Oh, the Cuteness!

Every time I think I've managed to capture the extent of my cats' cuteness on camera, they pull a ridiculous stunt like this:



And the kicker? They were snoring.

Yoga for Fat Cats

Here our plus-sized model George demonstrates the Sleeping Forward Bend, proving yoga is not just for skinny cats.

Begin in a relaxed sitting position, spreading feet a comfortable distance apart. If you have a tail, wrap it around your left leg for balance. Stretch your upper body over the right leg, eventually allowing your head to sink to the floor. For added relaxation, have a human rub your belly while you hold the pose and meditate.

Namaste.

The New Kitty Cottage

As of last month, Kitty Cottage has finally realized a long-time dream of purchasing a home! It’s a charming three-story house in Norristown, formerly owned by a chiropractic office. With lots of windows throughout, plenty of cozy corners and a wide open space to romp on the third floor, the new Kitty Cottage is already beginning to look like the perfect haven for kitties who find themselves between homes.

Most of our current residents have returned from foster care and are settling in nicely. Just a few more construction projects here and there, and a lot more feline occupants, and we’ll be back to business as usual.

Yesterday I worked my first regular shift in the new house, and I was happy to see the kitties were adapting quite well to their new territory. I, on the other hand, found it a little challenging to pick up with my normal routine. All the kitties were in the process of establishing new favorite spots, and I found I didn’t know where to locate anyone at any give moment. Much like the cats themselves probably did at first, I found myself wandering the whole house aimlessly for quite a while before settling in for some one-on-one cuddling.

I didn’t know where the buckets were, and I kept getting turned around every time I tried to find the kitchen. And when it came time to hunt down a pair of nail clippers, three of us embarked on a quest that turned out to be quite eventful—the highlight of the day, in fact.

A couple and their very excited five-year-old were in the office down on the first floor, filling out adoption papers for Sadie. We needed to clip Sadie’s toenails before sending her home, but no one seemed to know where the clippers were. All the meds, syringes and other supplies were in a small room off the kitchen on the second floor, as was a small silver tabby named Cherie—a sweet little mommy cat who’d just returned to the cottage and needed some space from the other cats. Paula, Michele and I discussed her situation as we searched for nail clippers in the not-quite-put-together room.

“How is she with other cats?” Paula asked Michele, who had fostered Cherie and her kittens for a short time. I was really concentrating on finding those clippers and didn’t listen very closely as Michele described Cherie’s interactions with the other cats in her house. The little thing was so sweet—how bad could she be?

Deciding the clippers simply weren’t in the room, I opened the door to go search the office. A curious black cat peeked into the room, and as I stuck out a foot to deter him from entering, all hell broke loose!

Cherie launched like a rocket through the door and crashed into the unsuspecting black cat, and the two crashed again into a trash can. Now a gray-and-black ball of fur and noise, the pair went back through the door and all the way around the little room. In a last desperate effort, the anonymous black cat ran right up the wall and tried to climb a window. Cherie was literally on his tail.

I wish I could describe the reactions of the three humans in the room, because it must have been remarkably hilarious. But in my panic and terror, I seemed to have tunnel vision—at least, that’s how I remember it now. Turning in circles to follow the path of the flying fur ball, I saw only the cats and an occasional snapshot of Michele and Paula shuffling around awkwardly and sticking their legs out in an effort to break up the cats. After the cats climbed the wall, they headed for the door again and Cherie slowed down enough to let the “intruder” escape before I desperately threw myself against the door, slamming it shut and successfully containing the ferocious tabby.

Speechless with shock, I leaned against the door to catch my breath. Michele was doubled over and laughing so hard she couldn’t breathe, but I (for once) was not laughing…I just knew Paula was going to let me have when she regained her composure. Michele finally managed to get a breath and gasp “That’s how Cherie is with other cats.”

Paula couldn’t resist giving in to hysterical laughter, and after another couple of terrified seconds I gave in too. But I was still wary—my experience with felines told me the little beast might redirect her aggression to us humans if we made any sudden moves. But aside from the hairs on her back and tail standing straight out, Cherie was the picture of sweetness again, rubbing against our ankles and happily allowing us all to pet and hold her as if the eight-legged tornado had never struck.

We stayed in that room for a while, laughing and bewildered and trying to get up the nerve to open the door again. We eventually found the clippers (they were in the office all along) and sent Sadie home with her new family, and then we tried to recount the adventure over speakerphone to Dr. Judy. According to her, this was fairly normal behavior for a mother cat—and even though Cherie’s kittens were adopted out weeks ago, she was apparently still hardwired to be a protective mama. Rather than going on the defensive as a cat would normally do when it feels threatened, Cherie opted to proactively chase away any cat that walked by her room, not to mention set foot in it.

