It was after the first experience that we learned to put the TV on while she adjusted to the new arrangement. After a few times of rearranging, seeing Baby's reaction, my husband was more willing to leave things as they were.
Rule 3: Dead silence frightens me... Leave a radio, or the TV on if you go out. And when you come home again, make sure you greet me by my name. I will be sitting there waiting for you, and will greet you right back with my own unique little meow. As soon as you get your arms free of whatever is in them, pick me up and love me... Talk to me a lot. I love to hear your voice. It makes me feel safe. I will follow you everywhere, and be your constant companion. I will welcome company, but I always want to hear your voice amongst theirs.
Mary was gone from our home now, and there was no more purring oxygen tank to keep Baby company. Having learned that dead silence could throw her into a panic, we always made sure that when we left the house we put the radio or TV on. The other cats didn't care. In fact, for Queenie, Ernie and Casper, just having their food and water was all that seemed to matter. It was Baby who was there to greet us at the door when we came back home. I looked forward to coming home, knowing that as soon as I had unlocked the door, up she would pop, with her familiar, friendly "meow". I often wondered if she slept by the door all the while we were gone, or if she heard our car drive into the driveway. But she never disappointed us. She was our welcoming committee of one. She would follow me around until I dropped my packages and purse, waiting for me to pick her up and love her. And unlike the other three cats, who disappeared into thin air, when the doorbell ring, Baby loved it when company came. She was always there to greet them, and would often put her paws on their legs, wanting them to notice her. If the company had not been to our house before, I would alert them to the fact that Baby was blind so that they would not expect her to scoot out of their way as they walked around.
Often when my cat friend had to be out of town for a few days, she would ask my husband and me if we would go over to check on her cats. And one day as I was there, I noticed a cat that I had not seen before. She was in a cage. "Unusual!" I thought. Most of the cats, unless they were nursing kittens, were allowed to run loose in the room, so why was this cat confined to a cage? I went up to her, cautiously opening the cage door to change her water and fill her feed dish. She was so happy to see me that she leapt from the cage onto my shoulder. I took an instant shine to her. Later, when my friend returned, I learned that this friendly cat's name was Koko.
The lady to whom she had gone, about a year previous, had returned her, saying that the cat was neurotic, and that she was forever throwing up. My friend also informed me that this cat was a cousin to Baby, and that she needed a good home. Ahem! She had me in mind.
No! I would not take on a fifth cat. That would be insane! No one in her right mind would have five cats. But—two days later, Koko joined our family. She was just what Baby needed, a playmate. As if they knew that they were related, the two cats became instant pals, even though they had never been together in the same house at the same time. And as for Koko being neurotic, we came to the conclusion that it was her previous owner who was. Koko was calm and affectionate, and did not throw up any more than any other cat did.
Rule 4: "I love to curl up in a box. Small boxes or large Styrofoam meat trays placed around the house in two or three places are my safety zones."
I had put Styrofoam meat trays and small boxes in different places around the house for Baby to use as "safety zones." Ernie and Queenie were never mean to Baby, but now and then, if she should accidentally bump into one of them, they would hiss at her, sending her scrambling to a safety zone, where she seemed to know she would be safe. Often you would find Koko and Baby curled up together in a box or tray. And it wasn't out of the ordinary to see both cats in the litter box together.
Koko proved to be a delightful cat, adding to the "fun" in the house. But she was not a favorite with Ernie or Casper. In fact, they hated her. Often we would hear a blood-curdling scream. This would bring Duffy tearing down the hall to discipline the "boys." It became her self-appointed job to defend Koko against her two male marauders.
Before Koko came, Casper would often have a play-tussle with Baby, but I never really liked them playing together, as even though they were both neutered, Casper would mount her, as if he were mating her. This, too, Duffy warded off whenever she would see them "playing." The amazing thing was, though, Duffy never interfered when Koko and Baby played.
