JB, the cat

I’ve never really liked cats.   

I suppose the ill feelings began when I was a little kid.  The lady across the street from us on Fauver Avenue had a dozen of ‘em we used to say, most of whom spent multiple nights every week (or so it would seem) yowling in the bushes just outside our bedroom windows.  They were often spoken about in our home with disdain.  

When Cindy Lou and I found each other twenty-two years ago, however, she was caretaker of two cats:  Snowfire and Dorothy.  If I wanted to hang out with Cindy Lou, I would have to accept her kitties.  And to thicken the plot even a bit more, she adopted her cats from a rescue shelter while accompanied by my daughter, Kelly, a pre-teen at the time.  It was Kelly’s call, in fact, to call the really fuzzy one Snowfire.  Needless to say, I became a non-cat lover living with cats.  

I hate to speak poorly of the dead, but both of those little cat people were a bit psycho.  Snowy lived most of her life under our bed, and when we had company, she was known to hold her urine so long she developed bladder infections.  Dorothy?  More sociable, but the weakest stomach of any animal I’ve ever met.  Poor kid threw up all over the place.   And peeing on furniture?  Let’s just say Dorothy and Snowy did not enhance my affection for felines. 

Still, it was -- and undoubtedly is -- obvious to me that Cindy Lou loves cats.  She loves all little animals, in fact.  She’s said how it’s the vulnerability that attracts her.  Little creatures in need touch her heart.  Since Snowy and Dorothy have gone to that great scratching post in the sky, we’ve been known to rescue a stray and deliver him or her to a shelter for adoption.  We’ve even cat-sat little buddies of friends of ours when they were between places to live.  We had one kitty that way for almost a year.  

So it was when I headed out earlier this week for an all-too-short solo fall camping trip to one of my favorite places, John Bryan State Park in Yellow Springs.  JB is so great because on weekdays this time of year the campground is nearly deserted.  If a guy is looking for a solitary retreat in an Ohio state park, it doesn’t get much better than JB.  For a little YouTube video I made of another such fall camp trip there, see:  'Retreat'.

This time around, however, I was surprised to find a kitty at my feet within the hour of setting up the camper.  Cute little thing, as cats go, I had to tell myself.  Just the same, when she jumped up into my lawn chair, or into my lap, I let her know such behavior would not be tolerated while I was there.  Still, she kept hanging around, and, well, she was really pretty.  She seemed so calm, too, so unlike house cats that hunt around our neighborhood who high tail it whenever I come out the back door hissing.  

Odd thing was she had a flea collar on.  How did she get there?  She seemed wed to my campsite, and regardless of how long I’d be gone on a walk, she would be right there when I returned.  I sent Cindy Lou an iPhone pic soon thereafter and asked if she had ‘packed the damn cat’ with my gear.  

Later that afternoon, one of the few campers there ambled over to my site and offered that the cat seemed to appear the weekend prior when two young girls had inhabited my campsite.  He had the feeling that the girls left at least a couple cats there intentionally for pick-up by Good Samaritans.  We both lamented how poor that decision was, but at least I had a sense of where this little kitty had come from.  My neighbor advised that he had put a handful of dog food out under a tree -- that’s all he had -- for the little critters.  Sure enough, while I sat at the fire as evening came on, the cat approached the dry stuff and set to crunching.  Before too long I set out a little rug she could sit on, along with a bowl of water and a little tuna, saving the rest for another meal.  

Oh, did it rain that night!  When I got out in the morning, I looked around for the cat but couldn’t find her.  Her rug was now soaked and her food bowl scoured clean.  Then I saw her in one of the only dry places she could find.  I refer to the picture above.  

I i-messaged Cindy Lou soon thereafter and told her somebody better come over and pick up this cat.  First, she was way too cute.  Second, her good nature would never stand up against a feral cat, raccoon, or -- heaven forbid -- a coyote.  Cindy accused me of being smitten by the cat.  True, perhaps, but I really wanted her to see the kitty the way I had.  We set a date that she would come up for breakfast the next morning and then we would decide what to do.  

Later that day in an i-message Cindy asked if I had named it.  I said I had.  I figured JB would work since I found her at John Bryan.  Cindy had arrived at precisely the same name.  I didn’t know yet she was a she, but Cindy said even if she were, we could feminize the spelling to Jonnie or Johnnie or something. 

Next morning I was looking forward to Cindy Lou coming out to meet the kitty.  Problem was, Cindy had been out late the night before in Cincinnati for our niece’s first violin concert.  By morning Cindy was dragging and wondered if she could skip breakfast and just have me bring the kitty home with me.  

I wasn’t happy about her not coming and I growled as I put my wet camp away.  Cindy messaged that she would nonetheless have some cat food and litter at home when I got there.  

But then, just as I started up my SUV to hook up the trailer, the cat disappeared.  That was it.  Gone.  She had been there for three days non-stop, then gone.  I waited.  No cat.  I drove around the campground, circling back to see if she had come back out of the woods.  Still, no cat.  

By the time I got home I was pretty unhappy with both the cat and Cindy.  We talked civilly a bit, then I invited Cindy to go to lunch with me at Clifton Mill.  She had mentioned just prior to my going camping that we hadn’t been to Clifton, so I figured there was no time like the present.  Besides, then we could stop by the campground one more time to see if we could find the little bugger. 

Back at camp an hour later, there was no sign of the cat.  I told my story again as we looked into the thicket to see if we could pick up any motion.  

Then I looked up.  There she was sitting 15 feet overhead in a honeysuckle bush, stuck, unable to get down.  I climbed up on a dead limb and she eventually came to me.  Cindy got her first hold and it was love at first sight, like I figured. 

Still, we didn’t know what to do with the cat.  On the way home we called SISCA, Tenth Life, the humane society, and a place called Robin’s Nest.  Nobody had an opening.  We knew we could always pay a fee and take her to the county animal shelter on Webster Street.  Only problem was, that is a kill facility.  No adoption after a time and the animal is put down.  That was a last option we didn’t want to take just yet.  

Then Cindy suggested we could take her home for a time to figure out what we should do.  

And there you have it.  We have a new cat.  

She’s a cutie, too.  And a thought came back to me from a day prior when I wondered what teacher had I been sent so mysteriously.    

Who knew?  ;-) 

Today’s Elder Idea:  No matter how much cats fight, there always seems to be plenty of kittens. 

Abraham Lincoln