I talk about cats a lot. People who stumble on the blog or twitter have started to get the notion that I’m some kind of cat hoarder. Then they send me emails about how I need to get out of my house and how I will, inevitably, die alone. I kid you not. So, should you be one of those stumblers and feel inclined to send me such a message, this post is for you.
We were a one cat household, not some cat hoarder den of crazy. Well, actually, until January, we were a one cat/one dog household but we lost the dog to the tragedy of old age.
When we bought our home in the spring, we didn’t move in for almost two months while we undertook some rather ambitious renovations. During this time I one, got very good at using a caulk gun and two, happened to notice that we were surrounded by cats. Feral cats. Not strays – these cats (with the exceptions of a gigantic white male who can be seen in possession of a collar and tag as well as a giant set of kitten-makin’ balls) had never been anybody’s pet and were likely born in the same yards they now prowled.
One day in early May, while we were scraping paint for what had to be the 70th hour, I looked out the window and saw the cutest little ball of fluff bouncing around in the bushes. Immediately I knew I needed to hug this little ball of fluff so outside I ran to introduce myself to its mother.
“Hello, Mama Cat!” I said, crouching down and offering a hand. “I’m very nice and I would like to hug the guts out of your baby.”
Somehow it had escaped me that a feral cat wouldn’t be all that enthusiastic about letting me do anything to her baby, much less give it the Lennie treatment. I got the clue, though, what with all the hissing and growling. When we moved in a week or two later, I started putting out dry cat food for the angry Mama Cat because I wasn’t certain whether she had a predictable food source and a nursing mother should have at least that. She ate the food but she was not my biggest fan.
Two weeks later when we got home from our honeymoon, I spotted that same ball of fluff, laid out on the concrete in the heat of the day, moving only when the mockingbirds began dive-bombing her from the trees. Enough, I thought. All it took was an outstretched hand and that little kitten came running. She was bones and fleas. Off we went to the vet and when we came home, my husband called her Midget; at six weeks old, she weighed less than a pound. And that’s when Midge came to live with us and we became a two cat household.
That’s also when I decided to do something about the uncared-for cat population on our street. And I would start with Mama Cat. I contacted a local rescue, KittiCo, who told me that I could borrow a quote/unquote humane trap, catch her, bring her in and they would spay and release. But after I emailed back for details, I never heard from them again. Which was all fine and dandy – I couldn’t bring myself to frighten an animal by trapping it in a metal cage. I don’t see that as humane and I didn’t have it in me. But I also couldn’t stand the idea of Mama, who couldn’t have been a year old, popping out litter after litter.
The best thing about the timing, though, was that Mama Cat was already working on another litter. Ha. Ha. Haaaaaaa. Yay.
Anyway, I decided when I took Mama to the vet, it would be because she let me pick her up and take her there. When my vet heard my plan, he was not thrilled.
“Be careful,” he said. “Feral cats can be very tough.”
“Whatever,” I thought. “I can be very tough.”
What I meant was stubborn. Every morning and every evening for the next several weeks, I sat on our driveway and fed Mama Cat from a bowl that I started out by placing six feet away, then four, then two, then right at my side. By the time she was eating next to me, she was also letting me scratch her back. Then she introduced me to her babies: two seriously cute little ladies (around four weeks old, by my guess) who were not so thrilled to be called to dinner while I sat nearby, but they were not given a choice. Morning after morning and night after night I sat on the driveway being eaten alive by ants and mosquitoes and sweating through my clothes. The heat of the summer drove us all to do some desperate things, and Mama was no exception – by the end of July, a combination of hard earned trust and desperation made her willing to lie belly up on the driveway and let me rub ice water into her fur. She began waiting for me at the front door, sometimes calling for me to come out.
Mama Cat became Mama Cass. Today, she lives on our back patio and not only lets me pick her up and hug her (okay, “lets” is a strong word. She tolerates it), she sits in my lap, nuzzles me and as of this week, has started leaving me presents. Two very dead, very neatly displayed robins.
Back in the second week of August, one of Cass’ kittens got sick. I found her dying in the bushes. And that’s when Vera came to live in our bathroom, then master bedroom and then, lucky thing, permanently at my mother in law’s house.
And then there was one. One totally effing terrified-of-humans kitten, who was still nursing. When she had weaned that final kitten, I calmly picked up Mama Cass, put her in a cat carrier and took her to the vet. Because she let me.
But until a few weeks ago, the last baby cat (who we cleverly call The Baby Cat) wouldn’t even climb onto the patio to eat until I was back inside the house, watching from the utility room window. That’s when I started giving her the Mama Cass Treatment. Every night and every morning, I sit on the patio, food bowls at my knees and I do not move until she has finished. I built them a shelter out of a re-purposed storage bin and got downright gleeful when I watched Baby Cat crawl out of it the next morning, stretching and yawning. I began sneak-attack petting. And then sneak-attack hugging. And this morning, I picked her up, plopped her into a cat carrier and took her to be vaccinated and spayed. She, uh, sort of let me.
