“Time spent with cats is never wasted.”
– Sigmund Freud.
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Author Archives: Cindy Blackstock
Cat’s Tale
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Indulge me, please. I want to share with you my most recent experience with rescuing a cat. If you recall, I recently posted a blog entitled Season Changes. After having to put down my 18 year old cat I found myself in the unusual situation of not having a pet in the house. It had been roughly 35 years since I was without a furry companion under the same roof and it was unsettling. When I was a child, it was acceptable to have pets but they were not allowed to live in the house. Years later, when I was living 300 miles away from my parents, that rule appeared to have changed. During a visit back home, I was offered a kitten. I wasn’t looking for a pet but I didn’t have the heart to say no. Ironically, it seemed totally acceptable to now have a pet in my parent’s home. I don’t know if they had mellowed with age or maybe they were comfortable with the situation as it would only be temporary for them. Either way, she was welcome inside and thus began my journey to having cats become members of the family.
The cat who was responsible for my indulgence of feline ownership was well traveled. She had lived in a total of three states when she left me at the age of 22. Others were to follow and it wasn’t unusual to have at least two at a time. When I lost my last one it was difficult to cast off the usual habits of feeding, litter box scooping, being met at the door when returning home and snuggling. Her departure left a void. Although there is grief in the loss of a pet, I have never been one to mourn for a great deal of time. I have always believed that as a cat left it was to allow for the inclusion of another homeless one in need of a family. There were plenty of offers for strays but I found myself checking Petfinder and began keeping tabs on those who caught my eye.
I settled on one who was noted to have been a sole indoor cat and a couch potato. She sounded like a possibility. I am well past the stage in my life that I feel up to entertaining the antics of a kitten. An adult cat who could settle into a quiet environment would appear to be a good fit. The shelter was a half hour drive and I headed there the week before Thanksgiving. Initially I was told that she had been adopted just hours prior to my arrival. I was disappointed but asked to see the other cats after making the trip there. It was then when I spotted her. The identification tag had been erroneously switched. When staff went back to the reception area to check things out, I opened the cage and met a cat who was receptive to my attention. It was late in the day and the shelter was about to close. Hastily I decided she was destined to be my cat and I made arrangements to adopt her. I was not prepared to take her home then but advised I would be back the following Friday afternoon to pick her up.
There was joy in my heart as I made my way back to retrieve her. I had to remind myself that it had been years since I brought a new cat into my home and we would be strangers to one another. Still, with my many years of cat ownership, I felt that there was nothing that I couldn’t handle. The shelter had labeled her as special needs and there was a discussion about her diet. Again, from my prior experience, I knew I could handle that situation as I had been through it before. They did share that she was surrendered when her previous owner had to go into a nursing home. I brought my carrier in and staff escorted me to her kennel. The door was open and she automatically walked from the kennel into the carrier. I was amazed at how easy she made the transition. Maybe she knew I was breaking her out and good things lay ahead.
When we arrived home, I opened the carrier door and she walked out. I watched as she made her way cautiously around the living room and into the hallway. At that point I noticed she had a severe limp. It hurt me to watch her walk. Without hesitating I called the shelter and asked if they were aware of her limp. I was told they were and they had it checked. At the time they couldn’t determine the cause. I was heartsick and felt betrayed. At no time was this shared with me as a potential adopter. Choosing a cat is different than selecting a shelter dog. You don’t walk them and checking their mobility is not usually a factor. Why were her dietary needs shared rather than her limp? I immediately had rescuer’s remorse. What was wrong with her? My pockets are not deep and I was concerned that I would not be able to afford the medical care she might need. I was torn. She is a living creature and the thought of possibly returning her was upsetting. It’s not like making a return to customer service with merchandise. I was angry with myself for making such a hasty decision. I was angry with the shelter for not having full disclosure. The only one who elicited a compassionate response in me was the cat.
