CAT LADY

            In Ancient Egypt cats were treated with great respect.  One reason is religious: because the goddess Bast (a popular and revered God, and the protector of all cats) was worshipped in the form of a cat from 3200 BC and the second is secular: when the cat was domesticated around 2500 BC, they guarded royal granaries and kept them free from vermin that threatened the Egyptian’s food supply.  As far back as I can remember, I have had a  love of felines.  If you are a dog lover, half of us are, please don’t stop reading.  I have some cat tales I believe you will find interesting.  If you are wondering, “How in the heck does this relate to recovery?” read on.

            It all began with Ink Spot or Inky for short.  I had begged my mother for years to let me have a cat.  She always responded with, “We don’t have enough room, our apartment is too small.”  I was determined I could care for a small animal on my own and continued to nag her until she gave in.  My stepfather was actually on my side (one of the few times) because he, too, was fond of cats.  They surprised me for my 10^th birthday with a beautiful Persian cat, 16 weeks old.  When he jumped out of the box and ran for cover he scared me because I had been imagining a small kitten.  Inky was jet black and rather fluffy.  This big, dark puff ball bolted under my bed and would not come out for hours.  I was heart-sick because I couldn’t believe I was finally allowed a pet and he didn’t like me.  I was so starved for love I think I expected an instantaneous bond.  After awhile he came poking out from under the tattered white chenille spread, curious about his surroundings.  That did it!  He and I were inseparable.  I would talk to him and share my problems.  Whenever I was unfairly punished I would cry and he would literally lick my tears.  He looked deep into my eyes as though he understood.  Inky slept with me every night and would hide with me under the covers.  He was by best friend.  Just as the chaos intensified in our house my precious pet didn’t come inside one evening.  My dear Uncle Wally drove me all over town looking for him and after days of searching we found him dead at the side of the road.  My pal was gone and I didn’t even have a picture of him.  It was many years before I would open my heart to another animal.

It was 1972, soon after Joey and I had moved to San Francisco and we both wanted a cat.  At the time Joey was managing an apartment building and no pets were allowed.  I was willing to wait until we began our new pottery business in Santa Rosa but Joey insisted. Out of fear, I would always do whatever he wanted even if it meant going against my better judgment.  We searched the Want Ads and visited the local SPCA looking for a black cat.  There was a small ad in the classified section that said, Kittens Free.  We followed a woman’s directions to a large abandoned tavern next to the defunct San Francisco Playland Amusement Park.  It was strange and eerie.  Although the bar was no longer functioning, it was set up and poised for anyone to have a drink.  The woman who placed the ad, Bitsy, was no where to be found.  We just sort of wandered about aimlessly and on occasion would go outside and check the address to make sure we had gotten it right.  We began calling her name and soon a tiny, shriveled woman, made her entrance from a dim back room.  I said, “Are you Bitsy? Do you have kittens?”  She didn’t answer me, just grunted and motioned for us to follow her.  We actually had to lean down, and crawl through a space pushing open a low creaking door that would stick periodically.  Shockingly at least 30 adult cats occupied this dusty supply closet.  They were jumping and running everywhere, just narrowly missing our heads.  It was scary!  Just as I was about to leave Bitsy climbed up on a loft and yanked a tiny black kitten from its mother’s nipples.  I said, “Is she old enough to leave her mother?” 

            Bitsy replied, “Oh sure!”  I am convinced she had so many cats she didn’t care if the kitten was too young.  She was taking every opportunity she had to find homes for the litter.  When Bitsy placed this little baby in my hands the kitten didn’t even fill my palm. 

Just like everything else up to that point in time, I didn’t have the guts to say, “This kitten is too young to take home.”  We took her and left.  For the next few weeks we were Eva’s surrogate mother.  Joey and I worked together to nurture this tiny creature and help her stabilize.  We fed her from a doll’s baby bottle and kept her warm with towels.  After about one month of care, she began eating and drinking on her own.  Since I hadn’t had the chance to be a mother myself, this experience proved to be rewarding.  I wanted another cat.  Within days of my wish we acquired Ethyl, a calico Manx, a wonderful addition to our feline family.

