Stray Kitty 

Guess who's coming to dinner?

The whining for a pet began this year heralded by random muttered wishes for a dog increasingly accompanied by incessant begging to stop by Russo’s pet store in Fashion Island to “look” at the kitties and puppies. Over and over I said no a thousand different ways:
-I’ll check into it.
-I’ll think about it
-Ask your father.
-Not this week.
-Maybe for Christmas.

Don’t get me wrong, I grew up with dogs. In my single days, I had two cats, male and female Abyssinians. I kept them indoors as they would have surely been stolen if allowed to roam (beautiful expensive rare breed). They had golden brown coats, soft fur and deep golden eyes. They were loyal companions to me for years, hanging around me wanting nothing more than an occasional pet and a snuggle. My husband had to marry them as well as me. After the Kid was born, their personal stock plummeted. I considered them mostly a hassle as they needed to be fed, their litter box cleaned, taken to the vet, and watched during vacations. They became ignored mostly by me and mild entertainment for the baby.

When the Kid was two, my husband got the itch for a dog. I stupidly relented. My husband adopted an extremely overweight 7-year-old golden Labrador retriever who had been given up in the inland San Diego area (read red necks). This pathetic creature panted loudly, drooled puddles, lived for food and had numerous health problems. He couldn’t really run and was horrible on the leash especially around other dogs and yanked my arm so badly out of the socket after one walk, I had to seek physical therapy for months afterwards for a torn shoulder. We had tried to adopt a better Lab, but the Lab Rescue people were extremely picky about who got the young, energetic, good looking dogs. We were deemed a poor house for a one-year-old lab as we had a young child and weren’t home during the day. Please ignore the fact that these dogs were essentially abandoned by their previous owners. I was highly annoyed that we couldn’t pass the screening test for a stray pet. That should have been my warning. I disliked “Yankee” almost immediately. And to compound my loathing, within a year of his arrival in our lives, both cats died of mysterious blood diseases the vet couldn’t diagnose. I always thought the rogue dog killed them. I hated the dog after that even more so because he took a good long four years to exit my life. One day his hip dysplasia overcame him and he could no longer stand up. My husband reluctantly told me the bad news. He was sort of fond of the dog in the way you love an ancient uncle who smells bad. I told my husband “you know what to do.” And Yankee (his god given name by his previous owners) was no more.

I didn’t miss having pets. Less stuff to do and less things to clean which was in line with my life simplification goals. Unfortunately, my husband began to join in the pet whining after the Kid started third grade this year. The Kid was having a horrible time and it was carrying into other areas of his life. All of the sudden he became afraid to walk down our hall, afraid to shut the bathroom door, afraid of the noise of a flushing toilet, worried about me leaving on business trips and horribly concerned he would never learn to multiply. My husband felt a dog would give him confidence. "No pets," I maintained. But secretly I was weakening. My trips to Russo’s with the Kid became more frequent. I started looking up dog breeds on the internet. I asked around the office, “Did anyone own a particular type of dog that met all my criteria: small, but not too small, easy to housebreak, no digging or scratching, no biting, doesn’t mind being left home alone for 8-10 hours a day?” I got lots of suggestions and continued my research, but most dogs were defective in some area or the other, in my opinion. I got the impression the Kid and my husband felt I was stalling.

Then, one night I was sitting at the dining room table. Something moved quickly past me through the front door. I yelped. We have had rats run into the house from time to time. Particularly unpleaseant memories. No rat, but a cat. A very skinny little girl cat with a beautiful calico-like coat in shades of butterscotch and deepest mahogany over a snow white background. It even had a little black spot under one eye. It came right up to me and meowed. I yelled for my husband. The Kid and my husband came running. They saw the cat as it scampered out the patio doors. We didn’t think much of it.

The next week I went out of town on business for a few days. Upon returning, The Kid informed me that the kitty was visiting. And they were feeding it tuna fish out of the can. That’s great, I thought, it will never leave. Sure enough it began showing up consistently in the morning and evening for food. It began staying in the house for an hour or two after being fed. The Kid would dangle string and pet it. Could my child have willed a pet into his life? A pet that didn’t need its litter box cleaned, came and went as it pleased, never needed to be walked and made little demands on me.

And, it was really cute. One night, I was working in the office. The cat appeared at the door and I let her in. She jumped to the top of the desk, laid down next to the monitor and went to sleep purring as I petted her. For the first time I was right on top of her and got a good look. Reallly pretty little tiny thing, with ribs poking out a bit although she was fattening up. She seemed to be quite clean and had no fleas that I could detect. I also immediately figured out that she had no claws on her front or back paws. This was somebody’s pet. My heart sunk a little as I realized we should try and find the owner. I called for my husband, waking up the cat. “She doesn’t have any claws.” He got that glint in his eye realizing his good fortune “She’s perfect!” I explained that far from perfect, she had an owner. He insisted she was a stray considering how skinny she was when she began stopping by.