Poor Hosanna (later identified as the victim) made the mistake of running into Cherie’s room in an effort to escape her, and that was why the encounter had escalated to tornado status. Once he’d fled her territory, she saw no need to pursue him further. Fortunately, no fur flew and no blood was shed; Cherie meant business, but she didn’t mean any harm. She and Hosanna kept their eyes on that door for the rest of the day—Cherie with the eagerness of a chained pit bull, and Hosanna with a wide-eyed look of the hunted.

After all visitors had gone and things were quiet, Hosanna climbed into my lap and snuggled his face against my neck. I was able to look him over pretty closely to confirm he hadn’t been injured, and his sweet-natured purr told me he was ready to put the incident behind him.

And that, my friends, is the story of how one tiny tabby turned three grown women into a bunch of hysterical ninnies.

An Update on Lucy

A few weeks ago I went out of town and missed my weekly shift at Kitty Cottage. That evening, I got a message from Michele, who also volunteers on Sundays. Her voicemail said she had exciting news for me, and though I knew it had to be good I couldn't begin to guess what it could be.

I was certainly not expecting to hear that Lucy, one of the "hoarder cats" we'd taken in, had an adoption pending. They said the potential adopter was incredibly nice, and he didn't mind a bit that she had trust issues. He'd also chosen to adopt Bernie, a mild-mannered and lovable orange and white kitty.

I didn't know Bernie well, and I hadn't met this guy...so can you blame me if I was skeptical? Was Lucy ready? How would she get along with Bernie? Did this guy really know what he was getting into?

When I returned the following Sunday, Lucy and Bernie were noticeably absent. And everyone who'd met their adopter gave glowing reports about what a wonderful person he was.

He was also reputed to be a good-looking guy, so I confess I was still a tad skeptical. Had he fooled everyone with his charm, convincing them as he'd convinced himself that he could win anyone over--even a "hoarder cat"? Was he really prepared for the commitment he'd made to provide unconditional love and care for a little cat he couldn't even touch?

I never said I wasn't jaded.

I missed a couple more shifts at Kitty Cottage, one for a trip home and another for our annual silent auction. Sunday I returned for the first time in three weeks, and someone happened to vocalize the question that's been on my mind for the last month:

"I wonder how Lucy's doing."

Well, rumor has it that Lucy's just fine. She still doesn't permit her new caretaker to pet her, but she does enjoy playing with him. And she sleeps curled up with Bernie. That was enough for me to trust that Lucy will adapt and that she's in good hands.

One of my other concerns about Lucy leaving was how Mina and Persephone would cope without their sister. Mina's pretty independent, but Persephone is the shyest of the three and seemed to be very close to Lucy. Remembering the two of them curled up together asleep, or playing together when they thought no one was looking, I felt sad for Persephone.

And indeed, that first Sunday without Lucy she seemed somewhat depressed. Mina appeared to share my concerns, and she followed Persephone around relentlessly, refusing to let her mope alone. This bittersweet demonstration broke my heart, but at the same time it gave me hope.

Last Sunday I was encouraged to see Persephone out in the open more than ever before. She wasn't necessarily any more open to human contact than before, but the fact that she sat comfortably in open space and chased a laser pointer across the floor definitely assured me that she is coping. Having to live without Lucy may actually be good for her.

Mina also chased the laser pointer today, skidding on the linoleum floor with the careless abandon of a kitten.

My heart still races at the thought of our other two "hoarder cats" eventually leaving us to live in permanent, loving homes. But the prospect isn't nearly as scary as it was before Lucy ventured out into the domesticated world. There's a real possibility that Mina and Persephone could also become pampered, adored house pets.

And they will thrive.

Comfort in Cuddling

Lucy Being a Cat

When my enemies draw near,
I pray that they will find
That I’m protected and secure
All tempests He will bind
With a mighty word

O, how I would have despaired
If You had not come, found me there
I can lean against Your throne and find my peace
Find my peace

--Jennifer Knapp

You wouldn’t think the sight of a cat behaving in normal feline fashion could be so phenomenal. But if you had seen Lucy’s eyes the day she came to Kitty Cottage, you’d understand what a miracle she is.