“This,” I told the kitten as I petted her nervous little head, “is what they call winning.”
(Unless, of course, you’re speaking financially, because I don’t know how winning my husband would say it feels to have spent almost twelve hundred dollars on cats who are not actually your pets but it’s like I told him: “doing the right thing isn’t usually convenient. Besides, you were warned. For every time you re-watch the NBA finals, I will rescue another kitten.” He told me I’d better start looking for a cat lady scholarship.)
And I know, believe me, I know that these feral cats are not my pets. But despite all the knowing and how often I repeat “they are wild animals,” my attachment to them is very deep and I was awfully relieved when the vet just called to say all has gone very well and that we can bring her home this evening.
“Does she have a name,” he asked.
“Oh, um, Baby Cat?”
“Well, why don’t you work on a name so we can get her rabies vaccination registered.”
So, taking my cues from Dirty Dancing, our “Baby” has just been named Frances – after the first lady in the cabinet. Or Frances “Baby” Houseman. Whatever. It’s a real grown up name.
I’ve been reading your blog for years and THIS is why. You refresh my faith in humanity.
This is why you’re awesome!!!
you are a saint. also, I kind of wish I would EVER stumble upon some feral kittens. my two very spoiled cats however, do not wish that.
HAHAHAHAAHA! Um, yeah. Hal was not pleased when we brought Midge home and My MIL’s older cat wasn’t all that excited when Vera showed up either. But they got over it. Eventually.
Also, I don’t feel saintly about this – I feel like it’s not exactly selfless – it fills some void, I think, and makes me feel purposeful.
Kudos for doing the inconvenient, right, and awesome thing!
You are awesome. That is all.
Thanks for being the kind of person who takes care of feral cats (on top of being a hell of a writer).
Simply put, I love this post. And? That is one of my most favorite movies. EVER. “This is my dance space. This is your dance space; let’s cha cha.” Welcome home, Frances
And this is what makes “This Fish” an awesome person! It does, just happen, doesn’t it? I have 5 cats, and I tell the story that it just happened. I had one…then found one thrown out in the trash near a dumpster (named “Diva” for dumpster diva). Then there was the litter of kittens left at PetSmart’s parking lot. We kept 2 from that litter. Then there was Thomas, the Miracle Kitten, whom we raised from one day old–bottle-feeding that litter sucker. Now he runs around the house and chatters to me.
It happens. I don’t hoard, either. I just think they fell into my lap…
Besides, it’s a Recession, and I’m doing my duty by keeping PetSmart’s balance sheet in the black while ensuring my local vet can put his children through vet school.
I, for one, get a kick out of reading about your feline adventures. Mostly because I became a crazy cat lady virtually overnight. After never having had cats in my life, my fiance talked me into getting a kitten. One kitten turned into two when we went to the shelter and couldn’t choose between two tiny little things who had adopted each other as brother and sister. Three months later, two turned into three when a tiny stray kitten showed up on our porch on a rainy night. (And let’s not even talk about the alley cats who have discovered that if they show up on our porch, we will feed them.)
So, it happens.
if a *tiny stray kitten* showed up on my porch on a rainy night, i think my heart would break into tiny little shards of grief and cuddles. i’d bathe it and hug and love it and try not to snuggle it too much.
I love this so much! Especially the sneak-attack petting. I do that all the time. And I laughed out loud when you said you named her Frances!
I can’t believe you actually had to write this post to defend your actions… Heather, you rock!
Dude, people are so WEIRD. I got this email telling me how sad it is that I tweet about cats and how I should know what happens to cat ladies. THE HELL?
Haha… it’s funny how riled up some people will get over the silliest things. I think they need to be less concerned with whether or not you’re a crazy cat lady and more concerned with why they feel the need to criticize you for caring about animals.
I think that some people just have nothing else to do but to try to make other people feel bad. Personally, I enjoy your posts, plus, since my apartment doesn’t allow animals, it allows me to vicariously live through you!
And by the way, the picture of Midge is adorable!
You are a very kind & loving person to be doing this. The money I have spent on my “free” adopted dog since I took her home has been astronomical but I wouldn’t trade her for the world. There is a special place for us once we pass on – I’m convinced.
I also have an “involvement” with baby birds when they start hatching. I have to keep an eye on them and make sure nothing happens before they’re ready to go. Last year I thought one “fell” out twice of it’s nest. Nope – pushed both times. Mothers know best I guess.
You are amazing, you have such an awesome heart. Here is one cat lady (in St. Louis) saluting another (in Dallas).
