Kitty Stories

 "DOLCE"

This sweet little baby was found in Conway, SC. She has a broken leg. She is currently in foster care, but will be available for adoption. Her estimated vet care will be at minimum $500. Please help Dolce by making a donation today! Thank you!!!

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Finding Rowan

By Bernadette Butler

A True Story About A Lost Cat

October 6       5:00 a.m.

 I headed out the back porch door to feed kitties and our beautiful Rowan leaped out before me after Hobo, one of our strays.  It was so unexpected because she avoids the porch door especially when opened.  It was still dark and foggy.  I took off after her but she vanished in the fog.  There are acres of fields and woods surrounding our house and Mark and I were all over them, neighbors' yards, sheds, garages, but we didn't find her.  We went out every morning and evening calling her name and clapping over as much ground as we could cover.  We made flyers and put them in mailboxes.  I knocked on doors of all close neighbors with yards around what we call “the outback.”   I visited the Nature Center with a flyer to post.  I met another cat rescue couple too.  We started trapping early on.  A week went by and I was sick to my heart over her.  I searched the web for ideas.  We were already setting 3 traps each night in various locations around yards, woods, a new home site.  We trapped opossums, raccoons, and skunks, and the occasional stray.  Lots of wildlife competition.  Raccoons trashed the crate every time shredding towels, newspaper, the big trash bags I used to cover the traps and they clawed mud and debris in with them too.   The week it rained without stopping was such a terrible mess I bought myself muck boots ($65 at muckboots.com) to slosh back and forth with the crates.  Opossums were much neater than raccoons but you have to convince them to stop playing dead and get out of the darn trap!

More you rush ‘em, the deader they are.  Releasing wildlife is always scary because of rabies.  By far the worst were skunks.  The first time I trapped one I didn't know what to do.  I was dumbfounded and Mark wasn't home yet, so I went back to the web.  You approach trapped skunks slowly with an enormous trash bag in front of you (contractor size recommended), then you throw the bag over the trap, straddle it from behind, gingerly ease up the door and wait in silence.  I’d ask Mark,

“Did he spray?” 

“Bern, if a skunk sprays you won’t have to ask.”

Skunks are relentless and don’t mind being trapped repeatedly so we started making late night skunk runs.  We loaded the traps into the back of the Jeep and drove to wooded areas away from our house to release them.   Never did run out of skunks.  A couple weeks of wildlife trapping exhausted us so we took a break but continued searching for Rowan.  Days passed.  I was so worried and prayed hard for any sign of her.

About this time we learned that our daughter needed cataract surgery which consisted of 6 appointments in Baltimore.  Twenty-some years post-remission the radiation and chemo were taking their toll.  I was upset about Bonnie’s deteriorating health, driving back and forth for appts and sick over Rowan.  Our search strategies were intensive. Along with trapping I made food trails in the woods and sprayed diluted tuna juice onto tree trunks, paths, shrubs, wherever I thought she might wander.  I followed the strays around to see where they went because kitties will follow the kitty highways to find food and shelter.  I made new flyers for distribution and phoned SPCAs over two counties.  Flyers generated a few calls like the chicken farmer who phoned at 6:00 a.m. saying “come now, the orange cat is here eating.”  This one was hopeful because his coops bordered the outback.  Other callers were further away.  No matter, we had to check every one and accept the disappointments.  Being an indoor kitty we didn’t think Rowan had gone far.  There were many sheltering spots right here and food too.  In fact, we suspected she might be hiding in our own crawl space so Mark went under the house and had a good look around.  It’s an old house and the crawl space is dark, low and smelly, strewn with old debris and black widow spiders are in abundance.  I let him go alone.  He saw no sign of Rowan but that didn't mean she wasn't there.  After 3 weeks of searching Mark burned out a bit, working long hours at the hospital, all the stress of the search and having to deal with me (not easy I know).  I had hope but I was also terrified that I might never see Rowan again.  Nights were hard wondering where in God’s name she could be.  Sometimes I went out around 1:00 or 2:00 a.m. to check traps and softly call her.  It was dark but silent and beautiful with stars.  I was on the edge of keeping it together and there was nothing to do but search. Several hours a day were devoted to finding Rowan. Activity relieved despair.  She had been missing more than 3 weeks so I added a strategy, setting up kitty buffets:  one under the back porch near the opening to the crawl space and one in the yard at the edge of the woods.  These were no ordinary feeding stations.  These kitty buffets were worthy of a cruise line.  Every evening just before dusk I put out big trays of canned food, tuna and jack mackerel (stinks to high heaven).  I poured juice from the tuna and mackerel into my spray bottle and sprayed paths to the buffet.  I looked for clues to Rowan’s whereabouts taking “fur samples” with a roll of clear packing tape.  I felt brilliant for thinking of it.  Since Ro had never gone beyond the porch I sampled the area beneath it and around the shed in case she’d crawled under there.  I applied the tape and lifted off any evidence of orange fur but found none.  It was like she’d vanished into thin air.