A trip to check her out medically was a necessity. I poured my heart out to the vet and explained the dilemma I was facing. She was sincere in her support of me keeping the cat and acknowledged that a cat like her would most likely remain languishing in the shelter. I don’t know if that trip caused more anxiety for me or the cat. She was stressed to the point that x-rays would not be possible that day. I was sent home with prescriptions and the plan to return the following week for the needed x-rays. Trying to bond with a cranky cat who was not interested in taking medication proved to be difficult. Soon time gave way to her appointment and I learned sedation was needed to get her to cooperate for the x-rays. I won’t leave you in suspense. The limp is caused by severe arthritis. There are no options other than a daily supplement and monthly shots. Even before I learned of her diagnosis I knew I couldn’t return her to the shelter. I took the responsibility of bringing her home and that is where she will stay. The vet, again supporting my determination, wrote off a large portion of the bill.
I can tell you that just after one month she is doing well. The limp has not totally subsided but it is obvious she is feeling better. She is affectionate and playful. The hissing and growling has subsided. I recognize that she was trying to make an adjustment while in pain. I am comfortable in my decision to keep her. I felt all along there was a reason that we were connected. She never asked to be in this situation, surrendered and in need of medical care. My adoption of Molly may not change anything outside of our lives but it brings a sense of satisfaction. I would not ordinarily think that rescuing a cat could be considered taking a risk but in a way it was. Her unexpected medical needs made me realize that I am not only her source of care but also her voice. You may wonder if I learned anything more from this experience. Taking the chance on one of God’s creatures opened my eyes to other possible expectations of myself. How much greater would it be to take a risk and act as a supporter and advocate to another human being? Again, it might not change the world but the individual that I reach out to may find their load a bit lighter. As this new year begins and resolutions are made, I will look upon the needs of others as opportunities rather than burdens.
Quotation
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“Life is all memory, except for the one present moment that goes by you so quickly you hardly catch it going.”
Tennessee Williams
“Memory is the diary we all carry about with us.”
Oscar Wilde
Time Has Passed
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On a recent Saturday, during this holiday season, I couldn’t help but reflect on how life constantly changes. So often we are called to resurrect old traditions as we gather and celebrate and yet sometimes we choose to keep them tucked away. Time can show us that what was once the norm can be replaced with something more currently appropriate. Memories can become a tangle of events, possibly never sorted through or offered the light of day again. There are times, like this particular Saturday, when a memory strikes a nerve and one must acknowledge that it is just that, a memory and time has passed.
My career has centered mainly on nonprofits. Many times I witnessed how volunteers would be the lifeline of these organizations. During my tenure I have worked side by side with those called to generously share their time and talents. During a shopping excursion, on this particular Saturday, I thought I spotted a former volunteer. It has been at least 20 years since we held our positions and worked together. I momentarily held back but as I was sure it was him I did decide to call his name. I was met with a smile and a warm embrace. There was the usual exchange of pleasantries and a quick catch up on what we were currently involved in, career wise. I shared with him how I have never forgotten an event where he provided service above and beyond what was expected. Although he was humble in his response, it felt good to share that particular memory. After our parting, I recalled the energy and passion I possessed while in my role. Time has passed. I may currently support programs which benefit the community but it is now from a different vantage point. Then I was ready to lead the charge, currently I remain conscientious in my role but the drive to lead has subsided.
Later in the evening I went to the cemetery where my parents are buried to see the annual luminaria display. The landscape was aglow as each grave had a candle lit in memory of those who have passed. I parked the car and walked to my parents’ grave. There was a young couple with their son visiting the grave located above my parents. They lingered and in the darkness I didn’t know if they were aware I was behind them. Concerned that I might startle them I advised them I was there. Conversation was not lengthy but I learned her father had made his transition in 2009. Judging from her current age, it appeared that she must have been young when she lost him. Not being able to ease the grief she must still carry, I invited her to use my family’s marble bench whenever she visited her father. The loss of my parents is not fresh and the grief is not as intense as it was originally. Time has passed. I realized I am at the point in my life where it is my generation that has stepped up to fill the void. A lifetime of experience and memories can fill one’s soul. Forward movement, no matter what the pace, is always important.