Soon it was moving day to an old western tavern dating from the late 1800’s in Santa Rosa where we planned to build a pottery. We found ourselves in an outrageous situation when we arrived to the building that was to double as our future business and home. The guts had been removed and the space was trashed.  We lived there for 6 months without heat or hot water.  I have documented this unbelievable story in I Survived: One Woman’s Journey of Self-Healing and Transformation on DVD.  The day

we moved in and discovered this horror; we also were gifted with a special omen:  a beautiful white bunny who had been abandoned and left on our doorstep.  Ethyl and Eva became fast friends with this friendly rabbit.  We named him Peter and found out a few years later he should have been named Peterina.  This was told to us by a woman who came into our life in the most unusual way:  After the Santa Rosa debacle, we moved to an apartment in Fairfax, western Marin County, CA.  The two cats were allowed but not the bunny rabbit.  We felt so responsible for the care and feeding of this beautiful guy Peter that we would drive to Santa Rosa, ½ hour each way, everyday to feed him.  It was getting tiring.  I happened to be in the bank and overheard a woman tell the banker that she wanted a bunny for her daughter.  I am not kidding!  And, it wasn’t even close to Easter.  I introduced myself and explained our situation.  She said, “I would love Peter Rabbit for my little girl.”  She even drove there to pick him up.  We kept in touch for several years and it was she who told me she purchased another male rabbit for companionship and “lo and behold,” Peter had babies several times.

            About the same time a girl, where I worked, heard me talking about Ethyl, the Manx.  She brought a box to my house with a special little black Manx kitty rollicking inside.  I couldn’t resist him.  Although I knew better, I just had to add to our family of cats.  Now we had three babies.  (See picture of Joey with Eva, Ethyl and Edgar.)  I began learning the joys of sharing a life with such special pets.  We had three young ones at the same time and we felt privileged to watch their antics when we were at home in the evenings.

            One morning when Joey and I were off to Clay in Mind, our ceramic studio, we found a silky ebony cat asleep in the back seat of our Ford Pinto.  He was adorable when we awakened him.  He yawned, stretched, and it seemed like he was talking to us: Hey you guys, well your window was open and I needed a warm cozy spot to sleep so I helped myself.  I hope you don’t mind.  I didn’t make a mess.  I hated to have to put him out of the car to leave, he looked so comfortable. 

As we drove away I watched him find a cool spot on the concrete in the corner of the car port.  I thought about him all day.  When we returned that night he was still there.  I couldn’t bear to see him hanging out like that.  Although we were way over our limit as to pets, Joey and I agreed we would at least feed him, but not bring him in with the other three.  We lived in a third floor walk-up and the stairwell was open all the way to our apartment.  He followed us upstairs without hesitation.  I fed him outside our door and then he left.  For the next few weeks he would show up early in the morning and scratch loudly, or cry, until he got his food.  He repeated this in the evening, no matter how late we returned. 

I decided to try and locate his owner, if he had one.  I scoured the neighborhood asking questions and was led to a residence down the street.   The stray cat was right at my heels when I approached this mysterious looking building.  He hung near me as if he knew something was coming.  I rang the bell several times and finally a guy in his underpants answered the door.  Just as he was about to speak, a hefty black dog came charging and barking out of the house.  The little cat went flying up my long shirt.  Ouch!  We two adults and two animals were screeching in horror, with the dog’s leash flailing in circles.  What a sight!  Finally, the owner of the dog managed to yank him inside.   The cat jumped down from my waist and took off like lightning.  Now I knew where he lived.  The guy in skivvies said, “Oh, so that is where Skip has been?  Yeah, I got this dog and the cat never came home again.  I wondered what happened.  Do you want him?”

 “Do I want him, do I want him!  Well, I certainly know he isn’t going to stay with you,” I thought.

“I already have three cats, but I will feed him and see what I can do to find him a good home.”

We continued our same feeding ritual for months.  It was when Joey and I were going to San Diego for a week, it all changed.  The woman who was going to cat-sit for us came by to meet our feline family.  I told her the situation with Tasha (we had named him by now) and she said, “Oh, there is no way this cat is going to come up three flights of stairs exactly when I come once a day.  We’ll just have to leave him inside.” 