 A month into the search my mom's condition declined.  She was in the early stage of alzheimer’s and she needed my attention.  Life became a 3-ring circus:  Mom, Bonnie and Rowan all needed us now.  Mark and I couldn’t afford needs of our own so we just agreed to stay married.  Mark and my sister both told me I needed to scale back the search because I wasn't going to last and  that I had to face the fact that I might never find Rowan.  Not finding her was unacceptable and I told Mark so.  Given the stress of competing demands we had a nuclear meltdown.  I figured we’d earned one so we gave it our all.  It ended with us sitting on the bedroom floor while I sobbed myself empty.  The fact was that of the 3 crises in my life only one held hope for a happy ending.  Only one.  I was finding Rowan for me.  That was the end of that.  We'd been at it for weeks, day in day out, but no sign of her.  Nothing!  A few days later a package came for Mark.  I asked what it was.

 "Night vision security camera...I'm mounting it under the porch so we can see who comes and goes to the food trays and if Rowan's there we'll see her."

Now that was brilliant!  Hooked up to the laptop we could now watch live footage under the porch and crawl space while we sat in our loungers, ate Stouffers and watched Law and Order reruns.  It offered some relief and we were amazed at the buffet traffic:  the strays, our outside boys too, and of course, opossums and skunks.  But it wasn't long before we noticed a cautious kitty, as Rowan might be, and a tabby too.  So we set up the camera to record overnight footage as well and we ran thru the footage "thumbprints" every morning for any sign of the mystery cat.  Sure enough there were a couple of sightings and we were pretty sure it was Rowan.   Hope flickered.  We tried trapping under the porch but all we got were opossums and skunks!   So we quit the trap but fortified the kitty buffets to keep our feline suspect around.  Problem was the camera footage was all in black and white and we really couldn't know for sure if it was Rowan.  If it was there'd be no need to search and trap the outback.  If it wasn’t, then we needed to soldier on and do more.  How I prayed!  I told God that we would do all the work (we already were!) if He would just guide us in the right direction. No time to be gentle, Lord, just hit me over the head with it.  Show me how to find her!

 Lots of money went for buffets and unsavory wildlife got fat. Opossums and skunks gobbled the food before the cats got a chance.  So far no raccoons came to the buffet but the others didn’t cease ...... and there was this one big skunk in particular, called him Davy Crockett because he was wide and low with a bushy tail and he looked like a big coonskin cap lumbering up to the feast every night.  Drove us crazy!  I browsed the web for ways to deter wildlife.  It suggested you provide foods more natural to these critters like seeds, nuts and berries placed some yards away from the buffets.  I checked Walmart’s garden center and found bags of the nuts & berries stuff for $10.  I bought a case of canned fish and heart-healthy snacks for the vermin.  As it turned out vermin are a lot like us.  If there’s a smorgasboard of yummies available they don’t eat the rabbit food either. 

