From two to one to two again.
I’m a cat lady. True story. I mean, I am kind of an animal lover all the way around, but having polar bears, lions, otters or dogs would simply be unreasonable. I mean, really, who does that?
So, cat lady I am. Some people have even suggested that I have some feline character traits. Eh, who’s to say? I do seem to understand cats, well, at least my cats.
Or so I thought.
I started considering getting another cat a while ago. I am not sure what brought it on. Matil seeming a bit bored, lethargic, complacent. Plus, I missed Norm a ton, so she must be missing him too. I mean, they were total buddies. I thought about what would be best. Boy? Girl? Baby? Older cat? There was a lot to think about. Then, things went all weird for minute (topsy-turvy or squiffy to those of you across the pond…) and the idea of me and Matil out on the road like little hobos took some of the shine off of getting a new addition. 
I mean, some really are not cut out for life on the road. But when things settled out again and it looked like we were gonna maintain our status quo, I took up the idea again.
I started considering how it would be. I would bring a kitten home and Matil would be curious, if a little stand offish, and she would have an instant playmate. She would have some one to mess around with like she had with Norman. Two cats. Two cats. Two cats.
I contemplated the SPCA, I walk by it all the time, but kept avoiding it based on the fact that the commercials make me cry and so I couldn’t really imagine what might happen if I actually went inside. I also looked in the window of Mission: Cats every time I walked by. Maybe I would get some sort of sign? Like another little kitty ready to hang up his hobo bag.
I started to look online and research a little bit about adopting cats into a household with a “resident cat.” They did not seem to have a lot of resources on homes that don’t have a resident cat, but a landlord-Grand-Poobah-Queen-of-the-Castle cat. There are a lot of available resources out there on the interwebs.
Of course, if type in how to make a million dollars in 24 hours there are also a lot of resources out there too, so really, one should be careful.
I read about how to integrate a new cat to your household, most of the materials recommended the same process as the SPCA. I read about how people are encouraged to adopt cats in pairs, which made me feel very expert as I had dispensed this same advice not to long ago to very good friends. I read further about how if one was going to adopt a single cat/kitten it would be better to bring the new feline into a house with a cat. [!!] I was overcome with that oh-so-delicious feeling – I am right! I am right! Matilda will be so glad to have a friend.
Matilda, it turns out, would prefer to be consulted on these matters.
I ended up going into Mission: Cats one day. I spoke with Genna, who is totally awesome and she explained to me what they did there (boarding and daycare – yes, for cats) and they work with Wonder Cat Rescue. She showed me the facility, which is really nice. And all the while I was basically being a crazy cat lady trying to get someone to guarantee that I could seamlessly introduce a new cat to my home.
Everyone was hedging.
But Wonder Cat sounded like a good deal because it was a smaller operation where someone could consider the kind of situation I had and recommend a kitteh they thought would work and I could go the foster route on the outside chance that Matil was not fully on board. [SPCA also offers options to foster.] I contacted Wonder Cats and waited. After I did not hear back for a couple of days I actually went into the SPCA.
The SFSPCA is a really nice facility and the people who work there are also really nice. I went in and started looking at the kitties. I have a suggestion for people who end up at the SPCA for animals: just take the first one. Seriously, all that happens as you spend time with more and more of them is that you want more and more of them.
Or, that could just be the Crazy Cat Lady in me.
As soon as I walked out of the SPCA I had an email from WCR. Of course. But there was a potential match (Look – my first internet dating match!) was I ready to move forward.
Yes.
No.
Yes.
No.
Yes.
Okay, yes.
Yes.
I will see you on Sunday Mr. Max.
When I got home I did some more internet “research.” This time I kept coming across sites warning against getting a new cat to “keep your cat company” and the struggles of introducing a kitten to an adult cat and, and, and… where had all this information been before I committed?
Aiyah.
But here came Max. And Matil had some choice words. Then came the total freeze out.
It is getting better and I am trying to let go of the idea that a) I have any control over pet emotions; b) this will be any kind of seamless or immediate transition; c) that I know Matilda as well as I think I do; d) that Matil is as fragile as I worried she might be when she went on her hunger strike and threatened kitty hari kari; e) Baby cats are easy – babies are babies regardless of the species.
…children, it’s like living with little mini drug addicts. Y’know, they’re laughing one minute, and then they’re crying the next, and then they’re trying to kill themselves in your bathroom for no good reason…
That I am surprised, or fretting as much as I have, that Matil did not immediately welcome the new dude and is resistant to change and turns first and foremost to being sullen and pouting is causing quite a lot of amusement to some people. And by “people” I mean my mom. Apparently she sees some similarities between me and Matil. Hmm. Still, I would recommend (at this point) making the leap because kittens are a riot and Matilda is enjoying asserting herself too. And cats are tough, they will work it out.
