Tag Archives: cats

Learning to Cat

In February, I wrote here about the loss of our dear family member Gato: about how he was a cautious animal whose whole story we did not know, who became a successful kitty with a home and a family who loved him, and thus did as well as a cat may.

All the love we poured into our relationship with himand before him, T.R. and his brother Gordonis an emotion whose existence demands outlet. As my character Jon Anthony said, we have love, hate, and indifference to choose. Only love’s work is life.

So it was inevitable that when the Editress, seeing signs of lonely nervousness in our remaining furbuddy Leo, we would adopt again. Through a worthwhile agency and no-kill shelter nearby, we asked for one of the cats who needed someone most. And we met Freddy.

He had been found downtown, begging for food, and sat unclaimed in the city shelter until his stay there was up. He then transferred to another place where he would be given more time.

He spent fifteen months there, shut in a small room with one other companion, as noisy families tromped through looking for someone to adopt. He huddled. He hid. He was grasped in ways he didn’t like to be transported and put on display for adoption, and doubtless hated every bit of it because he was terrified. Freddy wasn’t good at selling himself to prospective families, and when we saw what had happened to him it broke our hearts.

I managed to sit with him while the Editress looked over some other candidates. Freddy’s nose buried itself in the crook of my arm to make the overwhelming world go away. I heard and felt him purr for the first time under the strokes of a loving hand.

That was Leap Day. This is springtime. It’s said transition to normalcy in an adopted pet will take place in stages: three days, three weeks, three months. We’re not there yet. Freddy loves Leo, but remains terrified of being seized by humans, because his memories there are bad. He’s missing out on laps and cuddles and kisses, and we’re trying to teach him. We’ll keep trying.

He’s missing out because he doesn’t understand how to cat here. Fear is dominating his perspective, and it’s frustrating to those who love him. Love keeps trying. Like water, it seeps into every opening it can find, driven by its patron spirit. Hate employs harsher methods of implanting itself, for that patron is impatient to advance works of death, and trips over itself in its lust for destruction. Sometimes, it backs off to let the dry rot of indifference work from within instead, but in the long game, the effect of either strategy is the same.

Hate tries to hide. Not like Freddy did out of fear, but with the same strategy any predator employs: to overcome with a minimum of effort once opportunity manifests. It hurts the vulnerable and oppresses the hopeless until, it schemes, God’s work of life will be crushed to dust under the weight of engineered temporal adversity.

To the enemy’s misfortune, we are surrounded by the testimony of Creation as to the work of its Craftsman, and His light is everywhere, cutting through the darkness cast by His adversary; they contest for souls through the messaging of two patron spirits. One tells us, “Stop trying to understand. This was meaningless at the start.” The less brash offers, “Your perspective is not yet broad enough to discern My purpose.”

The latter’s seed of hope can find good ground through a crack in concrete, root, grow and spread its prison into space for a life. So it goes in a work driven by love, and love keeps trying while the hate fueling works of death consumes it bearer, sputters, and dies. It’s as true in microcosm as it has been in history, and shall be through the millennium to come.

The Editress is slowly working her way with Freddy, grasping and partially lifting him during the time he consents to be petted, soothing his fears, accustoming him to closer human contact and preparing him for wonderful things just ahead. She is patient that way. Her work is also life, as I’ve seen for the best part of forty years to my benefit and that of everyone she touches.

We are learning to cat, and learning to human. We are being educated to accommodate The Way Things Are and how to hear advice whispered by the voice of the Spirit. We are learning ourselves and delving deeper into the sufficiency of Christ. Because love elsewhere didn’t stop trying, we now understand more than we did, and give God the glory.

Choose to love. -DA

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In production news, the Editress is finishing preparatory reading prior to this month’s launch of her editing cycle for Sean Ritter’s next release, Twenty-Four Hours to Midnight. Please check the tabs above for more information on existing titles, works in progress, and the timelines that will help you decide how you wish to read Jon, Sean, and Boone.

Four Thousand Days

There was no Vae Obscurum in January. Here, it seems to be the cruelest month, one prone to take our cats when their time is finished. On January 6, Epiphany, it was our dear orange buddy Gato’s turn to go ahead of us, as did T.R. on New Year’s Day 2009 and his brother Gordon three years later, on January 30.