Rowan had been missing for more than a month and some days seemed unbearable.  Another package arrived.  I asked what it was and Mark said “this one’s color. “   So we had $400 worth of cameras, muckboots, and a budget-busting buffet to keep going  but now we could identify our mysterious tabby..   The Sony color cam went under the porch and the black-and-white moved to the side yard to the buffet at the wood’s edge.  Sure enough our suspect kitty appeared from the crawl space and it was not Rowan. The disappointment was palpable.

Where could she be all this time?  She wouldn’t go far, not with everything she needed right here.   

STILL MISSING flyers with a new pix went out.  Buffets were open and cams were rolling.  I thought I might just make a lifelong career out of finding Rowan.  I couldn’t sleep, thought about her frightened and alone all these weeks.  She loved her life and family so much, she had to be traumatized by her situation.  Well-meaning neighbors said not to worry, she’s just found another place to eat and sleep right now.  That was like hearing that my kid found parents she liked better.  I thought about winter coming and was heartsick.  I bargained with God.

“She’s all I want for Christmas, Lord.  Nothing but Rowan home for Christmas.”

I prayed to the patron saints of everything, including St Dymphna, the patron saint of nervous breakdowns ( I should know).  Prayer was my only hope.  It gave me energy.  Maintaining a state of denial didn’t hurt either, made it easier to keep going without thinking too much.  It was so unlike me it was downright refreshing at times.

On a night when Mark was working late I was in my lounger manning surveillance and channel surfing when something moved on camera.  I smacked down the remote and sat up.  It was Davy Crockett, that buffet-sucking, porker of a skunk, big as life on the laptop screen.  Ooooh, but his timing was poor.  I’d had all I could take of traps, wildlife, fish-stinking mackerel buffets, tuna-spritzing treks in the woods and no sign of Rowan.   I was up, grabbed the flashlight and raced out the porch door.  I crawled halfway in and put the light on him.  He was down at the opposite corner near the side exit looking unphased by my presence.  I verbally warned him.  “Get out! ……Get OUT!”   It turned into a Mexican stare-down He stood his ground.  A skunk with hutzpah.  Crockett was begging for a showdown.  I reached around and grabbed the garden hose.  I waved it at him and warned again. He didn’t flinch.  I squeezed the trigger and shot him with a forceful spray.  It didn’t go well for either of us.  He sprinted back and forth and finally ran out.  Thank God.  In moments I smelled rubber burning.  Was the hose on fire?  No.  Oh, no…..  Davy had fired too.  He missed me but he’d sprayed the heck out of the crawl space.  The odor brewed to a demonic stench, a tsunami of stink that rolled over me, then turned up the porch steps and surged toward the house.  Nooooo!  God!  Not the house!!  I scrambled out holding my breath so I didn’t puke.  I raced inside but it was too late.  The laundry, kitchen, everywhere ……. it permeated the whole house!   It oozed in the air vents so I scrambled from room to room closing them.  I closed all the drains too, lest it seep in through the pipes.  It was God-awful and I had done it.  I’d unleashed it on our very home.  What should I do?   What did I know from skunks anyway!   What if it never goes away!  What if it’s permanent!!  Only one thing to do:   I phoned Mark’s cell.

 “Bern?  What’s wrong?  There’s static…..I can’t understand you.   What happened ?   …..What?   I’m on my way home.    I’m almost there…..   Who’s in the house?  ……  Davy who?”

 “Davy Crockett……..  CROCKETT!!!  ……  How many Davy’s do you know!!!”

 “I’m in the driveway, I’m hanging up.”

 Mark sauntered in, found me in the living room looking tragic and burst out laughing.

“You wanna tell me how it happened?”

 The house reeked for days.   Mark amused himself by softly singing the old TV theme song:     Davy…….Davy Crockett…..King of the wild frontier.

“He might be the king, Bern, but you’re the queen.”

 The coming weekend marked 6 weeks without Rowan making it hard to keep despair in check.  My sister was coming on Saturday to help with mom.  Everything was intense.

