An Act of Compassion

     It is the chain of life.  All creatures on earth seem to have its predator.  I did something as an act of compassion.  Yet, I still wonder if I had done the right thing that day.  As a cat lover, what do you think you would have done?

AN ACT OF COMPASSION

Beneath my feet upon the ground,

There came a chirping sound,

A feathery creature with mouth open wide,

Standing ever so close by my side.

Bending over, my hands reached out, 

Trying to rescue it, no doubt,

I wanted to care for its injuries and feed,

But off rather quickly it did so speed.

A cat on all fours in slump,

Out of his place of hiding he did jump, 

After toying with his prey as if a game,

In hot pursuit of him he now came.

It a speeding bird unable for me to catch,

The cat I caught since for me no match,

Lifting him in my arms I held him tight,

Questioning if what I was doing was even right.

I had helped a bird from his predator get away,

It appeared him now safe and okay,

As my emotional feeling had become one of cold,

I did so continue that cat to hold.

It's my compassion that had stopped that act,

The love for a helpless creature that made me react,

Though it's an animal's instinct to kill its prey,

I had just prevented that cat from getting his way.

A Cat's Worth

     I had a friend several years ago whose husband did not like cats.  He wouldn't allow my friend, Lisa, or her children to get cats for pets.  He was ok with dogs, but he clearly DID NOT LIKE CATS. It was a real point of contention with me.  It really bothered me.  I liked the man (we'll call him Bud), but I just can't comprehend why someone wouldn't like one of the sweetest, gentlest creatures in God's creation.
     I was surprised one day, when my friend called me to say that Bud had consented and let her get two kittens.  Two OUTDOOR kittens, of course. A male and a female--brother and sister. They lived on a little piece of property out in the country and Bud had decided it might be a good idea to have the cats to keep the critters at bay.  After about 6 months, I spoke with Bud and Lisa about the cats. They were down to only one cat, Lisa sadly reported to me.  The female was a valuable hunter.  The male had been lazy and hunted nothing.  Bud had kept the female, but the male had been sent somewhere else to live.  He had not "proven his worth," and had suffered the consequences.
     That was a long time ago.  I still think about that.  A cat was only valuable to Bud if it killed things.  Otherwise, it was worthless.  No, Bud still isn't a cat lover.  He never came around. This is not a story of his transformation.
      I used to think about his view of a valuable cat when I had my cat, Billy Bob.  Billy Bob would come across our backyard from the woods, sometimes twice a day carrying a little mole in his mouth.  The neighbor would be out in her backyard gardening and see Billy Bob and comment on what a good hunter he was.  I would tell Billy Bob he was "proving his worth." We have had many cats over the years whom I have loved.  Some hunted.  Some did not.  I loved them all.  One day, Billy Bob was getting up in years and he had an abcessed tooth.  I had to take him to the vet to get it removed. He never hunted again.  He spent his last 3 years mostly indoors, but I would tell him all the time that it was ok.  He had "proven his worth," and now he could rest. Billy Bob passed away in December 2015.
     Now we have three cats.  We have Goldie, who is 8.  She used to hunt some, but now she is very fat and stays close to the house.  We have Alice, who is a princess and is afraid of mice.  And we have Nibby.  I have written about Nibby before.  He brought us 9 snakes last year. The snakes were still alive, but  he kills other things ALL THE TIME.  On Christmas Eve this past year, when it was an astonishing 75 degrees in East Tennesse, he laid a mouse on the windowsill for me.  Merry Christmas.
     Yesterday, I walked outside and counted four little brown creatures littered across the driveway. Mouse or mole carcasses.  Oh, yeah, there was one bird, too. I got a shovel and proceeded to pick them up and remove them.  Nibby followed me meowing his head off.  I guess I wasn't supposed to move them. I put them back down in one neat pile far from the house. Nibby doesn't just leave these surprises for me.  He occasionally litters the next door neighbor's yard with his kills, too.
     I apologize if this story is too graphic for some.  I am only trying to show that if a cat's worth is measured by his/her ability to kill, then Nibby is worth his weight in gold.  Actually, he is worth more than his weight in gold.  And yes, I tell him so.  I tell him often that he has proven his worth.

