So Long, Little Kitty

Hello and welcome to a still-no-snow Saturday here at the Wannaskan Almanac. Today is November 22nd.

Well, it's time to face the music - Little Kitty is gone and not coming back.

Little Kitty was our "ditch kitty" - the one we found in the ditch on our way home from adventures in town, and our last (or most recent) feline acquisition. At the time, we already had three cats: Nicey, Scrawny, and Fuzzy. We weren't looking to acquire a new cat, but there's something irrepressible about saving a little being's life, even if it is just a cat's.

Little Kitty was sweet with her humans when she was indoors, but a fierce little beast when she was out. She'd terrorize the other cats - swatting at them and pushing them out of the way at the food bowl - to assert her dominance as the new Alpha gal in the 'hood.

It wasn't long after Little Kitty's arrival that Nicey "ran away." I say this in quotation marks because I'm not sure if she was ill and went off to find her final resting place, or if she ran off to find a new place. One thing I've learned from my kids reading The Warriors cat series is that, while cats are social animals, they have their social hierarchy.

With Nicey's exit, Scrawny moved to the top of the org chart. At least I thought so, until two winters ago when I discovered her in one of the garage cupboards looking forlorn. I tend to be a skeptic when it comes to animal emotion and motivation beyond their basic needs getting met. But this cat appeared as depressed as any human would. I scooped her up and spent the rest of the winter rehabilitating her in the house. The period of convalescence paid off. Scrawny, I learned, enjoyed playing just as much as napping and eating. She'd bat at forgotten bouncy balls and Lego pieces abandoned by the kids. She'd chase the swirling light of my laser pointer. She'd jump at a chance to catch a toy attached to a stick and string. She was also trainable. To get her to stop sharpening her claws on the furniture, I misted catnip spray on some cardboard. After a few ecstatic rolls on the cardboard, she began using that for her scratches and stretches. By spring, Scrawny was, for all intents and purposes, a happy cat.

Little Kitty was actually a good companion for Fuzzy. Fuzzy is the one we refer to as our "damaged goods cat." Due to his rough start in life - he was rescued by a loving, but allergic, friend who passed him on to us. (How could we say no?) - he gets nippy and aggressive. With the arrival of Little Kitty, I learned two things about Fuzzy. First, he had a need for play, which Little Kitty was happy to oblige. And second, his nipping was his way of communicating his unmet needs.

The two were buds for a while. They'd even cuddle together; something Scrawny, as the new head of the cat household, would in no way indulge or entertain.

One day last winter, while I was checking on the cats in the garage (Scrawny was already tucked in at home), I picked up Fuzzy and was shocked to find him light as a feather. Little Kitty had been hogging the food, leaving Fuzzy emaciated.

So, I brought him in the house. 

My husband was not happy about this. The geriatric Scrawny was one thing, but the nipping cat as well? But even he had a heart for Fuzzy's underweight woes. (I brought him to the vet and he weighed in at 6 pounds.) What did put my husband over the edge was when I let Little Kitty in, too.

What can I say except I felt bad for her. Maybe she was the triumphant last cat standing in the garage, but she was alone. And, ohmigosh, this cat knew how to dial up the charm for her humans, making it almost impossible to see her for what she was - a bossy cat bent on domination.

As the weather warmed, all the cats were turned out of doors. My husband was relieved. No more multi-cat litter box in the bathroom and no more griping that kids weren't taking well enough care of the cats. For all his bellyaching, he had solid points. We'd have to figure something else out. The garage solution was off the table as too inhumane (even if it was warm and we provided all the comforts), and I'd conceded that in the house was off the table, too.

My husband suggested a heated cat house. Brilliant! We selected a two-story complex to accommodate the two cats who "got along" - I use this term loosely - saving the cat house my husband had already built for the matriarch, Scrawny.

And then Little Kitty ran away. But this time, she didn't come back.

Initially, I was alarmed but not overly worried. Over the summer, she'd leave for a weekend and be back. Then she was gone for an entire week. Despite her sly tactics of supremacy over the other cats, when she returned, I felt relief. She was still our sweet (to us), incredibly soft, least-of-the-shedders cat who I still felt great affection for because, remember, we saved her life.

But this time, she hasn't come back. It's been over a month. Maybe already two. I feel a bit guilty because I remember the last time I saw her. She was meowing at the bedroom window, "Let me in!" I turned a haughty shoulder and thought, "I'll let you in tomorrow."

Who knew there'd never be a tomorrow.

I like to think she found a new home with an owner who keeps her inside where she can happily hold dominion without harming other cats. If that's the case, the new owner should probably know that Little Kitty got an updated rabies shot last spring (or summer) and that she has a crystal the size of her bladder inside her bladder. We'd been treating it with super expensive medicinal cat food. Because of this crystal, she urinates frequently and often misses her mark, peeing outside of the litter box.

A friend suggested that maybe she slinked away to find her everlasting peace. I don't think so. This cat is too hellbent on surviving to give up that easily.

Her absence isn't all bad, though. Her void has been filled with peace of mind and good health for the remaining two cats. Scrawny has reclaimed her throne as top cat. She even lets Fuzzy lie next to her, but only on one specific chair in the living room. 

Yes, I've been letting the cats in as the weather turns colder. My husband and I compromised. I let them in for brief visits only twice a day - once in the morning and once in the evening - for a snack and a snuggle with their humans. He tolerates it because he sees how well the current cats are doing. 

Fuzzy is back to a healthy weight and nips a lot less. He purrs now, something I didn't know he was capable of. (His meow is more of a squeak. I thought maybe his little vocal cords had gotten damaged in his early days.) We cleaned out the storage shed our kids call the "shack in the back," repurposing it as the cats' new winter lodgings. We installed a pet door for easy entrance and exit. We snaked an electric cord in there for the heated lodgings and a warmed water bowl. There's even a chair and bed for kitty lounging. We opted not to include an indoor litter box. "Too confusing," my husband said. Instead, we'll keep the new digs clean and have the cats use the great outdoors' outhouse.

Your humans miss you, Little Kitty. The other cats - not so much.