“Good Lord, what more could I do?    Saint Anthony?  Saint Jude?  Saint Frances?  For crying out loud, SAINT DYMPHNA !!!

 Well, there was one more thing I could do, money being no object and all. I scoured the web for a pet detective.  Her name was Lisa, of Feline Finders in Arkansas.  I emailed and phoned her too.  Got a message back hours later with a time to call.  We talked for a good while.  She was supportive, reassuring and she told me something I needed to hear.   It was not hopeless.  There was still time to find  Rowan.  She didn’t discuss fees then, but directed me to a website detailing how to make the most effective Lost Cat posters and she googledearth (the most likely planet) and suggested all the intersections near us where the posters should go.  We were to keep up the buffets and surveillance cams and broaden the flyer deliveries too.  I thanked her for her kind assistance then charged out to Walmart for poster supplies and spent the afternoon making them.  Lisa also suggested getting a weather-proof, heat-seeking game camera like hunters use to set up in the woods.   It snaps a pix of any warm-blooded creature that comes into range. I mentioned it to Mark. Walmarthad one for $99.

We hung the posters early on Saturday morning, that same afternoon my mom came to live with us.  Since we’d recently downsized to a smaller home we would move mom into the living room.  Who needs one anyway?  I met my sister at mom’s house.  We packed her immediate needs, cried together as we did it and closed up the house.  On the way home Mark phoned.  There was a call about Rowan.  The posters had been up just 3 hours.  Mark went ahead to check it out.  The guy, Steve, had an orange cat roaming about his property for the last few weeks.  He showed Mark around, pointing out common sighting areas.  My sister stayed with mom while Mark and I drove back to Steve’s with traps.  Mark said it was a mile or so west on Route 36, further than we thought Rowan would go.  The property encompassed acres of woods and fields.  It was daunting.  Needle in a haystack.  We grabbed the traps, walked the sighting areas and chose the best spots.  Mark set up the game camera where she’d pass on route to the bait.  I was spooning tuna and spritzing juice around when Mark called me over.  Standing in an open field he pointed off in the distance.

“All these woods to the left, that’s Abbotts Park.  Now look straight down the tree line, all the way to the end.  See that white thing just to the right?  That’s the roof of our garage.     By car it’s seems far but a straight line from our house?  She could’ve walked down the tree-line from our back yard.”

 It was possible.  We set the traps and checked back that evening.  They were untouched so I fixed them open and left the food.

Next morning the magnitude of mom’s dependency hit home.  I sat crumpled, crying in my coffee.  I loved mom dearly, but right then having her move in seemed more than I could bear.  Outside pressures mounted and I thought I might implode.  Mark reheated my coffee and said it would be okay.

“I can’t do this without you.”

“You don’t have to.”

Mom dressed while I made her oatmeal and she ate in the TV room while we took fresh tuna to the traps.  Two hours later Steve phoned.  We got the orange cat.  Mom was glued to Bonanza on TVLand so we left her with Ben Cartwright for a few minutes while we went back for the cat.  Steve called us from his garage. He read our disappointed faces.

Isn’t it Rowan? 

I said I wasn’t sure.  From its crouched position we couldn’t tell gender but it looked more like a tom,   and smaller than Ro.  Coat looked darker too.   Mark agreed, but we had to be sure.  We thanked Steve wholeheartedly and said we’d have a better look at home.  We loaded kitty in the Jeep.

 “You really think it might be Rowan?”

“No.” 

“Me neither.  Face looks male to me.”

“Yeah.”

My heart rolled around the Jeep’s floor all the way home.  I was upset with God too.  This wasn’t the joyful reunion I’d prayed for.  All I wanted for Christmas was Ro.  Was that too much to ask?   And did everything  in my life have to rival a Greek tragedy?

 Once home we released the cat in our closed bedroom, surprised to find a girl.

She hid under the bed and mewed distress when we spoke to her.