In 2006 a homeless cat, two or three years old, tried to take up residence in a big house that surely, he must have thought, had room for him. Unfortunately, the big house was actually a hotel turned historical museum in Fredericksburg, Texas … and they no longer take boarders, feline or otherwise. There was an equipment yard in back of the place with shelter and enough human attention for a cat obviously missing his original people, ones no amount of advertising could locate. He stayed on long enough for the maintenance crew to name him Gato … Spanish for cat.

So it was Gato had only two of T.S Eliot’s prescribed three names. Denied a fancy name, he went forward with his family name and the one known only to himself, and it wasn’t long before the Editress-to-be noticed.

Gato became the official campus kitty of the National Museum of the Pacific War: fed, housed in basic but comfortable accommodations in a tool shed, and cared for by the best vets in town on the organization’s dime. He was able to enjoy the Japanese Garden of Peace once the humans were gone, and could jump from the sidewalk level to the top of its eight-foot surrounding wall using his massive back legs. His food bowl was raided by opossums, and three battles with unknown creatures each left him wounded and under care of the Editress for chunks of missing skin.

For a year and a half this was his life, exploring and hunting the grounds at night, and regularly losing his breakaway collars, which were later found across campus in various places. The Editress worried constantly all that time, hating to leave him at night but not selfish enough to deny her organization its mascot … the Tiger in the Garden. Eventually, a rodent infestation needed to be addressed in a way incompatible with a resident cat, and no one but his constant caretaker and beneficiary stepped up to the job of being his human mother.

That Gato wanted nothing more than a home and family was evident. He shared the contents of his food dish and in no way bullied his way into place in our household. When we found Gato and T.R. sharing napping space on the Big Red Chair. we knew his acceptance was complete. He would know T.R. only a couple more months before it was time for us all to mourn Gordon’s brother.

Gato was the best-behaved cat we have ever known. He never lost his streetwise caution. He despised anyone in uniform: Boy Scouts, delivery drivers, it didn’t matter; those were the only times we heard him growl. He didn’t know what to think of being held and kissed, even after a decade. He adored laps and blankets, though, and the snuggling under the latter was a talent he taught himself. We loved him so.

Some think a cat doesn’t have a soul. I saw Gordon’s one day when he was looking into my eyes doing the same thing to me. If his soul wasn’t there, neither is mine. All of our cats recognized love as well. Gato would come mousing around for it, and retire to a nap after he got his share. He was someone, and that’s why he got a name.

Gato’s life mattered in the way Elizabeth Goudge recognized when she wrote, “Nothing living should ever be treated with contempt. Whatever it is that lives, a man, a tree, or a bird, should be touched gently, because the time is short. Civilization is another word for respect for life.”

We knew and treasured Gato for somewhere in the vicinity of four thousand days. He never had to go to the vet for sickness, despising his regular visits on principle regardless. We noticed him off his food on his last weekend, and he had to endure only one truly bad day with the acute onset of pain from a massive but undetected tumor on his liver. No one had time to help him along until his suffering passed into the evening dinner hour, and he left us with the help of a vet willing to make a house call. It was a day one of us was available to comfort him all the way through, and that someone turned out to be me.

Gato traveled on with our every recommendation. His precious life made a difference in our own. Because we loved him, we know God loved him more, and that’s why we hope to see him one bright day at the New House, the one providence has made for us all who loved to find each other again. To this day, we recommend ‘I Will See You in Heaven” by Franciscan friar Jack Wintz for people mourning their departed pets.

It takes a special kind of courage to love, once one understands the price to be paid by one or the other of the participants. More so, perhaps, for those who have pets, who seem to be purposed with the task of teaching us how to lose someone we love and move on while enduring the pain of grief.

God’s loving promises were demonstrated by his Son’s mastery of death. This life we struggle through is a testing ground, a training camp, a foundry where His work in us continues through our days to the end set in the Mind and accomplished by the Hand of our Craftsman. Be careful, attentive, and reverent with them. Pay attention to what the Spirit is doing with you in each one. Take care in who you allow to use your days, for they won’t last forever. Forever comes once they finish, for good or bad.