Lucy and her sisters Mina and Persephone were rescued from a hoarder. The Hoarding of Animals Research Consortium defines animal hoarding using the following criteria:

• More than the typical number of companion animals
• Inability to provide even minimal standards of nutrition, sanitation, shelter, and veterinary care, with this neglect often resulting in starvation, illness, and death
• Denial of the inability to provide this minimum care and the impact of that failure on the animals, the household, and human occupants of the dwelling

The girls’ arrival caused quite a buzz at Kitty Cottage, and for weeks visitors heard solemn stories of abuse, mental illness, death, and horrifying conditions. Only a percentage of the dozens of cats holed up in the filthy, miserable home could be rescued; it was simply too late for many of them. The survivors were farmed out to shelters all over the region, and that’s how Lucy and her sisters came to us.

I heard there were pictures that depicted the unspeakably filthy and tragic conditions they’d been rescued from, but I couldn’t bear to look at them. And I didn’t need to; their faces said enough.

To describe them as terrified wouldn’t be accurate. To call their expressions blank would be insufficient. They were not cats, but hopeless, empty creatures with hollow eyes. The sight of them was beyond heartbreaking. It was devastating.

But more than a year has passed, and our girls have made miraculous progress. They first began to show signs of life when food was put in front of them, and they were allowed to indulge in extra meals so they could regain their strength. There was nothing like a can of Fancy Feast to help them temporarily forget their fear of humans.

Then they began to play, perhaps for the fist time in their sad lives. One of the most disturbing things I’d noticed about them early on was their lack of interest in their surroundings. They didn’t engage with other cats or make eye contact with humans, and no cat toy seemed capable of putting the slightest spark in their eyes. But after a few months, they appeared to come alive again and showed us they knew what catnip mice were for after all.

Now the little girls—they’ll always be petite—are truly at home in Kitty Cottage, and they’ve learned to have fun. Lucy and Persephone like to cuddle together in a big bed under a side table in one of the main rooms, and Mina and Persephone can sometimes be seen tumbling and wrestling like kittens…in fact, I think they’re experiencing the joys of kittenhood for the first time.

It was snowing when we closed up shop last Sunday night, and nearly every window in the cottage framed a mesmerized kitty. We were anxious to get on the road and make it home safely before the weather got any worse, but we paused and looked on in quiet wonder when we spied Lucy in the window near the front door.

She too was fascinated by the giant snowflakes, following one at a time in its crazy plunge to the ground and then alternately gazing up at the sky in delicious predatory anticipation of the next one to catch her eye. She was having fun, and this revelation brought a warm flood of joy to my heart.

Lucy had her innocence back.

Being Thankful

Every now and then my weekly shift at Kitty Cottage is a bit more emotional than most, for various reasons. This has turned out to be one of those days.

It didn't fully hit me until after I got home tonight, but it started last weekend when I learned the shelter had rescued a dozen or so cats from a local "kill shelter." When we have some room, our manager will go to other shelters and select some cats that appear to be very adoptable but will be euthanized after a period of time if they aren't adopted out. She really has a knack for picking out wonderful cats, and this bunch was no exception: several gorgeous long-haired ones, some obese but lovely ones, a couple with attitudes, and a scruffy little guy named Fatty Boo.

Though I was amazed by all of them, it was Fatty Boo who got to the heart of me instantly. Because some had developed colds, and for the protection of our established residents, the new cats were being quarantined in a room upstairs for a transitional period. Only volunteers and staff, familiar with the procedures for sanitizing themselves before returning to the main population, were allowed to visit them.

What a pathetic bunch they were! Desperate to be loved, they seemed aware they'd been given another chance but didn't quite realize they could now take their time finding the right people--that they could stay with us as long as they needed to, even if that meant forever.

Fatty Boo approached me immediately and settled into my arms, purring as if his life depended on it. And I became the scrappy little guy's biggest fan.

By today their colds had progressed a bit, but their misery didn't dampen their desire to be cuddled and loved. Fatty Boo came to me again, purring hard and trembling as I scooped him close to me. As he curled up in my lap and soaked up the love and warmth, I looked around at the rest of the bunch. It seemed as if they realized they were in a relatively safe place and were taking a much-needed break from survival mode. They were cold and sick and vulnerable...but did they realize they were also cherished and protected?

Meanwhile, Fatty Boo continued to tremble in my arms, and I became worried about his condition. I had the volunteer in charge take a look at him, and she cranked up the heat a degree or two. Within an hour, the room felt much more comfortable and all the inhabitants seemed to feel a bit better. Fatty Boo continued to purr like mad, but he had ceased his trembling and I had ceased worrying.

After helping medicate the sickly cats and finishing up all the routine chores, I headed home nearly two hours later than usual, tired and hungry. Just to be safe, I showered off any possible residual germs before spending time with my own kitties. After I got clean and warm and all of us had dinner, I looked around at my four wonderful babies and realized how fortunate we all are.

