Snapshot of a Cat

This is going to be off the regular vein of this online journal, but I really feel I need to write about it.

My favorite childhood pet died on Monday morning. Her name was Catrina and she was the best cat anyone could ask for. She was born on (or around, we're not sure) March 1st, 1987 and died Monday morning, October 13, 2008. She was born on the day Ohio became a state and died on Columbus Day. Definitely a patriotic little lady. James Thurber would be so proud.

She wasn't really a cat. I mean, of course she was, but . . . she wasn't. There was always something special about her. Something in here that I've never seen in another animal. It wasn't her loyalty or her affability. It wasn't her personality. There was a sort of consciousness about her. She was a presence. A presence very much needed and very much a part of our family.

Of course, like most family pets she started out being an animal. I remember when I was little. All I really ever wanted was a cat. I was never into dogs. Dogs were just too much at once and smelled terrible. I never wanted a pet who needed me that much. To me, the perfect animal you could ever ask for was a white long hair cat. They were like the perfect animal. They were the size of a baby doll, covered in fur (including their tummies, which dogs are not), and made cute noises. Who could ask for more than a white long-hair cat? The kind like on the "Aristocats." I used to draw pictures of this fantasy--a fantasy b/c the landlord wouldn't allow them. I even knew what I would name her: Puffy--not too imaginative . . . but I was a little kid. Give me a break.

I begged and begged for this cat for years. Then, the fateful day came. Mom and Dad had somehow convinced the landlord to allow them to get me a cat. I remember being so excited as we drove to the farm where the kittens were. All I could think of the entire way was how happy I was about to be with my very own kitten. Of course, I would have to share her with the family, but . . . she would be mine.

I don't really remember the details, b/c I remember there was a lot of talking and a lot of . . . no cats. Where were the cats? I was told to just be patient as we waited. I remember seeing a lot of people but . . . no cats. Then, mom told me to look in this one cardboard box and pick out the one I wanted.

I was so excited as I neared the box. I could picture the kitty, all fuzzy and white and happy and cuddly and . . . black? Where was the snow-colored feline of my dreams? This had to be a mistake. I asked mom and she told me to just pick one. How do you just "pick one"? There were two perfectly identical black kittens in the box. They were both exactly the same. I thought I would at least have a choice of ten . . . maybe eight . . . is five cats asking too much? Why only two? How was I supposed to know which one to pick? They were both wrong. Where were the white cats? Everything was wrong. Not only were the cats the wrong color, but they were short-haired. This was supposed to be a specific process. There were too many details here that were not being fulfilled properly.

Pick one.

So I did. I don't remember any specifics about who picked it. I (or mom or dad, I can't really remember) reached into the box and lifted one out. Maybe Bekah picked. I don't remember. Luck of the draw. A brand new--and extremely small--fuzzy black kitten. She was cute. Maybe she could be the family cat after all.

On the way home, I remember my sister and I sitting with a big meowing cardboard box on our laps and seeing the tiny black paw, like a fat caterpillar, trying to work its way out of the box. My sister, Bekah, who was happy to have ANY animal in the house, seemed perfectly fine with the decision. I was happy too, yet . . . I felt like the trip had been counterproductive. Yes, I had a cat. But it wasn't the one I wanted.

We took her home and put her in her litter box, which--as my mom recalled later--resembled the Sahara in comparison to the little black fuzzball digging and running around in it. I named her "Catrina" after a toy cat I had seen somewhere and thought the name appropriate. (She was definitely NOT a "Puffy.") She was unarguably cute, but . . . it wasn't even the coal black hair that was the issue anymore. She seemed to like to hide, and since she was so small, and the house we lived in so big, she hid quite a lot.

That was only the first week or so. Soon she came to be quite a sociable creature. This is definitely to her credit since she had three (and then four) human children to put up with. It didn't matter who you were or what you'd done in your past. You were always welcome to pet her and let her sit on your lap. She was no respecter of laps. Of course she had laps that she particularly liked, but she was always big about it and let everyone have at least a few minutes of time. She was very gracious.

