The Prodigal Kitty
I arose Tuesday morning to the sound of the alarm clock and knew immediately that something wasn't right. I went downstairs and first noted how cold it was, and then I saw my back door standing open. Then it hit me ... my beautiful, beloved kitty was nowhere to be found. I searched his usual hiding places in vain, I ran outside in pajamas and bare feet and called for him. The damp cold eventually drove me back inside. Through my tears, I fed my other kitty, Faith. I wailed silently for my Dakota as I carried on with my morning routine.
Faith and Dakota are Maine Coon kitties. I adopted them from a rescue shelter last summer. Faith was a little kitten then, about 2 months old. Dakota was about a year and a half when I brought them home. Faith adapted easily to her new home, with the energy and curiosity inherent in any kitten. Dakota was a different story though. He hid beneath my bed and would not come out. He would come downstairs for food, water and the litter box, but if anyone moved, he would bolt back upstairs to his safe haven under the bed. I had been told by the lady at the shelter that they thought he had been abused before he was rescued. It seemed pretty likely to me, given his demeanor.
At night, after I got into bed, Dakota would come up and let me pet him. No wait, that's not quite accurate. He would *demand* to be petted and scratched. It became our routine at night. As I got ready for bed, he would pace back and forth, trilling and chirping as only Maine Coons do. I would settle in and he would present himself for ear scratching and belly rubbing. His purr was so strong and loud. I could feel the vibration through the bed. And I didn't even have to put a quarter in the bed!
For me, this relieved much of my nighttime loneliness. I am single by choice, and while I am comfortable with that, grateful even, the still of the night often brought doubts, longings and pangs of loneliness. This magnificent kitty kept me company and gave me unconditional love. He responded unabashedly to my attention with his deep rumbling purr and kneading paws. His emerald eyes would look at me with what could only be total adoration.
With my patient coaxing, Dakota slowly became more of a part of the household. But he was still skittish at times. If I walked up behind him too quickly, he would dart out of the room. He started coming downstairs to be with everyone else. He would sit under the kitchen table or jump up on one of the chairs where he could see the activity in the living room. Then he started coming out and laying on the floor next to my chair. Maine Coon kitties are rarely the lap-cat types, they are more like dogs in their socializing, preferring to just be near their human. Dakota also started playing some. MC kitties tend to not lose their kitten-like playfulness even well into adulthood. He would pounce on and bat around the kitty toys, or even a leaf that had been tracked inside by my son. It is quite a sight to behold ... a 20 pound cat frolicking around like a little kitten. Finally, I knew that Dakota realized this is his home, he is safe here and will always be loved and cared for.
When I realized he was gone, I felt as if my heart had been ripped from my chest. I was scared and worried ... he is afraid of his own shadow, how could he make it outside with all those other cats and dogs. Would he know to run away from cars? How would he find food? How would he stay warm and dry? Surely he must be miserable out there. The weather was nasty that day ... rainy, cold and windy. But Maine Coons are built for harsh climates. Legend holds that their ancestors arrived on the early settler ships, brought aboard to help keep the mouse population down. A few didn't make the return trips to England and were left with the settlers in the north-east colonies. Left to fend for themselves in the harsh Maine winters, they developed a lush, thick, water-proof coat that grew thicker in the winter. They have long fur between their toes to make walking on snow easier. Their bodies are thick, sturdy and low to the ground, their legs short but strong, made for quick pouncing on prey. I tried to keep this all in mind as I fretted about my baby out in the cold, rain and snow.
I would go to the back door and windows often, looking out, sometimes calling for Dakota, day and night. I set out a bowl of food which quickly disappeared, probably eaten by other animals in the neighborhood. I searched through the woods in back of the house. And I prayed. I pled with God to bring my kitty back, I needed him so much. I have been going through absolute hell lately ... the loss of my precious kitty was too much to bear on top of it all. Every night, I fought the tears as I longed to have my kitty next to me, his sonorous purr lulling me to sleep.
Friday night, after my most recent fires in my life had been put out, or at least smothered down to smoldering embers, I went to the window for at least the hundredth time in four days. I stared out into the backyard, leaning my forehead against the cold pane. At first I thought I was seeing things, but no, there he was! I raced downstairs to the back door, cautioning my son to be still and quiet. I opened the door, but I didn't see Dakota out there. I called to him, “Kitty kitty kitty!” just like I do when calling him for his supper. I heard a plaintive meow ... my heart clenched, he sounded so scared! I called again, backed away from the door, and picked up the kitty dish with kibble in it. I rattled it and called. He stuck his head inside hesitantly, back out and then, praise God, ran inside and under the kitchen table. I could barely breathe ... I couldn't believe he actually came home.
His fur was matted on his belly with mud and poop. He stank to high heaven, but he was the most beautiful thing to me right then. He was scared, and hungry. I left him to eat his fill in the kitchen. Then I gave him a bath. Maine Coons love water, they don't freak out around it like most cats do. He was still terrified from his outdoor adventure, but he let me work loose the knots and mats from his fur. As I brushed him later, he cranked up his big ole purr and kneaded the towels he was laying on with his giant paws.
Later that night, as I lay in bed reading a book, he was flat on his back, toes curled and front paws kneading the air as I rubbed his belly, I thanked God again and again for bringing my kitty home. Then with my heart finally at peace, I slept to the music of his purr.
« Hush me up!
Posted by
LissaKay on 02/10/03 at 01:23 PM in
Kitty Tales
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