This is a Post About a Cat

Curtis had to have been asleep when he walked across the lawn, headed for the sound of trickling water. He padded past the dog, stretched insensate on the grass beneath the Japanese maple, and strode confidently through the birch grove in my sideyard. Open mouthed, I watched the gray tabby kitten crouch and begin to lap from the birdbath on the ground under my studio window. 

My mind raced. Every cat that enters my yard is a heart momentarily stopped, a fresh dilemma, a day re-routed. This is a bird sanctuary, and cats are at cross-purposes to my cause. So the first thing that springs to mind is, “Oh crap! A cat!! What am I going to do with this cat?” See, I live too far from anyone for it to belong to a neighbor. Any cat that shows up on my place is either traveling, or, more likely, has been dumped by an uncaring owner. But they all have something in common. They cannot stay here, hunting birds.

 I can usually tell by watching the animal whether it is used to being around people. If it’s jittery and nervous, looking over its shoulder and startling at the slightest sound, I will set a baited live trap, capture it if I can, and take it to the local shelter, along with a donation. I hate to add to the shelter’s burden, so I make it a decent donation. If it’s too wild and won’t go in the trap, I will leave Curtis to keep an eye out for it and give it the bum’s rush when he sees it. The Treeing Tennessee Brindle doesn’t need to be asked twice. He takes his job seriously; he came to me with a strong anti-cat stance, and that is one of the things that hasn’t changed about my good good dog.

I liked the looks of this cat as far as sociability, so I let myself out the lower patio door, leaned around the corner, and spoke softly to it. Its head popped up, it mewed, and walked toward me, already purring. Oh my gosh. Without thinking a thing about it, I swept it up in my arms and held it against my chest. My God, I could feel every bone in its body. A quick check showed it was an unneutered male. 

Without alerting Curtis to his presence, I snuck him in the lower patio door and took him upstairs. He seemed amazed and thrilled to be inside a house. You can see how terribly thin he is, without any of that flubber that hangs down on most cat bellies. And look at the sharp angle of his spine. His pelvis bones protruded...he had been without food for a very long time.

 

As I ran my hand over and over his knobby spine, I felt myself falling down a well of need—the need to do right by this animal, who was so instantly trusting of me. 

 

It was also a well of impossibility. I cannot have a cat, committed as I am to providing a safe refuge for birds here on Indigo Hill. Keep him indoors then! But no-- I’m strongly allergic to cats—already my eyes had begun to itch, my nose to drip. Dang it!! Here I stood, holding a kitten in my arms, knowing that I had just taken the first step down a long, long road, but also knowing this one was too special for the local shelter, already overflowing with needy cats. This one came with a loving heart, not skittish in the least. That's something. That's huge.

 I grabbed some of Curtis’ kibble and put it on a plate. He bumped it with his nose, clearly hungry, but apparently didn’t recognize it as edible. Plan 2: I had some cooked chicken breast in the fridge. That clicked. He was so hungry he meowed loudly as he ate—yow yow myow myow myow. 

I finished his meal with a tablespoon of cottage cheese—eagerly accepted. Then I soaked some dog kibble in hot water until it was mushy, and that disappeared, too. He kept leaving his food to bump me with his head and curl around me, purring, saying thank you between bites. It made me laugh, how concerned he was about communicating his gratitude to me.

 As I bustled about the kitchen, the little cat wound in and around my ankles, nearly tripping me a dozen times. More than the food he so desperately needed, he wanted to be ON me—on my lap, shoulder, in my arms. It was an utterly novel sensation, to be courted by a cat in my own house. 

 

Neglected and pitifully malnourished, he was also dirty, and his fur felt dusty and skeezy. He needed a bath! I thought quickly. I can do this. He's gonna let me. I visualized success. First, I filled a bowl with warm water and dipped his front paws in it. No big deal; he kept purring. So I filled the bathroom sink with warm water, and gently lowered him into it. Squeezed a little baby shampoo onto him and soaped him up. He did stop purring then, but he hung with me through the rinse! His little limbs stuck out to the side, but he never once flailed or turned a claw on me, and I got him clean and sweet-smelling in nothing flat. Just talked him through it. I had to towel him dry because the hairdryer was deemed a bit scary. I'll grant him that. Obviously there are no videos of that process. Bathing a cat--even a sweet compliant kitten--is a two-handed proposition!

With each minute that went by, I was more amazed at this kitten. I’ve never seen an animal so plainly state his needs and desires—it was as if he had a magic hookup to my heart. Like he had one chance to make it work, and he was giving it all he had. Willing to compromise, to work with me.

Now that he was fed and bathed, we could get to that third great need of his: to be loved. This was the biggest of all his needs and desires. 

Oh, it was something to sit down with a sleepy kitten on my lap, to heart his hypnotic purrring.

To know that his fate was in my hands. That he trusted me completely. I felt my blood pressure go down, felt his need and my love mingle and soak into my soul. He was definitely giving back for everything he'd gotten.

Now that his immediate needs were met and we were settled, I called Shila. She'd know what to do. I briefed her on the situation, and she grabbed a pet carrier, jumped in the car, and headed right out, because it was a Caturday and she's that kind of friend. With my allergies and Curtis' prey drive and strong anti-cat stance, she felt Purvis was safer staying with her until we could get him to our wonderful veterinarian, get him stable and strong, find him a home. 

And it was Shila who documented me, the crazy bird lady, with a cat asleep on her lap, for probably the first time since I was 13.