“Yee Gods,” I said.  Won’t they all fight and kill each other?  Our apartment is so small.”

“Nope, leave it to me.  I am the original cat lady.  They will be fine!” We did just as she said and the cats survived without a problem.  We now had a furry family of four!  They accepted each other as brothers and sisters.  It was I who had the fear of assimilation.  We spent many happy years with Eva, Ethyl, Edgar and Tasha.

In 1979 Joey and I moved to a historic street in San Francisco. The home we purchased was one of the only single family dwellings on the block.  There were several brownstones and apartment buildings.  I wasn’t aware how often people moved out and just left their pets, especially cats.  The day we arrived with our furniture we were greeted by three stray cats crying at our back door.  I was a “sucker” for unwanted animals.  It broke my heart.  I thought, “What do we do now?”  At first we didn’t do anything and just tried to ignore them while our brood of four would sit at the backdoor for hours hissing at the strangers outside.  Our cats had lived inside since we had first gotten them.  I started noticing that one of the neighbors in the building next door would put out a can of wet food about once a week!  Once a week wasn’t going to “cut it” for these poor creatures.  I decided I would feed the strays downstairs twice a day just as I did our cats.  So, up and down I went to the basement with wet food, dry food and bowls of water.  We officially had two separate cat families.

One day I was outside and I spoke with the neighbor and asked her if she knew who had owned the cats.  Her reply was, “Yes, there was a woman who lived in your house for many years and she loved her cat Penny, the one that resembles a raccoon.”

“What happened to her,” I said.

“The old lady went to a nursing home and when her attorney came to get her cat I hid her because I didn’t want them to take her to a shelter.”

I was speechless, because in my opinion it would have been better to let a shelter find a nice home for a cat then to have her starve outside for days or weeks.  I learned right then that when you live in a crowded city you will meet a variety of people with differing views about the care and feeding of animals. 

She told me that the other two abandoned cats had recently joined Penny in her crusade to get back inside the house where she had lived for so many years.  We decided that since we had taken the responsibility for the outdoor crew we would name Penny’s cohorts Thelma and Spotty. These guys spent their time lounging on the deck in the sun while our four would sit at the backdoor watching them in envy.  It was a pitiful sight.  It wasn’t long before Joey and I decided we would let our indoor cats out for at least a few hours a day.  I was panicked because I had seen Spotty wandering the streets of San Francisco many times and I didn’t want him teaching our pampered ones his tricks.  But, when I saw how happy they all were together, I caved.  I learned if you just give the animals time to get to know each other, they will do fine.

During these years I was a dreadfully sick woman.  I was in denial as to the depth of Joey’s and my illness.  I was struggling to make a living as an actress and an artist.  I learned to put on a good show and I kept my pain hidden from most of my peers. www.ISurvivedDocumentary.com. Because I couldn’t bare the life I was leading, cats became the focus of my attention.  They are pure love.  I truly believe that animals are gifts to us from God.  They would sleep with us, curl up on the sofa purring constantly, and all of them seemed to look into my eyes with a depth of understanding that was reassuring.  I enjoyed nurturing them and received great comfort in their presence.  Without knowing what I was doing, I continued to add this form of love to my life.

The deck on the back of our house was butted up against the next door neighbor’s property; I could practically see into their living room.  One day I sauntered outside and a magnificent white Persian cat was staring at me.  She started crying and I knew she wanted attention.  There was a fence creating the boundary between our two residences.  I couldn’t get to her and it didn’t matter anyway because she obviously belonged to the guy who lived next door.  I thought she was beautiful and I wished I could pet her.  Unfortunately her crying and hanging outside her door went on all day, everyday. 

One night I introduced myself to the young man I thought owned the white Persian.  I told him how she was lonely, had no other cats to play with, and I invited her to join the troops at my house.  He said, “Oh that would be great.  I am a student and between school and work I am gone a lot.  Her name is Lady Buffington, Buffy for short.  She is 14 years old and I have had her since she was a kitten.  I brought her from New Orleans when I moved to San Francisco.  We weren’t here even a week when she escaped, climbed up to the roof and fell down two stories to the ground breaking her jaw.  Oh my gosh, she has been through so much during her lifetime.  She has had several operations and serious illnesses.  That would be so kind of you if you don’t mind.”  We carved a hole in the fence and Buffy lunged through immediately.