On my way home that evening, I passed the house where I lived in my early adult years. It was the home where I resided as a newlywed and as a new mother it was the home where I brought our son. It was also the home I inhabited when I realized my marriage was over. Although it looks much the same as it did years ago, time has passed. If I were to stop and cross the porch and threshold as I did thousands of times previously, I would be met with resistance. The current owners are oblivious to the lifetime I spent there. The conversations held and the breaths taken are long gone. There is no reason to resurrect the dreams that were once held close to my heart as I am a different person now. I am content to leave them where they lie.
It felt ironic that a particular Saturday, during this holiday season, could impose the reality of the passage of time and the losses it has wrought. I am proud of the accomplishments I achieved while I climbed the proverbial ladder of success. The view was invigorating while I was there but I am satisfied with my current vision. My parents might no longer be here physically but the memories of them remain strong and the lessons they taught continue to resonate. I am cognizant that I must carry the torch for them. It has been several years since I lived in a household with others. I am very much accustomed to being responsible for all aspects of my life. Time has passed. Every day brings a fresh start. It is important to choose what part of the past is no longer serving us and pack it away. It is never truly gone but by putting it aside one allows a newness to enter and keep stagnation at bay.
My wish for you, during this holiday season, would be to create lasting memories with your loved ones. Hopefully these memories will remain with you and are light to carry. If that isn’t possible, treat yourself well and hold hope for the New Year. Time will pass. I hope what you choose to carry with you is well worth the energy it takes to pack and it brings you joy as you continue on your way.
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“There are hundred of paths up the mountain, all leading to the same place, so it doesn’t matter which path you take. The only person wasting time is the one who runs around the mountain, telling everyone that his or her path is wrong.”
Hindu proverb
Solitary
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What makes us who we are? Is it heredity, environment, experiences or innate personality? This question has resonated with me various times in my life. I often feel that I fall in the minority of what most consider the norm. None of us should exhibit cookie cutter uniformity and our uniqueness should be celebrated. That being said, being content within one’s choices may come into question by those who choose another path.
For the last twenty years I have walked solo through life. This comes as a result of divorce. It’s not that I am against relationships. I dated and married. My son and I are close, my immediate and extended family care for one another and I have a large and varied circle of friends. Yet for the past two decades I have not had a romantic relationship. To be honest, I looked around when I was newly divorced and spent some time cruising through the dating sites, yet I could not bring myself to seriously pursue it. It might have been the expected activity but throughout my life I have always bristled at following the standard.
I could safely say that I would have been considered a tom boy. I thought my future was to either join the Navy, following in my father’s footsteps, or be the first female player for the Baltimore Orioles. The second would have never happened for many reasons but mainly because I was no athlete. I did have a sense of propriety as I matured. I chose not to take typing in high school as I knew I didn’t want the role of being someone’s secretary. The ability to type was remedied later as it is difficult to exist in the professional realm or as a writer without having command of the keyboard. As I look back at this time in my life I see where I was laying the foundation of individuality.
I would like to return to my original question. What elements in life contribute to one’s personality? I evidently never saw a wedding as a glorious event to dream about starting early in life. When I turned eight a friend gave me a bride doll. She was about six inches tall, covered in what appeared to be a satin and lace gown. As a miniature bride, she was showcased in a cardboard box with a cellophane front. The doll stood before a fancy backdrop and that is where she would stay. I remember those at my birthday party being envious of such a beautiful doll but it did nothing for me. She would never have the opportunity to escape her display and mingle with my Barbie and all her friends.
I was responsible for the fate of my bride doll and I continue to fashion my own. I don’t let life stop as a result of not having a significant other. I go to concerts solo and have the realization that I am there to see the performance and not to chat with someone sitting next to me. I take vacations without a travel partner. My house is decorated as I like yet there are times when I think it would be nice to have someone else living under the same roof. Those times are few and far between. Honestly, the only time I have felt that way would be the times I had to step up to do something undesirable. The removal of a black snake from my dining room was one such time.
