Kitty Chronicles

Trick Daddy almost died the other day. He's our seven-year old cat, black and shiny, sensitive and moody. Strangers don't really care for him. He isn't very nice to them. He hisses and haws. He looks crazy-eyed and aggressive. He's swiped a few house guests here and there.

We found him in 2004 in Dave's old condo complex. According to the vet, he was probably one years old. He was crying and roaming and looked unkept and lost. When we offered him milk, he lapped it. When we opened our door, he jumped on our old black leather couches and started cleaning himself contently. Every once in awhile he would do a little happy cat twist for us.

He was dirty and scrappy and we figured full of disease. We bathed him and he let us. He still does to this day. We put out a plate of rocks for him to pee on that night. I did it to soothe Dave, figuring it would never work. It did. Our kitty peed on a plate of rocks. To this day, he's never soiled a floor.

He never wanted to leave again. We frequently opened the door so he could find home, if he had one. He refused. To be honest, we didn't look too hard for any previous owners. I mitigate that sin within myself by reassuring myself that he was either abandoned or ran away from home.

Through the years, Trick stayed with me as Dave and I moved in and out of each other's homes as we navigated our young relationship. To us, Trick has been the picture perfect cat. A lap cat. The kind of cat that nuzzles in the morning and purrs by your ear. An indoor-outdoor cat for years, he always would come when he was called. At his nightly curfew, I could call into the dark apartment parking lots of the apartments I lived in, and like a black panther, I would see Trick barrelling across the yard running towards me. Eager to please. Like a puppy.

Unfortunately, due to his extreme intolerance of others, I suspect many of the loved ones in my life secretly believe that I'd be better off without him.  Yet most people don't see the Trick that Dave and I see. The cat we adore for his intelligence and smarts, his love and his loyalty. This is the cat I protect, I feed, I love. My kitties bring me great joy. (To read about our furry sociable two-year-old kitty Diego, click here).

The point of this whole thing is: Trick almost died the other day. And I almost completely lost it.

We don't let the cats freely roam here. But we do have a fenced backyard they frequently explore. Little Diego doesn't attempt escape, but Trick does. Unsupervised, he'll be gone in a flash. As was the case the other day. I went into the house for a few minutes to check on dinner. Within minutes, Trick was gone.

I ventured into the neighborhood and quickly spotted Trick exploring a lush hillside directly across the street from our house. I approached him.

Something spooked Trick and he started running. Directly into the street towards the house. Not particularly scary, except at that exact moment a teal Toyota RAV4 was speeding around the corner. The driver must have not been paying much, if any, attention.  The bulbous figure of the 8-month pregnant woman wearing a hot pink tank top in the middle of the street, chasing after her sprinting cat did not cause the driver pause.  My flailing arms did not cause him pause either.

I didn't see the driver brake until the screaming started. My blood-curdling scream cut the air as I watched. With complete horror. My cat go in front of the car. Right in front of the speeding car. I watched him disappear. They met in exactly the same place. Trick didn't just miss the car. The car and my cat met. In the middle of the street.

In that moment. I saw the flash. I saw my cat's limp body splayed on the street. I saw the end of an era. I saw the guilt flood like disease through me. I saw my grief.  I lived that nightmare. Lived in its horror completely. And then the moment passed.

Trick had gone UNDER the car. The car got him head on. BUT it did not squish him or hit him. He went UNDER the front tires and in his furious kitty hurry he made it out the side. Of a moving car. Unharmed. Guided by a divine hand.

I saw Trick, tail ballooned, jump an 8-foot fence in one leap, scrambling over the side back into our yard.

Inside, once we found Trick safely under our bed, Dave told me he heard that horrific scream of mine.  I broke down. I cried for atleast an hour. Convulsing with each vision of that moment. The moment I saw Trick dead. I was so shaken up.

Now it's days later. Trick was weird at first, hiding under the bed. The vet said 'he'll be ok' and gave us some anti-inflammatory and bandages for his paws and some clips for his bloody nails that dug into the pavement and the fence. And he's better now. But sometimes, when I look at him, that vision causes me to shudder.

Mostly, it made me think of being a mother. How I felt so responsible for my cat and how that feeling must be a billion times more intense when you have your own kid. How would I cope with being the person responsible for another person? This person will depend on me TO LIVE. I feel that so strongly with my cats, I realized how much more serious it is going to be as a mother.

I can imagine as a mother towards her child it's over the moon more tangible, more frightening, more gripping than that. How do mothers cope with the fear? The fear of losing something you love that much? I'm scared to imagine that. Scared to feel that. If I feel this towards my cat, how paralyzing will my love for my child be?