Really, Matil? It has come to this?
As I continue to enjoy (likely to annoying degrees) the flow that has encompassed my life as of late, I have run up against a small obstacle. And by small, I mean in stature only. I am dealing with seven pounds of loquacious, furry, disdain. I only avoid “rage” as a descriptor because Matilda is too cool to really lose her shit over this; but suffice it to say, the kid is not pleased.
From the freedom of the jungle [cue Born Free] to the malleability of the suburbs, Matil has now found herself an involuntary urbanite. The metaphoric (perhaps literal) feline Rapunzel, she pouts out the window and audibly sighs over her dissatisfaction with all things San Francisco.
So disgruntled these days, she has taken to sitting in her travel crate. While this may not be a bad thing, the reality of it is that in the past I practically had to use a bag and a crowbar to get her tiny self in that thing. Now the only missing element is the dialog bubble above her head saying, “Okay, enough of this shit. Time to GTFO.”
Matil has acculturated. [The Repatriate Papers, Vol. 6]
Matilda likes being an American. She has fallen in love with the dryer and is getting a sweet little belly. So much for her jungle-cat lifestyle. Talk about going soft. Still, tormenting of wiener dogs brings her much joy.
Belly up and out on the dryer... so relaxed.
I am sure I saw a cat... now where is she...?
If only I could see what is up there, I am sure....
Not just an Animal Planet, it’s an Animal Universe
There is an African proverb that says: “If you think you are too small to make a difference, try sleeping in a closed room with a mosquito.” I think of this proverb often. I thought I might think of it less once I was off of Lamma and no longer sleeping with my bedside artillery; but it turns out to be one of those phrases that runs through my mind with consistent regularity in a literal context as well as a figurative one. “Too small to make a difference…”
This morning I am awakened at 5 a.m. Not because my body has determined it has enough sleep. Not because I need to use the bathroom. Not because I had that extra margarita the night before. Not because anticipation of the day’s events have piqued my bio-rhythms. This morning I am awakened at 5 a.m. because Matilda is pissed off. Matilda has had a rough couple of months, or at least in my human projections she has. She lost her brother, from whom she had never ever been apart, on the day Dennis Hopper died and her human host was nowhere to be found either. She was uprooted from the only home she has ever known with little warning or preparation, because that is how I seem to do things these days – just.like.that. No longer free to roam the jungle, chase butterflies and birds, smell the frangipani or ‘help’ our neighbors in the garden, coming and going as she pleased in an environment absent of cars, televisions and wiener dogs, Matil has found herself in the suburbs. I imagine this must have seemed like somewhat of a bad dream to her, after two ferry rides, a train ride, a taxi ride a 13-hour flight and two more hours in a car to wake up somewhere far far away in every possible interpretation.
Black is the new… family planning.
I wear black a lot. Like sort of everyday. I guess I like black. I like the simplicity of it and consequently the way it can mean whatever you want it to mean. On the 4th of July I woke up an entire household trying to discreetly come inside to use the bathroom at a grossly early hour because a dog freaked out and went batshit nuts. Why? Because, according to his [grumpy] human: “You are wearing black. He does not like black.” Really? That dog must not get out much. And truly, I love the idea that black is slimming.
The other morning T and I were sitting around in our various shades of black having our morning coffee talk. The convsersation moved toward children as we were oohing and ahing over the truly lovely family of one of our girlfriends. We considered the nature of children, more specifically the nature of having children. Not in the physiological way, I believe we are clear on that, but more in the ideological way. We wondered out loud what kind of parents we would be and we considered the waxing and waning pressures of procreation, the curiosity factor, and the multivariate input from parental people and non-parentals. It is interesting. Confounding. Bizarre.
Do we want kids?
Do we need kids?
Do you plan for it?
Let it happen?
Are you missing out if you do/don’t? [Hello, FOMO.]
Would we be good parents?
Are we wasting good DNA?
Saving the world by not spreading our DNA?
Matilda Questions “Intelligent” Design.
Matilda has a few words to add to this evolution-I.D.-creationism debate. As a progressive leaning feline in all ways, it has been curious to see that Matil has suddenly decided that creationism may actually be the only explanation for certain things to which she has lately borne witness. Case in point: Weiner Dogs.