I think she was therapy for us. Some hospitals use cats to help their patients recuperate and I can definitely see why. If you are ever stressed out, pet a cat. Once it starts purring you feel so warm and appreciated, and yet . . . not covered in slobber. It's amazing.

We weren't always nice. She was great fun to joke with. We used to dress her up in baby clothes and put her in a baby carriage. Most cats would have struggled and not allowed it. Catrina, however, got the joke and simply submitted to the torture. She used this time to "sleep." (And by "sleep" i mean: "plotting a clever way to escape when the humans aren't looking.") However, we rarely stopped watching and she would oftentimes fall asleep unawares. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em. At least you can catch up on sleep in the meantime. She was efficient like that.

I remember soon after we got her, mom and dad found a family that was getting rid of their long-haired white cat. My parents bought him and brought him home. I was so excited about him . . . for about three minutes. He was the one I named "Puffy" and that was the extent of my interest in him. For one thing, not only was he fully grown, but also he was HUGE. Also, he was a boy cat and boy cats aren't as good--everyone knows that. Furthermore, he was scared of everybody. Catrina never met a stranger. Puffy found even our family to be strangers. He NEVER allowed the smaller kids to touch him. He'd go and hide all day only to come out at night to sit with mom . . . or me, when I wasn't playing or moving around too much. That was not what a family pet was supposed to be.

Catrina was.

There were a few times when we almost lost Catrina, and by lost I mean she almost ran away. She was a fast little bugger too. One time I distinctly remember was when she got out and hid under the porch. Having three younger siblings, it was all mom and I could do to make them remember to shut the door behind them, so the cats wouldn't get out. Well one day, it happened. I remember panicking. Had I lost the best pet ever just b/c my little brother had forgotten to shut a door? I don't remember specifically how we found out that she was under the porch. Did she meow? Did someone think to look under there? I don't remember. All I remember was that we were all trying to chase her out from under without getting horribly dirty. That was when a very nice man in white pants came along and crawled under the porch and rescued her for us. I'm not sure who he rescued more that day: the cat or us, but his pants definitely needed rescuing after that.

Every time she got out, I panicked. What if I'd lost her forever? She was becoming less of the childhood fantasy and more of the childhood companion that you read about in books. She was very important to me. I used to pray and pray and pray that she would just stay in the house and live forever. Not . . . too much to ask, is it?

I remember another time she got out, we had been watching "Thomasina," a Disney movie about a cat who dies and then comes back to life. It made me cry ( . . . apparently I cried a lot as a kid) to think about animals dying or running away or whatever, and then . . . as though testing my last nerve, the inevitable question--"Where's Catrina?" A door had been left cracked open and she had gotten out and was hiding in the bushes. She never got far, just enough to give me a panic attack. Thanks, Cat. What a poetic moment to choose.

I was a bit melodramatic as a child--I mean, she only got out maybe five times in her life--but it scared me to tears whenever it happened. I would sit and hold her and cry and cry and tell her not to leave and that I loved her.

We have always had all our cats declawed in the front, and as inhumane as that may sound, we never let them out of the house, so it didn't ever hurt them. It's just that fleas are such a problem to take care of, and also cats tend to live longer when they are totally house cats. Apparently, it worked b/c Catrina was 21.

She was obedient . . . in her own way. The other cats we owned always jumped on the table--not actually to eat anything, but b/c for some reason, unbeknownst to them, they were not supposed to be there, and so therefore the table was the only place to be. At least Catrina had the decency to jump on the table after we went to bed.

She was really the only cat we had who even tried to pull her own weight. Of the three cats we've owned, she's the only one who ever caught and killed mice.

She loved Christmas. Christmas meant many things. First of all, all the tinsel you could eat. Secondly, catnip. Thirdly, the cooked guts of the turkey. Mmmmmm.