Is my choice of a solo lifestyle so unusual? I can recall my late mother often saying that she wish I had someone in my life. I appreciated her love and concern. I also recognized she was part of a generation where you married and your husband took care of you. I am grateful that I am not bound by those constraints. When I look in the mirror I see an independent and courageous woman. I can appreciate someone as being attractive or an interesting conversationalist but I don’t need to have another individual in my life to feel whole. I am not critical of those who do seek to share their life with someone. I revel in their joy when they find that special person and admire their dedication and commitment. We are all on a personal journey and the path we follow should be our own. It may be cliché’ but the time tested practice of live and let live should be embraced. Our passage through this life will be so much more rewarding if we follow the course meant for us and let others navigate theirs.
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“There are few monsters who warrant the fear we have of them.”
Andre Gide
Behind the Door
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Our father was career Navy and he had a very sea intensive rate. Toward the end of his career he was able to secure a billet opening as a recruiter. It was during this period that our parents felt like it was time to relocate and permanently move to this new location. They thought it would a good place to raise children. A search for a house was undertaken and they chose the home where our roots were planted and we were raised. I was too young to appreciate it at the time but I have the suspicion that it might have been considered a fixer-upper. We settled in and shortly found expansion was needed. Our youngest brother made his entrance and our grandfather came to live with us. Thus began the constant renovation and repair that kept our father busy.
One major transformation that took place was the expansion and enclosure of the upstairs back porch. My father fashioned it into a dorm-like room for my three brothers. I, being the only girl, had the benefit of having my own room. The walls were covered with a juvenile print that remained in place much too long. My room also held the entrance to the attic. The door hid the enclosed steps and created a bit of an alcove. At one point my desk took up residence in that opening. Although my father had spent time picking up this unfinished piece of furniture, covering the top with laminate and staining the remainder, it wasn’t used all that often. I preferred to do my homework sitting on my bed. For years I had no desire to be close to that door.
The house is just over a hundred years old now but it always seemed older. The access to the attic didn’t allow for use beyond storage. As you would walk up the steps you would need to lean in and hunch over to reach the actual floor space. There was such a steep pitch to the roof line at that point that no one with any height could traverse it without earning a severe bump to the head. The chimney rose up through the middle and boxes of seasonal decorations and other items took up space on the wooden floor. A bare light bulb, hanging from above, was needed if you went up after dark but it was much more comfortable to go up during the day and make use of the natural light the windows provided. There was another reason I chose not to go up into the attic at night, one that I presumed would keep me safe. I learned something treacherous would be found behind the door at night.
My one brother spun a tale, so believable, that I had no doubt it was true: a hunchback lived in our attic. By the nature of his being, this creature was both cunning and devious. His focus, as I understood, would be to continue to live in our home without detection. As much as I might protest his existence, my brother had a convincing reply to every one of my utterances. I never saw any sign of him in the attic space. I was told that he vacates the space during the day. He would climb out my window and onto the roof that covered the front porch. He would grasp for a branch from the maple tree which would allow him to climb down the rest of the way. He would have returned by nightfall, when he would slip down the steps and into my bedroom while I slept. I found it unsettling to hear how he would stand over my bed and drool. My brother thought it was incredible that I wasn’t aware of the residue on my sheets and blankets. Surprisingly, there was no validity to this story. I smile now to think about how gullible I was and how creative my brother was to provide such a convincing tale. It makes for a terrific story now, often told with a great amount of laughter. The hunchback, that I dreaded all those years, has now taken up residency in the crawl space under my house. I have no doubt it is true as I was informed of this development, again, by my brother.