The basic understanding we are working with follows: The theory of evolution is based on “the process by which certain heritable traits—those that make it more likely for an organism to survive and successfully reproduce —become more common in a population over successive generations.” As somewhat of a bridge before we jump off the cliff to creationism, there is intelligent design, which “holds that certain features of the universe and of living things are best explained by an intelligent cause, not an undirected process such as natural selection.” Creationism takes us down the rabbit hole to ”the religious belief that humanity, life, the Earth, and the universe are the creation of a supernatural agency.” As a reasonable feline, Matil has consistently rejected the latter two in favor of the more scientifically based former.
That is, until arriving in the Land of Dachshund. Previously, Matilda’s leanings in this debate were based on her highly evolved and naturally selected self. Now as she walks the high-ground (or not even that high, needing only to remain on the ottomans) examining these creatures, she has deduced that there is clearly no evolutionary benefit to their design and it is obviously not an intelligent design and so she has found herself reluctantly admitting that really the only explanation for the bizarre construction of the Weiner Dog is the supernatural.
Because, really: WTF?
Some things I know I’m going to miss about Hong Kong
Cheap utilities including phone service – remember that year we all got our electricity subsidized? That was cool. [Seems fair anyhow since our little island provides HK with ALL its power.]
Everywhere you might want to travel seems to be 2.5 hours away by air.
Anna introducing me as “Amanda, my friend from Hong Kong”.
In-town Check-in/Airport Express/Cathay Pacific.
Tirumala Septentrionis Butterflies.
Getting your drink on in the street.
The Inland Revenue Department.
Public transportation.
The Rugby Sevens.
My yoga teacher.
My amigas.
My view.
Norman.
Unconditional Love = Just a Cat
It is raining in Hong Kong today. It was raining yesterday too. Not too unusual for this time of year, really, but I am watching the rain more than usual. Matilda and I sit by the window and look out, apparently unaware of the passage of time – not unusual for a cat I guess, but for me… very unusual. Since I have been back, Matilda has not ventured very far away, and her normally preposterously precocious self has been pensive and sedate. People often say that animals have no sense of time and that they do not have emotions like humans. That is probably true, that they are different from humans. Thank god. I don’t know how animals track time, but I am certain that they track emotions. I mean just look how they behave when people freak out or get sick or show rage. They know. I know my cats always know when I am leaving… they get so clingy (I say I hate it but, I lie) and I know that they can sense good people and not-so-good people; they have a sense about them. They know when I am coming home and often meet me at certain points in my walk to accompany me back to their food bowls.
But I should stop talking about my cats in the plural. Where once there were two, now there is one.
And I must begin in the middle, and say I am so exceptionally grateful that Matilda is still here, because without her, the absence of life in this house would be simply unbearable. I have lived in this flat since August of 2006. Matilda and Norman joined me in the first week of November in that same year; tiny, weaned-too-early, rescue kittens. Their mom had been adopted, and for those of you who know about animal rescue, you know how rare it is that people will take older cats, so when someone wanted the momma she went straight away. And so I got M & N.
From day one, they have been such completely unique little beings, connected by their sibling rivalry, green eyes and matching striped right front legs. Adopting these two cats was one of the best decisions I ever made in Hong Kong, even though right now… it’s a killer. I have the extreme good fortune of living near people who love animals and are willing to look after mine when I travel, which is sometimes not so often and sometimes a lot. I worry off-handedly about the kitties sometimes when I am gone, but always I am assuaged with a quick email home… er, not to my home exactly, but to the surrogate human hosts who take care of things while I am away. I just got back from five weeks in India, you probably know this already. And though I had been warned that Norman had been missing for at least a week prior to my return, it took the return to make it clear that he was gone. This is not the fault of anyone, though I keep wondering how things would be different had I stayed home, had I done this one thing differently or that other thing. I had not been in touch so much, maybe if I had… I thought about them a lot while I was away, all my Indian friends new about my “children” – Didi and Bhaya. I thought about how I had texted Frenchie from the ferry as I was leaving on May 1 asking her to say good-bye to Normie for me since he had been out when I finally made the break and left. The text is, of course, still on my phone.
