Listen to DNTO: Jan. 23 (Pets)

It was a perfect August morning when I stepped out my front door to check what attire would be best for my bike ride to work when my attention was drawn by a cat running full speed toward me. It sprinted up the steps and through the front door. The red tabby sat himself calmly in the centre of my living room floor and stared back at me with a look that seemed to say “So, now, what are we going to do for fun?”

I prepped my bag for work and the little red cat regarded the new surroundings approvingly. He remained at my heels as I rolled my bike to the street. I bid fairwell to my furry guest and peddled away. Looking back, there was the little cat, running full-tilt after me! “No, Little cat, no!” I yelled back “Don’t follow me!” But he continued to pursue for two blocks before giving up the chase. I felt my heart ache a little as I left him behind, watching me as I went.

Not surprisingly, he returned the next day, and the day after that. Chasing after my bike became a new morning ritual. It wasn’t long before he weaseled his way into our hearts, and we adopted the little red stray. He was young and clean and well-behaved with no bad habits. Over time he became increasingly playful and affectionate, but it was also clear that he was not going to change his independent ways to suit us.

One day a young twenty-ish hippie couple came to the door and asked if they could harvest some hops from the vines in our backyard. I agreed, and the little red stray stayed close to them as they filled their bags with hops. The hippie couple told us that the red cat used to live with them, and that he had showed-up to them the same way he had come to us.

They told us that they tried to keep him indoors, but he jumped from a second story window to get out. It seems the red cat did not care for the new kitten that a roommate brought home, so the little red cat moved out. The hippie couple saw him in our yard, “and made up an excuse to visit with their old friend.

With the change of seasons came the fall bird migration. We had named the little red cat Jake, and got him a nametag with a collar and a bell in hope of protecting fledgling birds. Jake was a clumsy but persistent hunter and despite our efforts to prevent it, Jake caught several rare and colourful songbirds, much to our consternation. But, Jake was not the only predator in our back yard.

An eagle took to roosting in our alder tree. Jake always accompanied me as I worked in the garden and this new visitor kept a keen eye on both of us. The eagle stayed in our tree for three days and I became increasingly concerned for Jake who blithely continued his reign of terror on sparrows while the eagle looked on.

On the fourth day, Jake and the eagle were gone. How ironic that our little bird killer would be taken by an eagle. After a week with no sign of the little red cat, hope gave way to acceptance, and we told all our friends of Jake’s dramatic illfate.

As if to spite us, Jake showed-up the very next day hungry, and no worse for wear. We lavished Jake with attention, in the hope of convincing him to stay home, and out of harms way. I built him a “kitty condo” from a cardboard shipping box. We bought him gourmet catnip and feathery bird toys. We made him a sleeping spot in every room. He was soon an ever-present shadow, always within earshot, always greeting me in the yard or at the door when I arrived home. It seemed we had become a happy, stable family.

Two nights ago our furnace went out, and we spent the night in front of the fireplace, wrapped in heavy blankets, curled-up on the floor. Jake purred loudly and lolled about on his back, feet in the air inviting us to rub his belly. Under the glow of a warm fire the three of us enjoyed a perfect moment. A simple and uncomplicated happiness.

The next day (yesterday), I worked on a basement reno while Jake supervised from his perch on the window sill, and accompanied me in frequent trips to the street for each new sheet of drywall. As he sat on the tailgate of the van, I was struck by how it reminded me of the first time I saw him, confidently taking ownership of new surroundings and starring back with a bemused “So, now, what are we going to do for fun?” look. That was the last time I saw Jake alive.

I had always been afraid of coyotes catching Jake unaware. I heard them howling last night, I had seen them on the street and in the yard. When Jake did not come home last night, I feared the worst. The weather had turned. It was raining hard and the wind snapped tree limbs. By morning the yard would be strewn with broken tree branches.

Jake was never afraid of the rain or even storms. In fact, he often came home drenched and noisily insisting on being toweled dry. I originally started drying him off to keep him from marring my desk and papers with wet cat prints, but over time it became Jake’s expectation to be lovingly toweled-off. It was a peculier ritual that we had both come to enjoy.

This morning when our neighbour, Linda, came to the door, I knew it was bad news. She held out a Kitty Carrier with both hands while clenching the handle of her umbrella in her armpit Jake’s body was covered with a sheet, like they do with people in the movies. I assume the water streaking her face was just rain.

In the end it was not coyotes or eagles that took Jake, but the most common and sinister predator: a speeding car. With no outward sign of injury, his red and white fur as beautiful as ever. It seemed quite incomprehensible that could not simply wakeup and walk away.

I could not bear the thought of putting him in the garbage can like a discarded plush toy, so we called the SPCA to make arrangements.

I carefully fashioned it into a tiny casket from the cardboard box that had been his kitty condo. I toweled him dry one last time, I closed his eyes, I wrapped him in his favourite blanket and I put him in the little box. Catherine added a feathery bird toy and a catnip mouse and closed the lid.

We knew that Jake might not be with us for long, and we tried in vein to curb his wandering ways, but defiance was in his nature. They say it is never a mistake to love, but beware little red stray cats, they will break your heart.

Michael Rosser, January 26, 2010 2:37 AM