The ballad of Rumble, Gizmo, and Hissyfit
On Sept. 28, 2011 three young cats - probably about three months old wandered into a humane trap. They were moved into two carriers and spent the night in fear in a quiet bedroom inside the house they were born behind.
The next day, they were driven to the Humane Society, knocked out and "fixed". Almost twenty-four hours after they were trapped, they were back in the bedroom, released from the carriers, but still terrified. They hid in the dark recesses of an old computer desk because that was the only place to hide. While the bedframe still stood in the room like an old skeleton, the mattress and boxspring were gone.
Everyday I fed them, picked them up, petted them, scooped their litter, and whispered kind words to them. Though he was terrified, the completely black cat with a single white whisker purred loudly - as if pleasure and fear were a bit mixed up in his mind. That is why I called him Rumble. Of course, as soon as I put him down, he would run and hide again.
Gizmo was the most shy. He would push himself as far into those crevessaes hoping that I would not be able to catch him. But every day I cuddled him. He was frightened, but never threatening. Except for the few times that he took the lead from his sister and unconvincingly hissed at me from his hiding spot. That completely black cat with the face shaped like an equilaateral triangle had the face of Gizmo from the Gremlins movie.
Now, Hissyfit, she was another story. Everytime I just looked at her she would hiss. She hissed as I reached for her and sometimes when I held her. She bit me once, but I think it was by accident while she was trying to hiss, and my hand got in her mouth.
This went on for three weeks. I finally got the sense that I was getting nowhere with Hissyfit, but maybe the others would come around. Sadly, I returned Hissy to the bush under which she had lived the first half of her life. She gladly returned to it, and I have seen her shyly come to the food dish a few times since her release.
Within a week of Hissyfit's departure, the two remaining males were ready to socialize. Rumble wouldn't run and hide anymore. After another week, Gizmo wasn't hiding either. They were happy to see me come to the door and even started to get the run of the upstairs. They would come and snuggle with me on my bed for a few minutes before we all went to sleep at night in our separate rooms. I was filled with joy that they had learned to be "house" cats. And told them so everyday.
But we would not recognize joy without pain. I wasnted so badly for them to have their own house to be housecats in, but my cats were not really accepting of others. They would not be able to stay with us. That had never been my intention. I just wanted to get them out from under the bush and into a good home.
Tonight that happened. Two days ago, a person Tom works with came to the house to visit the cats. She fell in love right away, but couldn't take them that night. They needed to prepare a space for them in their house with two dogs. They wanted to provide them a private, safe place. I wouldn't know when they were ready, but I figured it would be on the weekend.
Tonight I got the call. Their new house was ready for them. I was busy getting ready for scrapbooking. So I didn't get to linger with a goodbye. I gave them both my standard "blessing" as I packed them into the carrier: that they would be going to a home where people loved them and knew how to take care of them. That they might be afraid for a few more days, but then their lives would be so much better. They would have a whole house to live in not just a bedroom and a few hours of freedom. I was happy for them. And sad for me - and that they would have to be afraid again when their lives changed again so unexpectedly.
My sadness is selfishness. I worked so hard to change their lives. I spent time (never enough) but time every day bringing these ferral kittens into a new life of safety and care. I would never see them again. I will always wonder if they will even remember me.
I have this little fantasy. That all the cats I have ever fostered will meet me in heaven. That God will show me to a room and there they will all be to tell me their lives had been wonderful because they had spent those few weeks with me and I had given all of them my standard blessing.
It feels empty. Most of us work so very hard and then one day, the work is gone. It reminds me that heaven isn't about saving up our good behavior for some later date. That heaven is right in front of us every day purring loudly or hiding in a corner. It is up to us to reach out and live in that heaven.
Charlie is at my feet tonight. He is in heaven. It is the first time in weeks that he and Jack have been the only cats in the house.
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