The Arrival of Zen

 

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This is the photo that told me I needed a third cat.  That old soul sweet face. I had two: Mocha who has an Instagram with 600+ followers and is a person in a cat suit. And Ming, the gorgeous but vacant girl who hides under things unless it’s dinner time.  I had to put Luna my polydactyl down a year ago last May. She was only six. It was horrible.

And then I started sporadically visiting the Facebook page of the rescue I got Mocha from. Nothing. Still nothing. Then…

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I know. Right?  She’s black. No Grey. No… well. She was three weeks old here and had been bottle fed. She loved people. I just knew. My gut was peaceful, my lips in a soft smile and I shook my head.

This one. 

So we waited till she was 12 weeks old and went to pick her up.  Brought one of those pet store pet carriers that’s really just a cardboard box with holes in it and a handle.  We got into the car and that little kit would have NONE of it. Panting. Scrambling. Trying to chew her way out. And we had a 1.5 hour ride home. I knew even though I wasn’t driving, letting her out was a bad idea. But she was FRANTIC.

And so.  l Let her out.

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And this is what she did. Climbed up on my shoulder and fell asleep. In bumper-to-bumper highway traffic. She’d look around every so often and go right back to sleep.

I said to my driver/husband. “She’s so Zen!”

Name stuck.  She still is. She’s smart and the other two cats find her balsy. She plays with Mocha and stalks poor Ming who has no idea what playing is (we think Ming had a kittenhood trauma, we got her late).

And now…

She is growing up and nine months old. She sucks on fingers when she can and still plops down on my left shoulder when she can. And is learning a human vocabulary (Dinner, Hungry, Play, Toy, Zen, Out – we have a small netted tent outside she and Mocha go in when I am out on the patio.)

The only issue – she’s so dark I trip or sit on her sometimes.

And in the sun, I am not really sure what color she is.

We are smitten. Even when she snores. And even when she steals food off the table.

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Cats die everyday…

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Not her. Not yet.
Not StellaLuna.

Not my Luna
My LunaBug
My Poof

Why do we chose to love someone or something (is an animal a “thing” or a “one”?) when it hurts so much when their time on earth ends?

She was a…

  • Five-year-old polydactyl torbie cat
  • Who sat like a ballet dancer (toes in front) and crossed her front legs when she walked
  • “Meow”  No. Luna’s voice was a sweet Guinea pig squeak
  • She loved drinking very cold water (ice cube freak)
  • She only ate kitten chow. I called it Crack. “Want some crack?” Squeak!
  • A brush in your hand – she’d follow you around with her tail up.
  • Terrified of my stepson (too loud and too fast -she hid under the bed)
  • Picked on by Mocha (a year older, not related)

Do cats have souls? Is there an afterlife for them? Is it with humans? Did my dad greet her?

What animals have souls? My sons (14 and 17) both gave this answer. “Maybe it has to do with love.”

Cats die everyday. This one mattered. This one hurts. I feel her absence after only 5 years.

I will miss you, Luna bug. I am glad you are no longer suffering. 

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Cat History

I have had many cats and dogs in my life.  I am not proud of the fact that I had to re-home a few, but I am proud that I always found them GREAT homes with cat lovers.  In retrospect, I should not have gotten any pet when I had small kids and certainly not with an allergic and non – cooperative husband.

 

neferandKashkaNefer on left, Kashka on right. Taken in 1990 in Maine. 

1976 – My 13th birthday. Nefertiti entered my life. I had wanted a horse (what 13 year old girl doesn’t?). Not something my parents could do. So this kitty entered my life. She ended up an 18# bad ass who moved from Texas to Virginia, to Michigan to Maine. She was diagnosed as FLV positive, and was on steroids awhile. I NEVER had to have her teeth cleaned. I had to put her down in 1991 (I was 26 and she was 13) and cried the whole time. I have regrets that I didn’t have the financial/life support to try and keep her longer. She had litterbox issues and to this day I feel like I should have done more.

Continue reading “Cat History”

What’s one thing you always procrastinate on?

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The litterbox.

My poor cats.  I am astounded that they have not developed poor peeing habits, or structured some sort of mutiny.  I confess it’s not my favorite chore. It sometimes even makes me gag. (And I am a mom, who’s changed her share of poopy diapers, washed poopy clothes and both cleaned up vomit and held the heads of boys who are doing it.).
I have an alert on my phone.  It goes off every day at 11 AM.  Ha. I ignore it.  Then I whine about (first world problem) doing it at night right before bed.

I am waiting for Mocha, the smartest of the three cats, to start writing me threatening notes in litter or poop pieces.

Sigh. If someone could figure out how to make this a fun thing, they’d make a mint.