It is most likely that the nature, which Norman pillaged quite regularly, got him in the end. Most people who are willing to admit that he will not come back think it was probably a snake. [My friends who so desperately want to help me feel better remind me - inadvertently - of the movie "He's Just Not That Into You" as they all have stories of cats who came back after weeks, months, etcetera... Would that I was the exception and not the rule...] Somehow, the idea of nature being nature makes me feel a tiny bit better, like perhaps it really just is the circle of life and whatever. Yeah, it is a miniscule modicum of relief, but one takes what one can get after watching Matilda go from place to place looking for her brother. She sleeps in the chair right beside me as I type unwilling to leave the cushion covered with Norman’s fur. And my helper washed all my bedding and cleaned the house before I returned so the places with Norm’s scent are few, but Matilda has found them all. She went crazy in my top drawer where he used to sleep, when she starts to do her normal run for the window to go out in the morning, she stops short and just sniffs the edges of the window that Norm rubbed against as he went in and out, she has wandered to the hedge behind which they often would wait for me, and she just sits, waiting. She smells all the flower pots he used to lurk around. She sits under the patio table where he would lay in repose. And all the time she is just looking around. Waiting. Watching.
It is fucking heartbreaking.
Fighting Instincts…
Powerful you have become, the dark side I sense in you.
~ Yoda
Last night I came home after a very long work day, a 25 minute ferry ride and a 15 minute walk to a scene that defies any palatable description. As I unlocked my door I told my parents, who I had been speaking with on the phone, that I would have to call them back, there was something dead on the floor.
Those of you who know me, know that I have two cats and said felines have a rather brutal streak with regard to the flora and fauna of our surrounding environs. I have, on various occasion, had to remove snakes, rats, mice, frogs, toads, giant spiders, birds and geckos to name but a few of the formerly living things that have either met their end in my home or been brought in as a trophy of some sort. It should be said that I have also managed to catch and release a good number of the aforementioned animals as well. In fact, just the night before last I was awakened at 4:00 a.m. by a sound that I could have sworn was a baby, or a mouse, or… a tree frog? Yes, a tree frog that my cats had taken for a bouncy toy. I caught it and put it out, alive and uninjured, it not fully well.
As I walked in my house last night what I saw was horrible, it was the stuff of horror movies. A good-sized bird whose chest had been ripped open, was strewn across the floor. A foot was several inches away, parts were clearly missing and feathers were everywhere. EVERY.WHERE. My female cat was there, watching me take in the scene (they have open access throughout the day and like clockwork they meet me when I come home; the giant, walking, beacon of kibble.) Matilda followed me around as I went to get the vacuum and surveyed what I can only imagine she helped orchestrate. I saw that all the things on my sideboard were upended or on the floor and that feathers were visible on my bedroom floor, bathroom floor… I walked into the room I use as a closet.
And I began to weep.
Once you start down the dark path, forever will it dominate your destiny, consume you it will.
~ Yoda
On the throw rug in the middle of the room was another adult bird ripped apart but not necessarily consumed and at least three other smaller, baby birds. All thrashed. And then left behind. An entire family. This was not the remnants of a hunt for food. This was pure carnage and had it come at the hands of a human there would be no way to say it was not a crime of passion – of total rage. It was one of the most horrible things I have ever seen with my own eyes. Writing about it today makes me cry.
I took the rug out, I collected all of the carcasses, and I began to vacuum the feathers: under the bed in the bath tub, in my shoes, in the laundry hamper, under the sofa, under the table… I saw Norman peek in from around the open door. I looked at him and he ran. I had yet to say a word. Matilda sat on the couch grooming.
When I finished I sat on the big wooden chair under my clock and cried. I couldn’t stop and I didn’t understand why. They are just cats. Cats kill birds. Why all of a sudden did I feel like these animals were nothing I would want in my home? I looked at Matilda in awe. She is so small. And funny. Like a sprite or something. I saw Norman again. He skulked in past me, not making eye contact. Did he understand that a line had been crossed? Could he? A stupid cat? I closed the doors and the sat back down unsure of what to do. I did not want to be there – I did not want to be around my pets, often one of my favorite elements of coming home.
Always in motion is the future.
~ Yoda
I called my parents back. “They are cats,” they reminded me. “Predators. It is what they do.” It did not ameliorate the situation in the least. Hadn’t I just spent five days hanging out with them and enjoying their ‘catness’? I recall I even laughed about how cat-cam would be such a stupid idea because my cats were the epitome of hedonist lay-abouts. Perhaps it is time to consider cat-cam redux.
The thing is, it is true, they are predators. They kill. Can I punish a cat for acting on instinct when it may be all they have? Can anything really fight its own instincts to the point that they master and moderate their innate behaviors?
Do we all have issues fighting instincts? Or with the instinct to fight?
I considered some of the things that are instinctive to me. Judgment. Supporting the underdog. Believing in people. Competitiveness. Can I fight them? And then, do I instinctively fight? Fight or flight, they say. I think I may be the worst combination: start a fight then take flight. Perhaps. Or maybe I just feel gloomy today. And what would I have these animals do? Make a carnivorous being go vegan, like my cousin does with his cat? Try to convince myself that I can control cats, or any other being for that matter? How would I feel if I had come home to find the carcass on the floor to be my cat, dead and ripped apart at the hands of my neighbor’s dogs? What would I do?