As I said, we passed through four thousand of ours with Gato. Only one was truly bad, which is an amazingly blessed ratio. Each of them was a gift, and knowing this through faith brings us through the pain of missing him to joyous gratitude. That’s what it is to believe.

Choose to love, -DA

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In production news, Boone and Sean’s Ghosts of the Republic is out of editing and passing through two rounds of proofreading as I write this. Hopefully, we will see the title to move into pre-publication and then full release this month. As always, those of you who are here will find out first.

Ten Questions from Tara: Interview with Dale Amidei

It’s Saturday, and I’m discussing “Absinthe and Chocolate” in an excellent interview with Tara Chevrestt. Please give the Book Babe blog a visit to help me thank a gracious host!

Kittehs

Ten Questions from Tara: Interview with Dale Amidei

G. Gordon Kitty passes

In mid-August 1996, two gray tabbies were born in the dairy barn of a friend. They were a litter of two to another gray tabby called Tripaw’d. She was a small cat, the victim of a farm machinery accident that left her without a rear foot. Her loss was no impediment, as she granted access to the barn food dish with a swipe at every other cat who came to eat, presumably for not showing her proper enough deference.

Eight weeks later the pair of kittens arrived at our house in a cardboard box, having fought the driver of a pickup truck to escape the container for thirty miles. It was a conspiracy. The box was delivered without a word—from a human. It was only a second before the kitten (who was probably Gordon) meowed as a surprise to his human mother, and the two began  their lives as members of our family.

His brother was stockier and proper from the start. We named him Theodore Roosevelt, and he became our beloved TR. His smaller brother, who gave up nothing to size, earned the best cat name ever:  G. Gordon Kitty.

Both filled our lives with unforgettable joy. From the new kittens scampering across the sofa as if it were a bale of hay to the cats who came to see us as their family, days were filled with laughter at their antics, and the evenings were fulfilled by the sharing of quiet time together. Human laps are cat-shaped and warm, and meant for occupation.

They lived their lives with us, and followed where we went, and even if the new house was small they at least remained with the ones who loved them. Finally, they arrived at the last house they would know, surrounded by Texas oaks and situated in a spacious fenced lawn of green grass. Windows ledges are fine for sitting, and a bath for birds stands outside the best one.

TR died at 5:55 AM on New Year’s Day in 2009 of an undiagnosed congenital heart condition. We had enough warning, and the ones he loved most were there with him. They included  Gordon, who spent their last few nights together in this world keeping his brother warm in a padded laundry basket on the floor of the den. Gordon was there when his brother left the world, as he was when TR came. Our hearts were broken.

Cats mourn. We saw in Gordon the same emotions that we felt. We felt the same sadness, the sense of loss, the longing for the brother who was no longer there.

Gordon himself had no easy life. He and TR nearly died after their first series of shots from the same allergic reaction, and only the quick action of a veterinary team saved their lives. Gordon, had he stayed in the barn, would have died at 30 months from a bladder stone that bisected his urethra. Scarring from that first procedure would have taken him again at age five, had we not lived in a location with advanced veterinary surgery available. Vets saved his life once again from a serious kidney infection caught by the watchful eyes of his human mom three and a half years ago.

Gordon survived with reduced kidney function, requiring very regular subcutaneous infusions of fluid for the rest of his life. Those years were good ones, and we treasured every one of our last days with him. When it was his time he left the world from his home, in the embrace of the two people who loved him most, as his brother did in the same room three years earlier.

TR was a very proper cat, careful and reflective in every situation. Gordon was a cat of action and bold adventure. He reveled in discovery, and could open cabinet doors and disc drives with ease. Gordon dialed 911 by walking across a speakerphone one Super Bowl Sunday and then hung up on the dispatcher, allowing us to meet two of our city’s finest at our front door to explain his talent.

Gordon was a bright light. He looked deep into your eyes to see who was there. He grasped the concept of family and of love. He brought joy to our lives and so was a very successful cat. We thank God for the decade and a half plus that we were allowed to be his humans. His life was a gift on loan from a loving Creator, and we do not begrudge Gordon’s return to his Source. If it were within our power, we would have kept him here.

Light bright and dim will leave the world today, but Gordon’s led the way, as was always his style. Lives great and small end in every moment. In this moment, I mourn only one. My cat is dead. My friend is gone. My heart is undone.

Choose to love, -DA