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Tasha, Kay and Buffy - 1980		Tasha and Edgar - 1981		Kay with Little Mother's baby - 1980		Joey with Peter rabbit and Eva -1972		Joey with Eva, Ethyl and Edgar - 1974
Edgar - 1982		Coming together - 1980		The upstairs crew - 1979		Penny on the outside, Buffy on the inside - 1980		Joey with Eva and Ethyl - 1972

Only, Buffy wasn’t happy being outside with the rest of the gang.  No, she wanted to be with me.  She followed me everywhere and wanted my attention all the time.  I adored her so I didn’t care.  I felt we had a special bond.  I found some beautiful stationery and wrote a letter from my heart asking if there was any chance this young man would let me have Buffy for the rest of her life.  I was nervous about delivering the note because I thought it was presumptuous of me, but I felt compelled.  Much to my surprise this is what he said, “I was hoping you would ask.  I love her but I have seen how she relates to you.  But I would like something in return.   I am fond of your outdoor cat Thelma.  What if we trade?”  It was just that simple; we did it.  Buffy loved it at our house and Thelma was a queen next door.

It was late spring when Eva, our first, was 9 years old and her time to go.  I hadn’t lost a cat since my childhood when Inky died.  Just a few hours after I had her euthanatized I was standing at the back door thinking of her with great sadness. I was looking at our overgrown garden filled with rich emerald ferns when I heard a little peep/squeak.  I thought I was hearing things, but it sounded like a baby kitten.  I called Joey and asked him to listen with me.  Oh yeah, the chirping continued.  We ventured outside and plowed through the dense foliage to find a small, thin black cat that had just given birth to a baby black cat.  It was uncanny, on the day of Eva’s death.

As we approached the duo the feral mother cat ran away.  She was so tiny she looked like a kitten herself.  Her baby was left on the ground.  We had already been through this once before with Eva; we weren’t about to raise another kitten.  But, what were we to do?  We decided to bring food out to the very spot where she had given birth in the ferns.  We made chicken soup, yes, I know it sounds crazy, but soup it was indeed.  The little mother came back and devoured anything we brought her and continued to nurse her newborn kitten.  She was too frightened to let us near her and would run away as we approached with the food.  But, then shortly thereafter, she would return and gobble her meals.  We knew we needed to find a home for the baby at about eight weeks old if she were ever to have a chance.  We weren’t quite sure what was going to happen to Little Mother.

My girlfriend agreed to adopt the black kitten who looked just like Eva.  The most horrible thing happened after my friend left.  Little Mother grieved deeply; she cried a long, low, desperate shrill for days.  I tried several times to corral her with no luck.  When I finally thought I had her, she took off and scurried up a hole in the neighbor’s house and became lodged between the walls.  It kept going from bad to worse.  After days of hiding she climbed out to eat.  I slowly began moving the food closer to the basement where I fed the downstairs crew.  This took weeks of work and much patience.  But, it worked!  Little Mother was now a part of a family. 

I could never hold her therefore I was unable to have her spayed.  One year later she gave birth again to one black kitten.  This time she allowed me to make a special spot for her in the basement and she seemed grateful to use it for birthing and then to raise her baby.  I knew it was time to try and find her a home.  I put an ad in the local paper, prayed that a miracle would happen and someone would take an undomesticated cat and her kitten.  My friends said I was crazy and that no one would want any part of that package.  Never say never; a woman and her son read my truthful ad and agreed to take them both.  Getting them to their home was a chore!  They almost brought them back when Little Mother became wild, jumping and scratching, all over an enclosed bathroom.  But, for some reason, the nice family hung in there and put Little Mother in their garage, much like our basement, where she lived for many years.  Amazingly, she gave birth EACH spring to one black kitten. 

A Cat Lady has cat stories.  The ones that I will share next time I find truly incredible.  The most astonishing are when I am on the path to recovery and have a family with Bryan and Mariah.  To be continued . . . . . . .