The next day she came to the patio door for her usual breakfast. She also brought a friend. A dead rat. The next day she brought another dead rat. The deal was becoming quickly sealed. This cat had a purpose. No more talk of dogs came from my husband or the Kid and the rat population of our property was slowly being destroyed. She was perfect.

We hit on a plan. I would buy a collar and put our phone number on it. If she went back home, the owners would surely call and say “why do you have your phone number on our cat?” and I would explain we were trying to locate them (the owner). Meanwhile, my husband would take her to the vet and get her checked out for fleas, worms and get her spayed. I estimated her age at about 6 months which meant she was old enough to spay. We would continue to feed her and allow her to hang out inside the house if she wanted to. She spent the night one night (curled up next to me on the bed), but for the most part, seemed to want to roam outside which is a little dangerous for a cat without claws. However, we weren’t sure if she was really our cat, she didn’t really want to stay inside and we were worried we might be preventing her from finding her owner. So outside she went.

That Friday, my husband called me with the update from the vet. “She’s a he.” What?? “It’s a he/she.” Turns out our little friend had already been neutered. The lack of fuzzy balls had confused us. She was indeed a ten month old malnourished he. The vet thought it was unusual for both sets of claws to be missing; typically cat owners will only remove the front claws. The vet also felt that the owner was no longer looking for this cat at the pound as it appeared to have been on its own for awhile. He liked our plan with the tag and was happy someone was looking after the cat.

At this point I had mixed feelings. This really was someone else’s cat. I decided that no more overnight stays were allowed. It would go out at night and find its owner. The very next night another cat appeared on our doorstep with our little hobo. It was a small orange cat with a fluffy orange striped tale, also neutered and also missing all claws. The two cats seemed to know each other but weren’t too friendly. In fact, the orange cat chased our male out of the yard. Where were these cats coming from? The whole thing was becoming vaguely disturbing. I was upset about it to the point of tears. I had started having feelings for this little runaway. Given the orange cat, to me the owner had to be somewhere nearby. And the orange cat could help our kitty find its way home. I shooed the orange cat out of the yard, and felt this was the beginning of the end.

Sure enough, the phone rang that night around 10PM. My husband answered.

“Yes, that is our phone number.” Pause.
No it is not our cat. It’s a stray.” Pause.
No, we aren’t going to come and pick it up.” Longer pause.
Just let it go.” Good night.

So, now, our little wandering traveler was sucking up to a new family about a block away. I was pretty pissed. And, everybody was going to think we just let our stupid cat wander all over the neighborhood. As a very conscientious pet owner, I was embarrassed. I went to sleep that night feeling pretty sad. I thought I had the perfect pet, and simply had somewhat of a bizarre situation.

The cat stayed out all night that night, and every night thereafter. We didn’t know where it went, but it showed up for breakfast literally at the crack of down, and appeared out of nowhere when we come home from work every day for two weeks. Two nights ago, I came home from a long business trip and the kitty was inside the house. My husband said it had been hanging out for about four hours. It greeted me at the door and wanted petting which I did for five minutes or so. Then, it quietly stepped through the front door and out into the night. He hasn’t been back since. No one has called, so I have decided something happened to him, which makes me tear up when I think about it. I think I'm ready for a pet.

Tis the Season

It's back to school in the O.C. And, as usual, I have begun to receive the usual barrage of invitations to school fund raiser events. A Spanish theme for one, a Hollywood theme for the other and an Island theme for the third. These events are designed to raise money for the schools and make a dent in your Christmas (or holiday) shopping budget. So far, I have bought tickets for one (not attending, just sucking up to a potential school that I want the Kid to get into if I become even more disgusted with his current situation this year) and raffle tickets for two others...supporting some friends of mine. My Kid's public school won't run their event till the spring, which is surprisingly stupid since most holiday shopping is done in the fall. What do you expect from a public school?

These events raise literally hundreds of thousands of dollars to support the schools. Which is bizarre considering some of the private schools ask parents to pop for up to $14,000 per kid. Couldn't they just ask another $1,000 or $2,000 considering the parent's level of obvious wealth and skip the lousy fundraiser? These are the questions I mull over at this time of year. That being said, I am still an easy mark for the $100 lottery ticket, only 400 sold for a chance to win $10,000. I could use a little extra cash this year. And, it's tax deductible.