These days my brother shares other bits of wisdom with me. It is he who has told me that worry is paying for a debt that seldom comes due. I think fear might work the same way. For years I feared the hunchback, when in reality he was only a figment of imagination. There was no danger in opening the attic door at night. I might not have missed any opportunities by not going into the attic after dark but there have been times in life that I felt apprehension about what was on the other side of the door. Life isn’t as frivolous as a game show that has you make a choice between doors number one, two or three. Often it does nudge you forward through a figurative door and into new territory. Fear, a natural emotion, can become a hindrance. I am not proposing that one moves forward without thought or by taking dangerous risks but don’t let the weight of fear rob you of new possibilities and growth. It takes courage to open the door and perseverance to walk through it. Don’t be frightened if that door appears to slam behind you. Let the gust it creates boost your forward movement and continue to carry you onward with additional support.
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“Animals have a much better attitude to life and death than we do. They know when their time has come. We are the ones that suffer when they pass, but it’s a healing kind of grief that enables us to deal with other griefs that are not so easy to grab hold of.”
Emmylou Harris
Season Changes
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I have been home, recovering from surgery, for two months. While recuperating, I realized that life has continued and my lack of participation has not stopped the march of time. I missed the end of the summer season. The farm stands that offered corn, watermelon and cantaloupes now are full of pumpkins and squash. The lush green canopy of trees have become swirling red, yellow and orange leaves, providing a colorful carpet upon the ground. There have even been changes in my personal life. Prior to returning to work I decided it was time for a new hair style. I am now revisiting my short and curly look. There is one more obvious change in my life; for the first time in over thirty five years, I have no cat underfoot.
I don’t plan on making this a memorial to Scout, but I do want to share a bit about her. When I purchased my home eighteen years ago, she turned up in my yard. Whenever I was outside she would be there, bouncing and jumping around. For being such a tiny kitten she was spending her time with the big cats as part of a feral colony. I was not looking for another cat as I already had two residing with me. I reconsidered when thinking about the age of one, who was nineteen at the time. I thought for sure I would lose her sometime in the near future and rescuing Scout would allow me to return to life with two cats again. My elderly cat lived to see twenty two. For several years I was the crazy cat lady with three cats.
Scout spent years unapologetically continuing to show her feral roots. She was often referred to as the invisible cat as she would make herself scarce if I had visitors. During her life with me she shared space with a total of three other different cats and she was left when it was time for each of them to cross the Rainbow Bridge. For the last two years of her life, she was my “one and only” and she easily adapted to life without competition for food and affection. She finally came out of her shell and acknowledged that she was comfortable with receiving attention from my guests. In the past two months, as I recuperated, she had been my constant companion. I noticed her weight loss but attributed it to the fact that she had reached the age of eighteen and time was taking its toll.
I think that there is something to human psychology and spending time together that has you overlook gradual changes. Those who have not seen someone for a period of time can readily pick up on them. Scout continued to lose weight and yet her appetite increased. I didn’t initially notice as she maintained her normal routine. She would wake me each morning and would talk to me as she led me into the kitchen. She was affectionate as ever and I would pet her, listen to her purr but I could feel her bones under her skin. Her coat remained shiny and silky. A vet visit confirmed that her organs were well but she had developed a mass. I knew that a tough decision lay ahead of me. I resented the fact that I had to return to work. If I remained home I could monitor her and not feel like I was cutting her life short.
I finally came to the conclusion that I was denying the true state of her health and wasn’t doing her any favors by not taking the responsible steps. I continued to vacillate until the final moments. Once she was gone I realized that I had a sense of relief. She loved me unconditionally and trusted me. For years she knew she would be fed and the litter box would be clean. She knew she would be safe, warm and loved. This was the final step in our relationship. The change I dreaded has happened and I go on. There is positive side, I realize that the loss of Scout allows me to offer a safe haven to another homeless cat in the future. I also recognize there is a greater lesson. Sometimes the changes we dread the most, propel us to a new environment filled with opportunity and unexpected rewards and goodness. The loss of a loved one creates a figurative void in our hearts. I have come to understand that grief can expand your heart to a point that it feels like it will burst. It feels as if it has been stretched, creating an even larger void. When the time is right, there is a possibility that we can be blessed by something else that will fill that void. It won’t be the same, nor should it. As we continue to live and breathe, our hearts are still beating and capable of love. It’s up to us to be open to it.
Harvesting Life 