When my cats aren't happy, I'm not happy. Not because I care about their mood but because I know they're just sitting there thinking up ways to get even.
~Percy Bysshe Shelley
Our family has a long history of taking in stray animals so when I saw a small, skinny kitten hanging around the cottage this summer, I got a sinking feeling. We had, just one short year ago, taken in an unwanted farm cat (whose bleak future included population control) after repeated pleas from my daughter. Enter Meeko. Lys's love affair with Meeko lasted about seven months. Meeko is now my cat. She is the cat I never wanted. So, as you can appreciate, this newest arrival was not met with my warm welcome.
The kids and I agreed that we would not name the cat or feed the cat but that instead we would look long and hard for this stray cat's family. We called the local vet, inquired at the nearby campground, enlisted support at the local corner store and twitted, tumble'd and facebook'd news of this lost (or was it found) cat. We were told by the vet that cat owners (read bad cat owners)were known to DUMP their unwanted pets in the country to let them live or die on their own. This, he said, was a common occurrence. My hopes of finding kitty's family were suddenly dashed. What's worse, I was conflicted now with feelings of compassion for this animal -- compassion that wasn't there seconds before when I simply thought it was misplaced.
The night that "outdoor kitty" showed up was a fitful one. I lay in bed and wrestled with figures as I adjusted our monthly budget to allow for vet bills, flea treatments, cat food, litter, and a contingency fund for cat emergencies. I eventually fell asleep with the hope that I would wake and kitty would have returned to her rightful place. It was not to be. During the night, the kids had prepared a cardboard box, lined it with a towel and placed it in a sheltered spot on the deck for maximum comfort. I discovered this "kitty cat comfort inn" when I took my coffee on the deck that morning. Imagine my surprise. This initiative from two teenagers who need to be reminded to put their dirty clothes in the hamper. I felt the odds beginning to stack against me.
On day two of the infiltration, "outdoor kitty" slept in the sun on a quiet corner of the deck as my kids questioned the depth of my humanity. How could I leave it there without feeding it or giving it water? Did I have to point out that there is a lake less than 10 metres from where the cat lay languishing? Now I am suddenly the patron saint of stray cats? The Highland's version of St. Gertrude. Why not? After all, what single woman doesn't want to run the risk of becoming known as "the cat lady?" Spectacular!
On day three, I was forced to acknowledge that this cat was going nowhere. It had not, to my knowledge, breached our points of entry but it was working on the kids' defenses...OK, our defenses. Meeko offered her own brand of uninviting feedback through several exchanges mediated by the patio door though the kids were far more easily swayed. I have to take ownership of some of the blame though...I am a sucker for "cute." Besides, I kept replaying this vision of "outdoor kitty" being thrown from the window of a car by a hellish cat owner as he drove away with a maniacal laugh. He didn't even take the care to stop the car. (Well, that's how it played out in my head anyway.)
Needless to say, we all bought into the cute kitty act and you know what followed. It began with a bowl of milk, then a few scraps of cat food, then we were petting kitty on our laps and discussing the logistics of an outdoor cat. Days passed.
Then it happened. It rained. Not just a light shower, but a wicked rainfall complete with thunder and lightning. We opened the door and "outdoor kitty" ran inside.
Little did we know that we had been infiltrated by an asshole cat.
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