I love cats, but haven't owned one for twenty four years. Before I married my husband I had two cats, a mother and son named Mitts and Bits. I had to give both away when Todd came on the scene. ( He loves cats too, but is allergic to them.) So, I traded two cats for one man, and all these years later I still feel (most days!) like I made a good swap.
These last four days I've been cat-sitting for my sister while she visits our mother. Her cat, Vada, is a funny little beast. She was found as a very small kitten by my niece, and the theory that accounts for her drooling is that she was never sufficiently nursed by her mother. For years she lived like a hermit in my sister's basement - by choice. She was skittish, wary of people and perhaps a bit intimidated by my sister's older and larger cats. My sons, as small boys were always excited by a Vada sighting. ("I saw the little cat!" they'd tell me with excitement, like they were reporting a sighting of Yeti or something equally unbelievable.)
When Vada was about seven years old my sister acquired a Golden Lab named Jake, and for some inexplicable reason Vada adored him. The two would snuggle up together, which was always a sweet sight. Maybe she loved the big galoot because he was the laziest and gentlest dog you could ever meet. (He took his meals lying down, for goodness sake!) Jake died a year ago, and Vada misses him.
She's an old cat now - nineteen years old. According to my sister she has maybe one tooth left. She still drools, and has the loudest, most alarming voice I've ever heard. Vada is a high maintenance kitty at this point. She gets three square meals a day of watered down wet food with a side order of kibble. Two meals a day she gets pills, divided and disguised in pill pockets, and she gets a few treats with each meal too - which she always gobbles first. Meals don't stay with her very long. I've scooped her litter box multiple times a day since I took over as caretaker, and this morning I had to spend several long, memorable moments scrubbing cat vomit off my sister's treadmill. The strange part of all of this is that old and infirm as she is, I've never seen Vada happier. In her dotage she's become an affection junkie, purring for hours on end as my son Sam and I take turns stroking her.
I like to think we're helping to make her last days her best days.
In honor of Vada I'll share the one and only poem I've ever written about cats - a lighthearted description of how to bathe our feline friends. (I'm not about to try this with Vada!)
On Bathing the Cat (By Sharon Flood Kasenberg, Aug. '07)
Cat owners who have allergies
can try to bathe dear Fluffy -
or they can choose to sniff and sneeze
and go on feeling stuffy.
I read instructions recently
that explained how you proceed
to get this job done decently
and survive the nasty deed.
Most cats aren't fond of getting wet,
so you ought to trim her claws -
(it takes a certain etiquette
to give manicures to paws.)
If you have managed this first chore,
arms and sanity intact -
then fill the tub and bar the door,
or she'll bolt and that's a fact!
Now I'm afraid you must get tough -
with gentle force just grip her -
and hold her firmly by the scruff
as you attempt to dip her.
Be warned that she will hiss and spit
when you put her in the tub -
and be braced for a serious fit
when you shampoo and you scrub.
Make sure that thoroughly you rinse;
don't attempt to blow her dry -
or you'll risk further accidents -
neither of you wants to fry!
When this ritual's quite complete -
you and Fluffy both still living -
then offer her a little treat,
and pray she'll be forgiving!