                                                

"What color is the sky today?" I asked her. "Is it still blue, or has it turned purple? Because here I sit with a cat on my lap, and I'm loving it."

I named him Purvis. I could have been cute and spelled it Purrvis but I try to be subtle, not cute. 

He can be yours, you know. He needs to be someone's baby, and he will bring so much joy. I wouldn't do this for just any cat. He's very, very special. You get renaming rights, of course, if Purvis as a name doesn't make your canary chirp.

If you or someone you know can give Purvis a forever indoor home, please email 

                                                juliezickefooseATgmailDOTCOM

I've configured it that way to confound the spam bots that steal email addresses. For those who might be unfamiliar, I am in southeast Ohio, 18 miles NE of Marietta.

 I'm convinced that, after having the worst start in life, this cat deserves the best we can do for him. There is more to his story, but that's enough for now. With all fingers crossed for an alignment of the stars, for the right person to take this perfect kitten, I remain gratefully yours, JZ

Liam is 22!

Content Warning: There's a LOT of it. Thwarted by logistics and a fabulous impending trip he's taking to see his favorite musician (Joji!), I can't be with Liam today on his 22nd birthday. So I have overcompensated by spending far too many hours, OK, days, gathering together a compendium of his spring and summer at home, as a gift to him, to look back on and keep in his memory. What higher purpose for a blogpost? Here's your little present, my love. Keep having a wonderful day. Mwah!!

You came home in the early spring, 

 in time for Easter (yes, that's a dress made of Peeps!)

 and for irises

 and for moving the orchids outside

and you stayed for the summer. This is a good place to stay for the summer. 

Just ask Rio Samba, the rose that grew taller than you. She got pondmuck

you got grilled salmon with mango/peach/cilantro/lime salsa, garden beans and coconut rice

(among many other things)

Your little cur-dog was happy to have his favorite boy home. 

So was your mama.

We took off in May to see your sister in the most heavenly part of North Carolina

and we had such a blast in the mountains, even tubing down a river!

(but not this one). Jumping giant rocks in your skivvies! Man for scale!

As always, you made me laugh until I couldn't breathe. We will return to the 

faux Bavarian village of Helen, GA. We will eat bad wienerschnitzel, drink bier, watch carpenter bees drill holes in all the gingerbread, und larf.

Nothing could be more fun than traveling with you and Poobs, world's best trip planner, logistics queen, and guide supreme.

When we got back, you went into your pupal case

and metamorphosed into something with less hair

and somewhat spicier

You were here for blackberry time 

(Oh, how I love to hear the pewee and towhee sing, and the low music of crickets--isn't it rich?) Not to mention canine ASMR.

You experienced new flower planting time (Everything has a scent in Liam's World!)

Cuddle time

and datura time.

There were July thunderstorms

and crazy close sphinx moths at the evening primrose

and a bike ride to North Bend State Park

with cool scary tunnels that tested our mettle.

You are far braver than I am. You led me through to the other side, every time!

Along the bike trail we found an antique gasoline engine that conjured my Dear Old Dad so hard....

almost as much as your face in this picture. You've got your dad's body, and my father's ice-blue eyes.

You've definitely got your dad's sense of humor, too! and it carries us through. Can't you hear him laughing--that high hooty laugh where he spins around in circles and claps? This video we made would definitely evoke that laugh. 

But it wasn't allll play. Just mostly. We cut and pulled one hella lot of wisteria, taking most of a hill that was finally conquered only this past weekend. 

I miss you every second when I'm working outdoors. Tall, strong as a very slender ox and willing--we 

git 'r dun!

Here it is now, with the sun shining through wisteria-free sugar maples! Progress! It's beginning to look like somebody actually lives here! And cares! And mows!

We are a team. #volunteen

When we weren't slaying invasive vines, we dawdled down Dean's Fork

and played on our quiet country road

That's my sweet boy, apologizing to the cow he frightened. 

Why you do dat?

We talked with some of our favorite new neighbors, big

and very small

the quiet kind, that don't fire guns or roar around on ORV's.

Live, love, MoooV

There were a couple of birthdays--Phoebe turned 25!! and got a cake and presents

(while your birthday celebration is a bit more...diffuse)

Some sycamore peeling (It's a rivertown thing)

and a memorable full-moon bike ride through sleepy Marietta.

Didn't we have fun? I poached a lot of your shots. I love your eye.

Maybe my favorite thing we did together this summer was paint our first mural!!

You look a bit apprehensive, but you're going to crush this otter!

Me demonstrating tail shading tactics

photo by Michelle Waters

then I left you to paint your otter perfectly while I messed mine up totally

We pulled it off in only four days!

With such excellent company, smooth creamy mural paint and fabulous music, I would drop everything to paint a mural with you and this team again! Thanks, Bobby Rosenstock!! What an honor to work with you for Marietta Main Street's Public Art project!

They like it! They really like it!

photo by Michelle Waters

We watched the sunset that evening, the last artists out of the tunnel of course. What a feeling of accomplishment!

Sweet Liam, if there's a picture or a video that sums up the silly fun we have when we're together, this one may be it. My favorite part is when we double up on Curtis. I hope YouTube will let the music play (copyright restrictions!) If not, we'll look even sillier than we are, which would be quite an accomplishment. 

               

Happy birthday, Stupendous Man! Phoebs, Curtis and I love you to the stars and back.