Try not. Do or do not, there is no try.
~ Yoda
I believe that as humans we strive to control our instincts. I hear it is this ability that separates us from the animal kingdom. I don’t know. It seems like there are a lot more readily available examples of people acting on instinct than behaving rationally. With my limited religious training it seems to me that this is the basis of almost all theological endeavors, or even in more mundane terms: To be the master of your domain. But there is also this idea everyone keeps going on and on about to do with honoring yourself, your spirit, your nature. What then, Yoda? What are we left with?
The cats spent the day inside today. My free-roaming jungle kitties were locked in. Unhappy they will be. But dead things there will not be. Is this an illusion of control? You bet. Is it an attempt to override instinct? I don’t think so, because truth be told, you must take the good with the bad and what I love about cats has much to do with their instincts, their behavior –> their ‘catness.’ I am fighting my own instincts to fight in my own little ways. Maybe they will understand this. No they will not. They are cats. When they see me tonight, they will again see a big, giant, walking bag of kibble.
And I will be totally okay with that.
May the force be with you.
~ Yoda
The worst idea for an invention I never followed through on.
I used to think that a “Cat-Cam” would be a super-cool little gadget to come across. I wanted to figure out a way to rig a tiny, relatively indestructible, wireless webcam onto my cats’ heads somehow, and then get to see what they got up to all day while I was out at work and stuff. I thought it would really show me a differnt side of Pak Kok and the jungle or something.
What a stupid freaking idea.
I have had a lot of time at home these past few days with the Easter public holidays and such and so I have been a first-hand witness. You know what they get up to all day? (Best sit down so the action doesn’t knock you off your feet.)
And yes, I realize I am following up a post about having nothing to say with a post about cat inactivity.
There is nothing like punctuating one’s point.
“Cats, who’d have ‘em?”
I’ve been thinking about cats a lot lately. Okay, it is not like I don’t think about my cats a lot in general, but lately I have been a little more global in my consideration of cats. I have long worried that I may turn into a “Cat Lady,” and the attendant stigma that goes with that. I am really the perfect candidate: single, approaching middle-age, cat-loving, History/Literature teacher. I mean, they don’t write Cat Ladies better than that. And my cats run me. For instance, right now, I really want to get up and get another cup of coffee but Matilda is on my lap and she is content, and gives me stink-eye when I move, so coffee is more of a contemplation at this point. Eventually, I will get the coffee, but not before considering what a great reason this situation is for having a live-in helper, roommate, even a boyfriend.
When I returned from Bali and I called my parents, I could hear in my mom’s voice right away that something was wrong and there were only a few things that might make her sound this way; as I was okay, it was either going to be gramma or kitteh. It is kitteh. Their 12(?) year old cat is not well, and as is the case with cats, the reasons are ambiguous, but the reality is clear. Taking her to the vet is traumatizing and causes kitteh to really make you feel bad, and so Ella was keeping to the safety of the subregions of the bedroom and not taking food. This cat is Ella Mae, who they adopted, along with another kitty named Callie, from the shelter in their North Idaho town. The adoption of these two cats has a lot of significance to me because I was there and helped my mom pick out the cats. She had been reluctant to get another cat after the death of her most recent furry friend, Celeste. But after enough time had passed she realized that she really missed having cats and had decided to adopt two, so they would have company, and also to select adult cats as everyone always adopts the kittens but the older cats often go overlooked. I happened to be staying with my parents after a very dramatic break up [look at me be understated] with Ex #3. I was not totally myself, but cats always cheer me up. I went to the shelter and we picked out the two (very different) calico kittehs. They were bewildered and everything esle that comes with a total rearrangement of every known detail in ones existence when we brought them back. Callie was the wilder, more adventurous of the two. Smaller and more traditionally calico, she ran around and checked things out. Ella, likely a little older, is a peachy calico – white and grey and peach colored. And she doesn’t like other cats. One night we couldn’t find Callie and every issue that I was dealing with regarding the recent turn of events in my own life totally manifested in a total freak out about her (temporary) disappearance. I totally lost it for a minute.
Then she came back.
Cats.
So, now Ella is getting ready to say her farewells. Callie left them long ago, likely the result of her wandering, she got really sick and gently passed. Ella really came out of her shell at that point and became the Queen of the Manor. And now as she is preparing to go, it is just totally sad all over again.
Amanda