You'd think I would learn. You'd think I would tell my friend that I can no longer go over to her place, because it seemed that every time I went, I came back with another cat. Well, I guess I am a slow learner. My friend was away again, and I was looking after her cats. I had seen Blondie before. She was a tiny, cinnamon-colored Himalayan cat. While I was in charge, she gave birth to two very tiny kittens. In my opinion she was far too small to have had kittens, although she was well past two. And Blondie did not want to be a mother. She liked playing too much. To make a long story short, the kittens died, freeing Blondie of her mother-responsibility.
It was shortly after Blondie lost her kittens that my friend asked me if I would accompany her to the big city with twenty of her cats, including Baby. In a research program that she was involved with, they wanted the cats for testing for PRA, (Progressive Retinal Atrophy) : and PKD— (Polycystic Kidney Disease, characterized by large cysts in one or both kidneys and a gradual loss of normal kidney tissue which can lead to chronic renal failure.) It was this test that revealed that both Baby and Blondie had those traits. And this meant that Blondie could no longer be a breeder. She was spayed then and there.
A loved and favorite cat she may have been to my friend, but she could not keep her. This meant that Blondie needed a home. But not mine. It was absolutely out of the question. I could not take Blondie. Six cats was lunacy!
On the last day of that year, our family again increased. Tiny, five-pound Blondie joined our family. From the minute she popped out of the cat carrier, she went about showing the big cats who was boss. As if she had lived at our house forever, she zipped down the hall, pouncing on seventeen-pound Ernie, sending him scurrying under the bed. She never had an ounce of trouble from him from then on. And from the start she became Koko's protector and Baby's friend. She knew Baby, and showed her happiness at seeing her again by licking her all over, and cuddling in beside her. It was after reporting to my friend how well Blondie had fit into the household that she informed me that Blondie, Koko, and Baby were all cousins.
Rule 5: "Make sure you do not leave doors to the outside open. And watch the door if company comes. Sometimes they are careless and do not close doors after them. If I ever got out, I would never find my way back."
The following November, on a cold and rainy day, some friends came to dinner. In the confusion, no one noticed that the door was not shut properly. And no one noticed that a cat had slipped out. The company left. We went to bed. As always, I nestled Baby down on her little blanket at the foot of my bed, with the hot water bottle tucked in beside her, and went to bed myself.
Next morning, we were not awakened by Blondie's jumping on us, demanding that we get up. This was odd. She had never failed to do this in the eleven months that we had had her. Then I remembered that during her first night with us, she had climbed into a cupboard and it took us hours to locate where her mewing was coming from. But this time there was no mewing. I began to search the house. I looked in the dishwasher, in the dryer (I make it a habit NEVER to leave the dryer door open, but I looked anyway.) I looked in the washing machine, in every cupboard in the house, under the beds, under and in the sofa. Blondie was nowhere! My husband insisted that she must be outside. But how? I always made sure the door was shut… But I had forgotten that visitors are not so careful.
I was in a panic. I could think of nothing until I located little Blondie. My husband and I set to work making "lost-cat" posters on our computers. We put a dozen posters in plastic page protectors to keep them dry and jumped in our car, pasting posters all over town. I contacted both the vets in town, describing the cat, and explaining her disappearance. I couldn't concentrate on anything that day. Instead, despite the cold pelting rain, I walked the neighborhood, praying that someone may have seen the cat. My cats never go out, and this cat was far from well, in that she had an upper respiratory condition, causing her to sneeze and wheeze constantly. I HAD to find Blondie.
It was four o'clock and already dark, when I got my first tip. A neighbor had seen a cat fitting the description I had given her. She saw her run out to the highway (a two-lane). And, as she described to me, her heart was in her mouth, knowing that the cat would not make it across the highway without being hit. She was powerless to help her, as she had small children with her. The children had seen the cat just before this and were begging their mother to let them keep it. But she was very allergic to cats, and could not even touch it. But seeing it heading for the highway, despite her allergies, she was about to go after it when she saw a man stop and pick the kitty up.
Go to Part III