Yup. BTDT, as you know. Went from normal 2 cat household to 5 (4 indoors, 1 out) at one point. HATE the “cat lady” nonsense. Does your vet offer you any kind of volume/compassion discount? Wouldn’t hurt to ask. I’d regift the robins if I were you. Any occasions coming up? You can claim that they’re post modern candlesticks.
I, for one, love your cat posts (although I’m as much of a “cat lady” as anyone). My boyfriend and I have two cats who are not exactly friends–not nearly, in fact–but they are each gorgeous, hysterical, spoiled rotten little ladies and we adore them both.
What you do for the neighborhood kitties is amazing (and a tad envy-inducing, at least for me). Anyone who thinks otherwise should be far more worried about THAT than about your cat care.
Hi Heather- Long time reader, not sure if I’ve ever commented. I want to say thanks for helping to save the lives of these cats, as well as preventing them from continuing to have babies! I do want to say though, that as someone who is very involved with animal rescue, including trap-neuter-release, that while I understand why the traps make you uncomfortable, and I think it’s great that you didn’t have to use them, that they are a great resource (and are completely humane) for people like me who have to deal with large feral cat populations in a city environment. There’s no way my colleagues or I could sit on our stoops luring in all the cats in the hood. I just don’t want the idea of “traps” to give TNR programs a bad name! Thanks for what you’ve done for Mama Cass and her bebes.
Just chiming in to say I totally get it. I live in tornado town and there are A LOT of cats running around my neighborhood and many areas in town. There are a group of us that go out and feed and try to resocialize them. Most of these animals (there are dogs too) have the animal version of PTSD and we are trying to reach them and find fosters before the winter sets in. When people come over to look at the progress on my house repairs they see bags of cat food and ask when I got a cat. They think I am nuts for feeding the lost but what should I do? Let them starve? I have already reunited on tornado kitty with its owner! Great feeling.
I am allergic to cats or I would be the crazy animal lady.
That being said I have 2 dogs under the age of one. Leila was found in January, 8-10 weeks old, less than 10 pounds the day before it dropped below 0 and no one claimed her. Which is good because it was immediate love for me. Django was found the day after the tornado and no one claimed him either. So I got 2 dogs in 4 months. I guess I am the crazy dog lady.
Which reminds me. How are you doing with your allergy to Midge?
I thought you’d appreciate this article, from yesterday’s NY Times: http://opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/2011/10/30/the-pathology-of-dependence-on-animals/?src=un&feedurl=http%3A%2F%2Fjson8.nytimes.com%2Fpages%2Fopinion%2Findex.jsonp
Crazy cat lady for president!
I love this post. Thank you.
heather, you’re my cat lady heroine.
Any hope of the big white male getting neutered? Not at your expense but have you by any chance found out who in the neighborhood is not acting responsible for him? My husband and I support the MEOW Foundation in Calgary and think what you are doing is amazing. We adopted a feral cat (3 on a scale of 5 being do not even think about touching me lady!) and she is now so enamoured of my husband she shameless lays on his lap every day. She tolerates me but I’m just glad she isn’t hiding under the bed anymore. If you ever seek donations be sure to let us know, you are undertaking an amazing cause and we are well aware of vet costs.
Hey Kiddo.
I’m w/ Mrs. M and I’m sorry you had to “defend” yourself.
You’re awesome!
We know it. Some of us for years!
And yes, Virgina, PEOPLE ARE WEIRD.
Lastly, let it be known that should I get to come back to this planet, I will do so as a cat and I’ll be lurking at YOUR door step. Sir Hal and I would get along just fine.
Fish,
You are not the only one who has spent an insane amount of money on a pet. I found my dog, nursed him back to health and got him neutered. Over eight months later the previous owners finally decided to look for him. He had had a chip but it was unregistered so of course I registered it. (I had looked for owners for three months!) I was in a lawsuit for two years over him and four grand later he is finally mine.
I have to say I am a little disappointed. Where is the picture of Baby!
Keep up the good work. Ignore those people. I have enjoyed your blog since the days of J. You are an excellent writer!
ran across this for the Dallas “winters” http://www.hammacher.com/Product/81325?source=CMPSHOP&cm_ven=CompShop&cm_cat=Pricegrabber&cm_pla=Pricegrabber&cm_ite=81325&zmam=36352540&zmas=1&zmac=7&zmap=81325
Nice! I actually built an insulated enclosure and ordered low-wattage outdoor heating pads that go inside. It doesn’t have a pitched roof, but my skillz are a bit limited. So I put it under my patio table so they have somewhere dry to go.
i love this. your persistence is refreshing when there’s so much “ugly” in the world, so thanks for this.
Good job, Heather. My now elderly feral cat has his own FaceBook page, Leon the Weather Cat. I thought I had written about in my blog, but seems I didn’t.