If Kitty Adoption Team hadn't taken in my silver tabby Buster as a kitten, and if I hadn't moved to the East Coast when I did, where would he be now? If Pip's and George's previous mom hadn't loved them enough to put them in a no-kill shelter--the very one where I worked--what would have become of them? And my sweet girl Sunshine has been with me so long I can't imagine things any other way. My cats are happy, and they are grateful in their own ways. But surely they could never comprehend how lucky they are in comparison to all the other homeless cats who've met different fates.

I held Buster close and indulged in a few sentimental tears while he patiently allowed himself to be snuggled and kissed. I resisted the urge to give a lecture that would fall on deaf ears and simply allowed myself to be grateful for the four healthy, beautiful babies who make my life so cozy and happy.

Thank God they're safe; thank God they're home.

And thank God for Kitty Cottage, because soon Fatty Boo and his friends will be safe and happy in their own loving homes. Tonight, on the coldest night yet this Winter, I pray they'll rest peacefully and regain their strength, and that they can finally feel all the love and hope that surrounds them.

Loving and Letting Go

I fell in love last weekend...it's an occupational hazard that comes with volunteering at a cat shelter. Her name is Josephine, a little orange tabby barely past kittenhood. She came in with two other kittens, and all three were terrified. They had been living in a veterinary office while recovering from ringworm, a highly contagious fungal infection that affects the skin and hair follicles. As a result, they hadn't been handled much in their young lives and weren't sure what to think of humans.

Upon arriving at Kitty Cottage, the three little girls were delivered to the Shy Room where they were released and allowed to explore their new home. But they were more interested in dashing into a nearby hiding space...and there were plenty to choose from, as the Shy Room is designed to be a safe haven for nervous and fearful cats.

I have quite a soft spot for orange tabbies, and as I looked at the frightened Josephine I had a sense of deja vu. Not quite two years ago, I encountered another scared orange tabby in the shy room. He and three of his siblings had been rescued from an abusive home, and he was clearly the worst for the wear. Small and wiry to begin with, he was also malnourished and far too thin. Fleas and stress had taken a toll on his skin, and his fur was thin with large bald patches. He was skittish and high-strung, and his emaciated state made his giant ears look even bigger. His name was Pip, and he was the most beautiful kitty I'd ever seen.

Long story short, I instantly fell in love with Pip. There was something in the way he played with a joyful careless abandon--in spite of his circumstances--that spoke to me. I watched him skid wildly around the room chasing a catnip mouse until he wore himself out. When he plopped down to rest a safe distance away, I winked at him...and he answered with a playful "mrow." At that moment, something deep in my heart told me I had to take him home.

Fast forward to last Sunday. Josephine didn't want to be handled, but when I placed her in my lap she was docile enough to settle in and be petted. After a long time, she tilted her little head up to see who was holding her, and an amazing pair of round, orange-gold eyes met mine. The combination of sweetness and vulnerability in that gaze reminded me so much of Pip that I was instantly enamored.

For the next week I agonized over the conflict between my emotions and the rational part of me who knew adopting another cat was neither wise nor feasible at this time. Four cats in a one-bedroom apartment is cozy, if sometimes tense. Five cats would be too many in that small space.

Having nearly talked some sense into myself, I was anxious to see Josephine again today regardless. There was a family in the shy room when I arrived, and one of them was a girl around 12 years old. As I inched my way over to a sleeping Josephine and scooped her up, the girl's grandmother said "Look, that's the one Katie liked so much!" Katie?

I sat on the floor and crossed my legs, and Josephine settled into the crook of one of my knees. Not wanting to be territorial, I looked up at the girl and said, "You're Katie? I'm Katy too, and this is my favorite cat. Would you like to hold her?"

Katie sat on the floor and scooted toward me, and I handed the kitten over reluctantly. Josephine responded well to Katie and quickly settled into her lap. Seeing how happy and comfortable she looked made me smile. And I smiled again a few minutes later when another volunteer informed me Katie had put in an application to adopt Josephine.

So there you have it...another tiny piece of my heart will soon be going out the door in a cat carrier. But I'm not sad; how could I be? When I put my own selfish feelings aside, the truth is that I want what's best for all parties involved. I want my four cats to be happy, and I don't want to disrupt their lives again with another addition to the family (yet). I want Kitty Cottage visitors to find cats that are good matches for them. And I want Josephine to have a home where she's happy, safe and loved. I just sometimes have to remind myself that I can't take home every cat I grow to love.

Really, I'm pretty good at loving the cats while they're around and letting them go when it's time. But every now and then, some extra special kitty finds a place in my heart, and the inevitable goodbye, though happy, is tinged with a little pain.

Like I said, it's an occupational hazard.