She was a famous pack-rat. I have few toys from my childhood save some Barbies and My Little Ponies. You would be hard-pressed to find any entire pairs or sets of shoes among them, however. We'd often find these little "stashes" years after their contents first went missing. What was she keeping them for? Did she need a pair of plastic red pumps for a night on the town? Only she knows the answer.

One day Puffy died. That was a scary day. I mean, I was sad that Puffy was gone, but . . . on the other hand, he was just a cat. What really scared me was if he had contracted something contagious. We were all sad that he was gone, but we were relieved that it hadn't been Catrina.

She always knew when you were having a bad day. Somehow, I don't know if it was a sixth sense or what, but if you were sad, and especially if you were crying, she would find you. It was probably just b/c she knew that with you crying, she was sure to get much love and attention. I used to shut my door when I was sad about something and cry very very quietly, and sure enough a few minutes later there would be a scuff scuff at my door. Somebody wanted in. And somebody was always welcome. Sometimes, I shut the door to test her. It always worked.

She was not just a cat. The cats in our family had to stay on the floor. The dogs too. Catrina however was allowed to sit on the dinner bench next to us during dinner. Even when she got too old to eat very much "people food" she was still welcome. This was among the various reasons her name was often changed to "Queena."

She was a very clean little monster. She gave herself regular baths and never felt the way some peoples' cats do--all "cat sticky." We rarely in her 21 years of life took her to the vet. I'm fairly sure we had taken her to the vet maybe once since she was declawed as a kitten till she was about 14 when we got a new cat, Alley. Alley (or "Alleybeans" as she is often referred to due to the beans rolling around in her head) is my littlest sister's cat and fuzzy as a bunny, cute as a button, but dumb as a rock. This came as a low blow to Queena. Was she not enough? Was she being phased out? She had already out-lived one cat and through the various annoyances of hamsters, gerbils, mice and interim dogs. Couldn't she just live out her golden years in peace? You may laugh, but . . . she actually became clinically depressed and stopped eating b/c of this. I remember telling people that she needed to go to the vet, but no one would take her until they finally realized something was up. She was becoming incredibly listless and wasn't getting better. The doctor affirmed my suspicions and put her on "Kitty Zoloft." That cleared up the problem (incidentally, I've never heard of anti-depressants being that successful in people). I think she just wanted to know that we still loved her. It's a hard thing to deal with when you feel you might be replaced.

There were of course the times when she was annoying. A sociable cat (and especially one fed from the table) is bound to feel entitled to your food more than you would like. Many times she would find herself locked in the bathroom during Sunday evening movie/snack time. She would just deal with these things, though. Her meow was never very annoying. It was always really cute. Mom may disagree b/c Catrina NEVER left her alone in the kitchen . . . however, Mom was the one who fed her "people food" more than the rest of us. There was a reason Queena was so demanding. ;o)

She loved when she knew you were busy with something. Her favorite times to jump into your lap were when you were (a) reading a book (she'd help you along by turning the pages . . . yes, I'm serious), (b) playing the keyboard, or (c) on the computer. These were opportune times, you see, b/c she knew that (a) you were going to be sitting for awhile, and (b) your hands needed to be put to better use. She was very much a love-junkie.

I was a really timid kid, but I had always loved acting and music. Fortunately, Catrina liked music too. She was quite an accomplished pianist and taught me many songs. I would play them for you, but . . . you may not appreciate them. I'm afraid they are quite ahead of their time.

She never got very big. My sister, Bekah, claims that she weighed "two pencils." She was, in violin terms, what you might call a "3/4" size cat. This made her sociability all the more endearing. You may be disinclined to have a huge mammoth-sized cat on your lap, but a little fuzzy one is just cute. Plus, she was always very petite. You had to be very careful with her, so she didn't get shooed away as much as other cats.