So…..we would wait and see…..just because she’s a girl, and because I’d heard of a case where the pet owner did not recognize her own pet.  I think we would know Rowan if we saw her.  She wasn’t our pet.  She was our family.   We checked in on kitty.  She’d calmed and came closer so we pet her head.  She mewed low and sad.  I was sorry for her too.  She had to be someone’s lost girl.   Next check, we left the door ajar and she ventured out peeking around furniture, looking confused and uneasy. She cautiously sniffed around.  Sometimes her coat looked lighter.  Mark thought so too.  Still she was slighter built; her face didn’t fit.  We watched for any sign of familiarity, personality.  We called her name but it didn’t change her woeful expression. She pussyfooted into the dining room and met old Jezebel.  They sniffed and touched noses. Of course, Jezebel posed no threat.  She had alzheimer’s too.   Gidget was different.  She marched over assertively and they sniffed intensely then moved on.     

 “Did ya see that Bern? No hissing.  You know Rowan could have lost weight in 6 weeks.”

 “Yeah but …..If it’s her….why were we so sure it wasn’t?”

“I don’t know.   But the cats know something and they don’t go by looks.  Even Gidget didn’t hiss.  Gidget eats the heads off snakes!”

“I don’t know what I think.  I was deflated.  “ Atthis moment I can’t say I know it’s Rowan.  Can you?”

“No.”

“All we can do is give her time.  If it’s Ro her real personality will come through.  We both want this nightmare over but we can’t just hope ourselves into believing it’s her.  We have to be positive, because if we’re wrong, our Rowan will be forever lost to us with no hope of ever being found.”

 I was upset.  My heart ached for this kitty too, lost, hungry, exhausted.  But we would help her too, you know, in our leisure time. Through the afternoon she seemed more comfortable.  She even napped in a quiet corner. In a confident stretch we glimpsed a bigger cat with a drooping pouch where a full belly had been.  The sun was setting on this trying day.  Kitty strolled into the laundry room stopping to sniff here and there.  She used the litter box.  She walked to the french door and looked out to the porch Rowan loved so much.  Behind those soulful eyes was a swift little brain processing each morsel of information.   I called Mark over and called “Rowan” watching her face, a face that might be Rowan’s given ample food and love.  Six weeks was a long time to be alone and frightened.

“Open the door, Bern.  See if she’ll go on the porch.”

She backed away.  Did she think we were putting her out?  She followed her powder pink nose to the kitty door and read its scented notes like music, her little brain humming along.  I watched her thoughtful gaze for a sign.  Oh, baby girl, do you know the song?

  “Mark, I think it’s Rowan…. She’s Rowan, isn’t she.”

“Yeah, she’s gotta be Rowan.”

 Joy and relief flooded in.  No one but we three knew the horror of the last six weeks, just Rowan, Mark and me.  This time she went through the kitty door to the porch.  She stopped at Rowan’s favorite post, whittled to a nub.  I started for the door.

“Don’t go out yet.  Let her enjoy exploring the porch.”

It was a joy just to watch her and we stood there for a good while.

 “Okay….. so, …. should I go for carryout?  What’s for dinner?”

“Mackerel.”

 It seemed appropriate that it was Thanksgiving week.  We were one thankful family, whole again.  I thanked God and the saints above many times over.  I was so grateful…..so very grateful.  I worked hard for it but God hadn’t let me down.  He delivered my Christmas present, the only gift I’d wanted, a bit early too, so we could enjoy the whole season.  But I hadn’t expected to get a card.  That was a complete surprise. 

The morning after Rowan came home I was up early.  Gidgetand Jezebel were singing for breakfast but   I didn’t see Rowan.  Wandering through the kitchen I turned on the coffee pot and peeked into the laundry room.  Rowan wasn’t there but a big beautiful mess lay on the floor:  a cardboard box of litter magnificently minced into the teensiest bits and shreds.  Her signature confetti, …… a card so exquisitely crafted, the point so perfectly made, so directly delivered.  I looked out to the porch and there she was looking pleased and safe and happy.  Rowan had found herself.