hand-outs.  I have a family of squirrels that I have named “Peanut one through five”, and all kinds of birds, plus a very lazy groundhog named Gus, who now lives underneath our shed.  I figured, what's one more animal?  So I bought a box of dry cat food and started leaving some out for the young cat.  Needless to say, the cat food was a big hit with her.  For some strange reason I decided that her gender was female.  I don't know why – she just looked very feminine and small, so I always thought of her as a she.

There was just one little problem: the cat was simply terrified of me or any other human being.  As hard as I tried to make friends with her she made it very clear from the start that I had to keep my distance.  Her eating food that I offered to her was perfectly okay; but for me to come within 20 feet of her was out of the question.  So I became determined that one way or another I was going to make friends with this cat and offer her a home of warmth and love, and all the food she could ever hope or want to eat.

After a few months it was quite clear to me that it was going to take some time before this cat would accept my friendship, let alone my touch.  It used to really bother me to see the fear in her eyes, and see the snapping turn of her body to flee from me, should I break the 20 foot rule.  Still, I persisted.  I began adding canned cat food to her menu which she ate with gusto.  But I had better make sure to stay out of sight while she was eating, or she would bolt away from her dish leaving it for Gus and the birds, who all would invariably finish it off for her.  Feeding this cat was getting to be quite expensive!

Then one day, I was in for another surprise.  Placing the food in her dish at the bottom of my porch steps, I turned and went back into the house to hide behind the curtained window of the back door.  To my astonishment another gray and white cat walked up to the food dish began to eat!  This cat was quite a bit bigger, and reminded me more of a painted horse rather than a tabby cat.  Huge gray and white patches adorned its body, and over all, the cat looked to be a pound or two heavier than the former puffball.  That was when I decided the first cat definitely needed a name!  Nothing came to mind right away, nothing that seemed to do her justice.  I asked my husband and he suggested the name Scraps, because she was also by then eating a lot of table scraps.  At first I thought it was kind of cute and did start to call her that, but somehow it didn't quite fit.  She looked much too elegant to be associated in any way with the word scraps!  And, I was determined not to have another pet.  So, the name came to me one day, a name that fit her perfectly, and it was this: The Cat We Don’t Have.  This way, I was free to pursue establishing a relationship with her yet keep my emotions in the clear by not considering her a real pet.  Safety.  I vowed I would never cry over another animal again.

All during the rest of that summer, and into the fall and winter The Cat We Don't Have came to me daily for her food, and even camped out in our gazebo once or twice when it was really snowy.  The larger cat would make very infrequent appearances, however.  Because it did not seem to be afraid of me or other people, I guessed that it was somebody else's house cat that had perhaps gotten out of the house. 

No matter – I seemed to have at least a cat and a half, and although things were neither black nor white they truly were another shade of gray. 

Two, in fact.

To be continued.....