Due in part to the fact that I share this wooded place with a variety of rodents, I own three cats. Don’t be fooled into thinking that cats are naturally just waiting to become your household’s rodent terminators, because nothing could be further from the truth. Anyone who owns, or has owned, a cat can attest to the fact that they are as varied in their personalities as snowflakes, and at least two of my cats aren’t bothered much, if at all, by the scratching they hear in the walls some nights.
Generally speaking, all cats walk on four legs, meow, purr or communicate in whatever way a particular occasion calls for, and spend most of their time eating, sleeping or sunning themselves. That’s where the similarities end. Among the ones that I own, or rather, that make their home with me, no group of creatures could be as differently tempered as these three are.
During my tenure here in Lyman, I’ve owned and lost several cats. To a cat lover, nothing is as heart-wrenching as calling endlessly for your pet to no avail. You relive your actions up until the point where the cat can be deemed officially missing, and you berate yourself for not doing this or that. But truth be known, there really is no sure way to guarantee that your cat won’t eventually wander farther than it should unless it is strictly confined indoors. And once a cat has gotten a taste of the Great Beyond, there is no keeping it in when it decides it wants to go out.
My current feline family consists of Spooky, Muffin, and Emmett. Spooky is a small black seven-year-old female who goes out and who spent last week’s storm outside in some hiding place known only to her. It was with great relief that, three days later, I finally heard her characteristically insistent mewling outside my window. Muffin is a two-year-old gold and black spotted female who has never gone back outside since her harrowing experience up in a tree when she was just a few months old. She may peer around an open door, but that’s as far as she gets.
Last, but certainly not least, there’s our latest addition, Emmett, a big white and yellow year-old male who had originally been named Emma due to a gender mix-up on the part of his new owners, who were quickly set straight by the veterinarian who did the neutering honors. Emmett is still undecided as to whether he will be an indoor or outdoor cat. He spends minutes here and there outside, then scratches to come in, seeming to be more intrigued by being out in the yard at night, at which time he’s more reluctant to come back inside.
It’s impossible not to ponder from time to time as to what these cats see that I miss, and what they hear that my own preoccupied mind won’t allow me to. Where does Spooky go when she’s gone for days at a time, and what marvels does she come upon that she cannot tell of, at least not to me? What draws Emmett to the boundaries of my land at night, ears perked, tail swishing, eyes wide with wonder? While Muffin is content to observe the world from a windowsill, the other two have no power over the forces that lure them out into storms and dark woods.
I never fail to breathe a sigh of relief when, once the night closes in or bad weather threatens, all three cats are safe and nestled within the range of the woodstove’s glow. Their energy expended and curiosities sated for awhile, they seem happy to be wherever they are, secure in the love I have for them.
I’ve heard it said that animals can’t think on human terms, that concepts like love and comfort and safety are too abstract for them to process. I’m not so sure about that, for when Muffin curls around my neck in the evening while I’m reading or watching TV, I really have to wonder if some small part of her isn’t relieved that she’s still not up in that tree, as relieved as Spooky or Emmett are when I open the door to let them back in.
— Rachel Lovejoy is a freelance writer living in Lyman. She can be reached via e-mail at rlovejoy84253@roadrunner.com.
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