Big adventures, small miracles

I’ve blogged so little this year that I wouldn’t blame you if you don’t recall the story of Margaret, the sweet calico street cat with eyes like saucers who was attacked by a predator and almost lost her tail this winter. I took her home after surgery, where she instantly turned into a total love bug, shocking even this veteran rescuer.

She was with me for many months as I got her to be less afraid and more accustomed to being indoors. But then I started getting anxious about the fact that she was proving a challenging placement. (Hey, anyone want to adopt a cat who will be afraid of you for quite a while, not want to be touched and be picky about her food to boot?) When a home materialized in June, my gut told me the home was not quite right for this special girl, but my anxiousness overrode my gut instincts and I delivered her tearfully to her new home in a swanky coastal neighborhood.

And then, four days later, she jumped out a two-story window.

I was beside myself with concern for her, now running loose in a strange area, maybe with injuries. And I was also upset that the new family didn’t seem to care all that much. (In hindsight, I’m not sure I should have blamed them. They only had her for four days, during which time she hid.) So it was I alone who papered the neighborhood with flyers in mailboxes, and drove around calling her twice a day. When days turned into a week, I was tearfully losing hope.

Then I got the call from a complete stranger just a few houses away from her adoptive home. “I think your cat is here on my fence!” said a man named Frank, who had kept my flyer and recognized her. I raced over with a carrier, hands trembling, and called to her. Margaret came out from under a bush, looking scared but otherwise fine. In my anxiousness to get to her, I climbed over a low cyclone fence, jabbing a bare ankle on the wire, but I was undaunted. I approached her, she stood her ground.Then I grabbed her, threw her in the carrier triumphantly, and let out a whoop!

And then Margaret freaked out, literally broke open the carrier door in her mad scramble, and ran off into the gathering night. THEN I was daunted, in pain and beside myself with anguish.

Frank and his wonderful wife Chris said not to worry – they would help me track her down.  So for another 4-5 days they kept watch and would text me when she was sighted. (Talk about the kindness of strangers?! Never have I seen such compassion.) I went to the area twice a day, finding her hideout, leaving food for her (she wouldn’t come close after the betrayal of putting her in the carrier) and eventually I started leaving out a trap. She wouldn’t go near it.

How far would I go to recapture Margaret? It occurred to me that she might be more inclined to go in the trap if it smelled like me. So I sat in my car, checked my mirrors for passing cars or pedestrians, reached up under my blouse and awkwardly pulled my camisole down over my legs. Lifting the front entrance, I put it in the trap. Laugh all you want to, I was able to get her the next day.   😉

  Margaret in trap – note black camisole strap under her foot.

But the miracles weren’t quite over yet. Humbled by my bad decision in taking the first home that presented itself, I decided that Margaret’s happiness was worth waiting as long as it took to find the right home, and I would stop stressing about it and just enjoy having this wonderful kitty in my life.

And just a day or two later, I got the email: we saw an old flyer about Margaret – is she still available? Just chatting with the interested couple I could tell they were sensitive, kind, experienced with challenging cats, and hankering for another tortie like the one they have. Again, it was a lesson in the wisdom of letting go of trying to control the universe, because the universe has its own plans.

I curled up next to her on the bed that night, and told her what was going to happen. She purred and I cried, knowing this separation would be for good.

(I do believe there is an equation at work here: for every month of cohabitation with a cat there is x amount of emotional investment and x number of weeks of grieving when they are adopted. For me, at 5 months, it feels like giving away my own cat – something I could never do with my long-timers.)

Anyway, Margaret has been there a week or so now, and after a rocky couple of days, she is blossoming. She is not only letting herself be petted, but she is purring, and laying claim to her new mom’s computer – something my own cats also seem to love to do.

I miss her terribly, but am so happy that she is being loved for who she is.

Saint Francis, thanks for heeding my prayers. And for making it possible to make a good ending out of a bad decision.