Cat Nip
I have a confession to make.
Our oldest cat, Crisco (who is snow white), was bugging us constantly up until a month ago. She was overweight, weak, shedding, and pulling out her hair, leaving our house and clothes cluttered with cat hair. She wasn’t affectionate, either, so if I petted her I might get bitten.
A month ago she ran outside—she had been an indoor-outdoor cat and still went out for a little bit from time to time. This time she didn’t return, and, frankly, I was relieved. I gave her up for dead or adopted by some animal rescuer.
Yesterday morning as I walked to my car to drive to work, I found myself saying a prayer for our animals, thinking particularly about Crisco. That night I came home late from work and heard meowing on our neighbor’s roof. It was Crisco. At first I thought, “Oh, no. I was not really missing her.” But I did my duty, climbed up on the roof, and brought her down and into our house. I was shocked at how much lighter she was, how dirty she was, how old she seemed, and how obviously relieved she was to be in my arms and in our home. I was just as surprised at how happy I’ve been to have her back home.
I told Susan today of my joy, and she said I ought to feel some guilt over how happy I acted with her departure. I laughed and said I’m just not one to feel very guilty over animals. So my confession is not that I wanted Crisco gone, it’s that until yesterday and today I didn’t know how much I care about her.
In fact, I think she might be about to die, which I’m not afraid of. What I’m most happy about is that the death I imagined—hit by a car, mangled by a dog—didn’t happen. She will probably die in our care now.
I wish she could tell us how she lived for a month with little food, little quickness or strength. I asked my neighbor if he has noticed critters in his attic. He had, thinking it was a squirrel.
My prayer had been answered, but in a different way than I imagined. The answer was that I really did care, and I’m glad she’s back, even if it is to die.
Postscript: Around the first of October, Crisco began to grow progressively weaker She stopped eating and drinking completely on October 8. By October 11 she could walk about 10 feet before lying back down to rest. Everytime I touched her, though, she purred. Finally, on October 12 she crawled into our pantry, and as I placed towels around her to help her feel comfortable and even more confined in the small, dark space, she faintly purred. Susan and I shared a tearful prayer later before going to sleep. That night she died.