Three

So, today I kidnapped a cat. 

It started while my older daughter and I were unloading groceries in the late afternoon “arctic megablastinator” or whatever the current meteorological name is for bitter cold. Ky, extremely cautious about most furry creatures, stated, “There’s meowing!” I had to ask her three times what the heck she was saying before I heard it too: repeated meowing coming from somewhere in our detached garage. Clearly, there was a little animal trapped inside. 

It was getting more and more blastinatious outside, so I sprang into superhero action quickly. I will spare you all the details of the stressful four or five hours that followed, mainly because there’s a lot to write and I'm still feeling a bit fragile, but they involved the following:

beautiful black kitty came to me instantly. . . she was a lover, a purrer, and a nudger . . .Fergus, the dog afraid of his own shadow, even liked her, and they followed each other around downstairs . . .panic set in as I realized, Holy Crap, I have a cat in my house and a daughter whose allergy will send her little asthmatic lungs into a state of chaotic phlegm . . . hives started forming on my forearms and legs because I guess I’m a little more allergic than I thought, too . . . sun was setting, things were closing, and I was at a loss . . . 

contacted HOA, sent them a picture, did same with Facebook. . . . feeling a little panicky, sent a more urgent Facebook request asking for advice from cat-loving friends . . . took the cat on a ride around my neighborhood to see if anyone was cat hunting in the freezing dusk . . . then, out of desperation and with the advice of a friend, took it to my vet.

I will most definitely leave out details there, because, well, it wasn’t that pleasant. The front desk folks did not share my concern, or so it seemed, and I definitely got the feeling that I was intruding. No, they could not keep her overnight. It wasn’t their policy. They searched her for a chip, then advised me to call Animal Control.

Like a mature, intelligent, and rational 45-year-old, I then begin crying with a shaking, nervous cat in my arms (hives be damned). Where was I to put this cat when I couldn’t keep her? Finally, they must’ve felt sorry for me and figured it was time for my meds, because they agreed to keep her, but only until 7:30 in the morning. They left me with a half-ass, “good luck.”

Thank God my friends on Facebook and in real life were much sweeter and could sympathize with the inner crazy cat lady I had chosen to discover as the sun set. Peeps were checking on the situation via text and offering advice on my post. One friend assured me, absolutely, that the cat could die in temps like we’re expecting tonight (below freezing with wind chill), and that was all I needed to hear. I still felt tense but had more of a sense that things were going to be alright.

My brother came over for dinner, and that was great. A glass of wine helped, too, but still, I was unsettled. What the hell was I going to do at 7:31 a.m. Could I call in to work saying, “Um. Can’t come in. Have a cat.” That didn’t seem like an option. Homework help was being requested, dishes were piling up undone, Christmas and Hanukkah gifts to open were being ignored. It all felt a tad zany. Thank goodness Facebook friends were chiming in with ideas, making me feel more normal and less like I had just stolen a cat and ruined its life. 

And thank goodness for number THREE: the second a stranger offered to help.

A text came in from a number I don’t know; she had gotten my information off the neighborhood email that was circulating about our little Kitty (now a capital K). She asked if I had found a place for her. I told her I had for the night. We exchanged quite a few texts about what I was going to do next and I started getting a little anxious all over again. Then she informed me, simply, that she’d bring me a spare litter box, kitty litter, and food, just in case I needed to keep her for a bit in my laundry room or in some Survivor-inspired tent construction I imagined myself having to whip up the next morning.

This stranger showed up just as the temps were entering the teens, wind rattling the kitty litter and food bags she juggled up the steps. Lisa lives in another neighborhood in our subdivision, one that goes to a different group of schools. I didn’t know her and she didn’t know me. But I greeted her like I needed her. And you know what? I did. Her kindness, the act of reaching out to a random stranger to help a cold animal, was exactly what I knew I needed to sleep tonight. If I have to shove that poor little kidnapped cat in a bathroom or wherever tomorrow for a temporary fix, I’ll make her a comfy bed, and she’ll be able to eat and poop to her heart’s content. All thanks to Lisa.

The second we connected, Lisa showed such kindness and selflessness that, when I shut the door a few minutes later, I knew I had learned something great. 

I can’t really put it into words right now, but I know it had something to do with helping others, strangers or not. And memories of Kitty’s warm purring next to my ear made the hives, juvenile tears, and melodrama nothing more than whispers of an eventful evening.

Lisa put things into perspective. No catastrophe after all. 

(Get it? I’ll be here all year.)