She loved to sleep with people. I think b/c she was always so small, she needed immense amounts of body heat that she herself could not provide. When I was younger, she'd sleep on my feet, but too much rolling around and she'd leave to find a better person to sleep with. I figured out a way to make her stay, though. If I let her sleep on top of the covers, but between my legs, she liked that better, b/c it was more of a walled-in heat bed. I would lay like that even to the point of "no longer comfortable" just b/c I wanted her to stay.

Later, she realized that she could get even warmer if she crawled under the covers with you. This was VERY annoying and was only good for those Sunday afternoon naps where Mom and Dad are making you lay down and so there is no way you are really going to sleep anyway. She would stick her head under the blankets and push them up with her head as she crawled under, and then a few minutes later crawl back out, only to crawl back under a few moments later. This was her way for a few years until she figured out how to get the best of both worlds: spoon against the person and lay your head on the pillow like the people do. This way you can be warm and still breathe. Efficiency, efficiency, efficiency. I'm sure the day she figured this out, she found a new respect for humans who had been performing this practice for millenia . . . but she never showed it.

She did a lot of things that most cats never even try. For one thing, she had her own version of fetch. Mom used to save the rings off the top of gallons of milk and Catrina would play with these for hours. Either by herself, or if she could convince a human to stop what they were doing for a few minutes, she's play fetch up and down the stairs. The game stopped when she said it stopped, though.

A great game for when we were littler was to get a very long string and just start tearing through the house like mad. Like magic, this would ALWAYS get her to come out of hiding. A running string is simply irresistible. Also, the sound of the can-opener, even in the midst of a deep sleep. Sometimes, even the refrigerator.

In her later years, she figured out a way to call people to come play with her by making this terrible moaning-like-she-was-dying sound. As she was a very ancient cat, this always scared the life out of us. Was she really dying? No. This sound only meant that she had her mouth full with a milk ring. I told you she was efficient. It definitely got our attentions.

People want to say that dogs are so loyal or playful or whatever, but I never needed a dog. Catrina was all the pet I needed. She would come when I called her. She'd follow me all over the house. Sometimes she was a little hard to convince--she was a cat after all--but in the end, she knew she'd rather be sitting on my lap than on a cold kitchen table chair. Even when she lost her hearing a year ago, she would still respond to "kitty sign language." She was jumping up into laps until her dying day. Sleeping. It was one of her favorite pastimes. We used to say that even though she was so old, she was actually only a kitten of three-years if you counted the time she'd actually spent awake. Hey, sleeping is a precious time. She knew what it was about.

She was very important in the formative years as well my early adult years. I worked a year after high school to pay for college and it was a really hard time for me. She was there through it all. During college, my parents went through a divorce and she was right there. After college, I had to come home to work again which was REALLY hard b/c I had been on my own at that point and was coming home. Once again, she was there. Every time I came home, she remembered who I was.

It's so weird to grieve over a cat. I mean . . . after all, it's just a cat, right. It's not like it's human. You find yourself talking to very few people about it, b/c you are sad but you also feel silly. Yes, Catrina was not human. But you know what? She filled a void that a human could never fill. I learned many things from her: confidence, unconditional love, sarcasm, how to survive a messy break up, and that black cats do NOT mean bad luck. If only I'd listened when she was teaching about the evils of sleep deprivation. I really think she was onto something there.

It seems strange to say this, but her passing happened at probably at the best time for me that could have been. My younger sister, Bekah, got married this past summer and I, living and working in Korea, will not be able to make it home for Christmas this year. That means we were all home under one roof for her last Christmas. This blog wasn't necessarily about God at all . . . but you can definitely see His hand at work on that one. Not only in that area, but also . . . sometimes I wonder, 'What if I had chosen the other cat in the box?' How different my life would have been.

I know now that I didn't need the white fluffy cat of my dreams. I needed a friend.

Goodbye, Baby. I'm crying yet again and I wish you were here.