Cat Tales

Garrett loves on Josiah--a sweeter cat would be hard to find.

In our first apartment building—the first home I remember— my mom and I found a kitten that had been abandoned and was sick. Its eyes were goopy—and it was obviously in need of nourishment. It is possible that it hadn’t even been weaned from its mother. Try as we might, we couldn’t nurse the poor thing all the way back to health, and it died the next day. But during that time, we showed it love and kept it warm. I saw the compassion in my mother’s eyes and how desperately she wanted to save that small creature. I remember crying but still being glad that we had rescued the kitten from the cold, dark stairwell. I was five years old, and this was a life lesson I would never forget.

At the age of six, I moved with my family from the city of Portland to the coastal town of Florence. My parents, me…and our lively orange Persian, Cricket Elvis. (We had tacked on the middle name because of a distinctive series of movements Cricket would perform while standing on his back legs and batting at a toy on a string.) Cricket was an indoor kitty in the city, but in the slower-paced town of Florence, we began letting him outside. Unfortunately, he didn’t quite know how to deal with Highway 101—and one day he tried to cross it. My first official pet was suddenly gone, and I was heartbroken. I remember my dad digging a very deep hole—and crying. We all did. We loved Cricket, and he had brought much joy into our lives. Those fond memories would always stay with us.

I missed Cricket a lot. A few months after losing him, my dad and I went to deliver some wood to a customer—I decided at the last minute to accompany my dad. It just so happened that these customers had a cat for which they were hoping to find a good home. I immediately fell in love with the very friendly male cat, who was white with orange only on his tail (in a tabby-type pattern) and the tips of his ears. And he had blue eyes. I begged my dad to allow me to have him. Defenseless to the persuasive tactics of his animal-loving little girl, Daddy soon caved. And we arrived back home with our new family member, whom I named Powderpuff.

Life with Powderpuff was just as entertaining as it had been with Cricket, if not more. He was extremely affectionate—and we taught him to “attack” using a stuffed Snoopy dog, a hilarious endeavor to say the least. But the one thing I treasure most about Powderpuff is how he responded one time when I was very sick. I had a fever and was simply weak. All I could do was lie in bed. Being a side-sleeper, I remember facing the wall in my bed. Powderpuff quietly joined me, lying back to back to with me and did not leave my side until I was better. It brings tears to my eyes to this day to recall what a loving cat he was. He died when I was nine, we think of Distemper, and joined Cricket in kitty heaven. Of all the pet cats I grew up with—and there were many—he was my all-time favorite.

It was maybe a year later that we decided to take on another pet cat—this time it was a female, black with a bit of white. We got her from some folks who’d had her long enough that she knew her name—Baby—so we kept it. Baby was a smart cat. She seemed to know her p’s and q’s around the busy road and stayed where it was safe. Baby was the proverbial mama cat. Since my family couldn’t afford to have her spade, I soon got to learn all about the “circle of life.” She had some awfully cute kittens, and we managed to find homes for them.

Baby moved with us twice, finally taking up residence in Mapleton—with more country-ish surroundings. There she had a gray and white male in one of her litters that my dad took an instant liking to. He claimed that this cat was “very intelligent” and dubbed him “Professor.” It seemed to prove true. Professor would shake hands, and sometimes he would respond in meow with uncannily human-like inflection when spoken to.

Baby was with our family for many years. I was in my teens when she began to show signs of decline, including a lack of interest in eating. A rather private and aloof creature, she one day wandered off and never came back. She was an alpha kitty of many, strong-willed and dignified—in many ways, respectable. She would be missed but not in the same way as Cricket and Powderpuff had been.

Professor remained, even long after I had left my parents’ home. He followed in his mother’s pawprints, becoming the leader of “the pack.” By this time, my parents lived up a country road, surrounded by trees and bordered by a creek. There was a lot of territory for a cat to roam about in. There were somewhere around five or six cats, but Professor clearly stood out as the “top cat”—adventurous yet deeply attached to his human masters. He was, as my dad always said, “quite a cat.”

When Byron and I moved into our first apartment, we brought a kitten with us. We thought it would be humorous to give him a dog name, so we called him “Scooby.” We had a couple other kitties after him for short periods of time, but Scooby was one that left an impression on our hearts. He was playful, and his eyes had a sort of “pull-at-your-heartstrings” quality. Even if he did naughty things, we simply couldn’t stay mad at him. Not even when he climbed up the trunk of our first Christmas tree and knocked it over, globe ornaments rolling everywhere. Through sharing the responsibilities of caring for Scooby, Byron and I were drawn closer as a couple—and we gained some insight into what might be some of the other’s strengths and weaknesses down the road—as parents.

By the time we had children, Byron and I had both decided we were “cat people” rather than “dog people.” So once we lived in a large enough house and our little girls wanted a pet, we made a trip to the Humane Society to find the perfect kitty. We ended up deciding on two, a brother and sister—gray tabbies. The tag on their cage said “Renny and Randy.” We didn’t care for those names, so instead let the girls name the kittens. The boy was to be “Koko” and the girl “Biranda.”

Biranda was very skittish—she would rarely let any of us get close to her. We wondered if she’d been abused. Koko, on the other hand, was extremely loving and cuddly—he reminded me a lot of Powderpuff in that way. Biranda passed away from unknown causes during the first few months that we had her. I am confident that with more time we could have helped her to overcome her fears. Biranda, to me, will always be a reminder of what fear does—it pushes us away from those who care most about us and causes us to dwell inwardly on our anxious thoughts. God wants to set us free from all fears and to know His perfect love, just as we wanted Biranda to know ours.

Koko made two moves with us over the course of the next few years. When we moved to some apartments—our first residence in West Salem—he had to adjust to being an indoor-only cat. This proved to be easier said than done, and he did get out a few times. But he always came back. Until one time.  We searched high and low—but no sign of Koko. He had been a friend to all three of our kids, adjusting quickly to a rambunctious, roving Josiah and not balking when carried incorrectly. He never scratched or acted hostile. He never even clawed the furniture! In the spirit of Professor, he was an intelligent feline and could actually open doors!

Since Koko, our family has been blessed with the likes of Precious and Garrett. Garrett is highly affectionate—to the point of being “needy,” and Precious, who is several years his senior, is a bit more choosy with whom she decides to love on. She is also generous though, as she had to deal with Garrett joining the household where she’d been the only cat for several years—she was a bit crotchety at first but has adjusted well and seems more than willing now to share her position of honor. In fact, she looks out for Garrett—and if he’s off roaming and she doesn’t know where he is, Precious expresses obvious concern. Precious is adept at killing bugs, especially spiders, while Garrett is a pro at dispatching rodents. Through Precious I am reminded that one’s character can change—and that vulnerability leads to increased relationship. Garrett’s persistence in “getting to know” Precious encourages me to not give up on others—to keep on loving and believing for good things.

Why have I bothered to tell you all these details about family pets? My point is this—each pet (speaking of the four-legged varieties) has a unique personality and brings a one-of-a-kind element to one’s life. I would go so far as to say that God uses them to minister to the heart in key ways, just as He uses various people to minister to us at critical points in life’s journey. Each one leaves a mark, an imprint on the heart that enriches our lives and echoes the goodness and providence of God.