(This was written by my daughter, Karen)

Restore My Faith

     I just want to share a little something with you all.  It's been a few months since this happened.  My family and I went to visit some extended family in Virginia.  We also had our dog with us.  We stopped at a gas station in Abingdon, VA to fill up, get snacks, and walk the dog for her potty break.  My husband took the dog while I took the kids inside the store. He joined us inside the store several long minutes later.  We were in there a long time because, ok, we were all taking a potty break too. We got our snacks and got into line together.  My husband smiled at the workers behind the counter and said, "So are you guys the ones who built the little cat house out behind the dumpster? I was walking our dog and came up on it.  My dog scared the cat, but I walked her away from there as soon as I saw it."
     They smiled back at him and said, "Oh yes.  We did that.  Someone abandoned a cat out there and we have been feeding him.  He won't come close to us, but he eats the food.  It's been raining so much, we wanted to build him some sort of shelter."
     My husband said, "It looks like a good shelter."  They exchanged other pleasantries, we paid, and left.  He said to me and the kids, "I will show you what we were talking about."  Sure enough, there was a little shelter that the employees of the gas station had built.  The cat was startled by us and ran into the little brushy area behind the cat house.  I took photos so that I could share on this blog.

     In the bottom picture, I tried to capture the cat. In the center I think you can just barely make out his white face outlined with surrounding black fur, but you have to look really hard. He was afraid.  I think it was really sweet of those folks to do that for him.  Little instances like that sort of restore my faith in humanity...doesn't it for you?

(This was written by my daughter, Karen)

A Taste Change

     When growing up, my siblings and I were really never cat lovers.  We were more dog lovers.  The dog gained our love and attention.  He was more apt to do things with us on the farm.  The cat went about doing its' own thing.
     It's sad, but the time I remember doing anything with or for a cat was to get my Daddy to pull a fishing hook out of the paw of a kitten.  Someone had gone fishing and had left the pole with a hook out in access of a playful kitten.
     There are not many memories to pop up from my childhood about the cat.  But I have made a lot of memories that pop out at me now from my adult life interacting with cats.  I have become more of a cat lover now and not much of a dog lover.
     Can I explain this away as my taste changing?  When growing up, we were fed food we grew.  Many of those items I did not like.  Mother cooked and often said, "You eat what I cook or do without!"
     Often I simply did without.  But now, as an adult, it seems I like those green beans, okra, squash, etc.  I like anything fresh from a garden now!  My taste has changed.  Can it be the same when I discuss my regard to my feelings for a cat vs. what I feel for a dog?
     Cats may be independent animals, but it is said they pick their master.  My cat Mya has chosen me.  Up in my lap she jumps.  Up close to my face she comes.  She now leans her head back and rubs against my chin.  I can't see a big husky dog doing this...

Merry Christmas!

    I want to take this time to reiterate what I said last Christmas because I think it is important!

     Christmas is truly a wonderful time of the year.  As we buy for family, friends, etc., let us not forget our four-legged member of the family.  Our cat has demonstrated all year long his/her loyalty and love for us.  At this time of year give a bag of treats.  Or better yet, hang a stocking filled with all kinds of cat toys.  After all, cats sometimes act like people, too.

MERRY CHRISTMAS to all cats and cat lovers!



And HAPPY NEW YEAR, too!

Never Say Goodbye

     For every stray cat that I have fed in the past, I'll never say good-bye.  If I say good-bye, it implies I'll never see them again.  
     There are television news stories about pets being reunited with their owner.  I think about that when it comes to each and every stray I come into contact with.  Sometimes, after they are fed, some simply disappear.  In my heart, though, I choose to believe that they are still out there somewhere.  I'd rather think this way about them, than to consider that they might have passed on.  
     The life expectancy of a stray cat can be to from 2 to 5 years. That's the best case scenario. It's a hard life to be unprotected outdoors.  But I have seen old cats come to be fed.  They have beat the odds.  That's why I won't say good-bye.  There's always a chance that they have just moved to better feeding grounds or a safer location, or possibly both.  I always hope for them to come back around to me. 


     I have had indoor cats in the past that I have shared many years with.  They have passed on, but I don't say good-bye to them either.  They may not be present in the flesh, but they stay in my mind...in my memories.

Katie Heather

     She was a special cat.  So special that she got two names.  When she was born it was obvious she'd have to be treated as special.  Our Uncle Jack offered to put Katie Heather out of her misery.  She would never be able to lead a normal female cat's life.  You see, Katie Heather had no back legs. 
And so, the cat would scoot along the floor to get around. 
     My brother David would not allow her to be put down.  He believed any person or animal had the right to life.  He made up his mind to take care of Katie Heather.  It wasn't easy.  Her using a litter box was challenging.  The cat ended up living a long time.  One fateful day, though, she died.  My brother blamed himself.  Somehow Katie Heather had gotten out of the house. 
     The day she slipped outdoors was a bitter cold one and she remained outside overnight.  The scooting along the frozen ground surely added to her demise.  But she had been loved.  She had lived a long life that if not for David, she would not have lived at all. 
     Katie Heather, you are remembered.  Your name alone was unusual and got my attention.  Not too many cats are special enough to have had two names.