I got Mama Kitty shortly after my Mom died. I was perusing cute puppy and kitty videos during my lunch hour as I (too) often do, when I decided to take a peek at the local shelter's websites. I like to consider the older dogs. Dogs over seven years old. Thankfully there are never many of this ilk, so I can log on, view, and log off - - and still sleep at night. But that day I decided to look at the cats too.
There are so many cats posted on the shelter sites. Often twice as many cats as there are dogs. Page after page of felines. It becomes difficult to differentiate one from another after looking at thirty or forty of these photos. But on one website, Mama's picture and description, made me pause. She is nine years old and was sheltered in a cage at a nearby pet store for the past two months. She was described as being a sweet and loving cat and, most important, it was said she was used to living with other cats and dogs.
But it was her age and her name that drew me in the most. Mama. An old cat named Mama. This registered as a "sign" to me. I kept this encounter to myself. But her picture and description continued to resonate and I found myself logging on to the site every day to see if she was still there. I felt my heart race as I searched the website hoping (hoping, hoping...) that she was still there.
Several days later I told Dan about Mama and how I wanted to adopt her. He encouraged me to go get her and after work that day I did. I drove to the pet store after work only to learn she was no longer there. I felt so sad hearing this. But then it was explained she developed a respiratory infection and was returned to the shelter that same day to have the infection treated. I immediately drove to the shelter and, sight unseen, I put $10 down to "hold" her and waited for her to get better.
A week later the shelter called and Dan drove me there in a blinding snowstorm, cat cage in hand. We visited the roly poly cat who was too frightened to come out from under the table. Undeterred, I signed the adoption papers and brought her home.
We kept her in the spare bedroom the first week, spending time with her there. Then we brought the other animals into the room to meet her. She hissed and postured and hid under the bed. We started leaving the bedroom door open hoping she might venture out. When she did, she promptly beat the holy hell out of our alpha male cat.
Mama wasn't a frail older kitty. Nope. She was a bad-ass bitch cat.
The two other cats gave her a wide berth after that and she soon claimed ownership to the entire upstairs. We waited day after day for her to venture downstairs to the main living area, but she didn't seem to have any interest to co-mingle and be part of the family.
This wasn't what I had envisioned when I considered adopting her. I thought her age and her gender would make her the bridge between the other animals. The soothing water. The neutral zone. But what she seemed to be, instead, was another source of stress and jealousy. When I told my good friend Grace about adopting a third cat so soon after Mom's death what Grace said was profound: "Isn't it curious," she said, "How we can't seem to be comfortable with calm in our lives? How we alway seek a source of chaos to fill the void?"
So true.
I reasoned that Mama was more afraid than she was anti-social. I decided to put her in the dog crate in middle of the family room. Inside the crate she could observe the family activity and be in closer proximity to the other animals - - without me risking another costly visit to the vet. This process seemed to go well enough. Encouraged, we left the crate door open. Mama Kitty soon learned to nudge the door open all the way but, rather than cautiously explore this new space, she promptly ran upstairs instead. I crated her again the next day and brought her back down to the family room only to have her run back upstairs at the first chance. And I did the same the next day. And the next...
But after much patience, persistence, cajoling (and slivers of real tuna) I am happy to report that Mama Kitty now wanders the full house and has formed a truce, of sorts, with the other animals. She takes her assigned place in line to eat - - second, after the alpha male cat. She runs everywhere. We delight in hearing the soft tinkling from her tag on her collar as she runs thru the house. She runs to greet us. She runs to the food bowl. She runs to the sand box. She runs down the stairs when we call her name. She has claimed a space in our bed to sleep every night: Next to me. She burrows firmly against me and I feel her warm body, soft fur and hear her gentle snores next to me every night.
The void has been filled. I am endeared now to this soft, furry ball of chaos.
