Cat Tales 38
My sister, Norma, has been a dog person for most of her seventy years. Although she doesn’t dislike cats, they just aren’t dogs. They don’t have the personality or responsiveness of a dog, she’s often claimed. Cats might be cute or funny or lovely ( in their own way), but she wouldn’ t choose to live with one.
I’m as much of a cat person as Norma is a dog person. I’ve loved cats all my life and cannot conceive of living without at least one cat. I like their independe nce, playfulness, and elegance. When Norma and I decided to share a home in Albuque rque, New Mexico, we made adjustme nts, especially in the animal department. She brought he r West Highland white terrier, Meggie, and I brought my two cats.
The animals worked out their own relationships and learned to tolerate each othe r eventually.
On a windy, gray Halloween day I rope d Norma into working with me at a cat show. It was a show for pure- bre d cats, but the show also included cats from local rescue groups that were ready for adoption. During the day I discovered a tiny, seven-week-old, seal point Siamese-mix kitte n who was waiting for a home. His gray-blue eyes scrunched tightly togethe r when he opene d his mouth wide in a loud “meow,” telling everyone within earshot that he didn’ t want to be in a cage any longer. He stood defiantly with his short, stocky legs spread wide and his nose pressed against the wire, while cream and sable hairs sprung out in a halo around his body.
I decided on the spot to adopt him. Norma eyed him several times before a greeing, and the kitten came home wi th us, protesting all the way. He threw himself on his back and kicked at the sides of the carrier and bit at the wires of the cage door, all the while meowing in a howl that was too loud for his small body. By the time he got to the laundry room area, whe re he would spend his first few days adjusting to his new surroundings and the other animals, he was exhausted.
Every day Norma visited with him for a few minutes so he would become accustomed to her scent and so Meggie would recognize his scent on her clothes. On his third day with us, I noticed something was wrong with him. He seemed lethargic and wasn’t eating well. I took him to the vete rinarian the next day, and the news was not good.
After examining the kitte n and doing a blood test, the vete rinarian told me the kitte n had feline panleukopenia virus, an often deadly disease common to unvaccinated kittens. Although they didn’t realize it at the time, the local Humane Society had brought several cats to the show that had already contracted the disease. Now, the shelter had a panleukopenia epidemic on its hands. Few infected cats were expected to live. The shelter was allowing people to re turn any infected cat adopted from them, and any returne d cat was humanely destroye d.
The veterinarian wasn’t certain he could save our kitte n, but he said he would try if I wanted hi m to. I agreed because I knew our kitte n was a fighter and I wanted to give him every chance to live. The vet treated him with massive amounts of intrave nous fluids and kept him overnight. Seeing the little guy with all those tubes running out of him and hooke d to bags of fluid made me sad. When I brought him back home the next day, he looked like a bedraggled mop of fur, but he was breathing. I was concerned about letting the kitten near our othe r animals for fear they would bec ome ill.
The veterinarian assured me it would be all right, because the other cats were current on their vaccinations and the kitte n could not pass the disease to the dog.
Norma and I took turns sitting in the rocking chair holding the kitten, rocking him and talking to him. We tried to get him to eat and drink, without much success, but he liked being held. I told him that if he continue d his fight to live, I would name him Rocky, afte r Rocky Balboa, the tenacious boxer Sylvester Stallone portrayed in the movie Rocky. Norma wore a cozy white fleece robe every eve ning. Rocky fell in love with the robe. As soon as he felt it, he eagerly reached up to secure his claws in the fleece. H e kneaded continually while working his way up the robe to Norma ’s armpit. There he hung, kneading and purring, for as long as she would hold him. He closed his eyes tightly togethe r to better savor the pleasure of fleece under his claws and the warmth of her body next to his.
When he ope ned his eyes four days later, they looke d brighte r. He accepted a little of the baby food I had ready for him. From that slim beginning I knew he was going to be all right. His recovery was slow and steady with only a few minor setbacks. Our veterinarian was thrilled with this outcome, because the Humane Society lost eighty cats and kittens to the virus. Rocky made up for lost time by eating everything I gave him. He began to put on weight and grow a little taller. But every night he crawled into Norma’s lap, climbed up he r robe, and stuck his little pink nose into her armpit, all the while kneading the fleece unde r his paws. I noticed that Norma smiled when she stroked Rocky and that she wasn’t making him get off her lap until he wanted to go. He ventured off her lap periodically but scurried right back on before she got up. If she did want him to get off, he would meow and hold on tighter. Usually he won out.
One night Norma looked at me and said, “Rocky really is cute and funny, isn’t he?"
"Yes, he is,” I said. “And he’s become quite fond of you. I think he believes you’re his mothe r."
"You think so?” Her smile told me she was quite pleased at that thought.
A year went by, and Rocky still thought he nee ded to tuck his nos e into Norma’s armpit wheneve r she wore the white robe. I was sure she wouldn’t be able to get rid of the robe, because he was so attached to it. Rocky lay in her lap one night, kneading the soft robe and purring, with his lips curled into a cat smile. Norma looke d at him and said, “I think Rocky might have turned me into a cat person. He’s the only cat who could ever
do that, but I think I’ m hooked.”
The conversion was complete. Rocky owns the singular distinction of converting my sister, the dog person, into a cat person. We just haven’t told the dog.