From our first date I was convinced that Ralph was the man that I was destined to marry. We loved the same foods, movies, books, and shared the same friends.
What we didn’t share was a fondness for cats.
I loved them. He didn’t.
“What do you have against cats?” I demanded.
“Grandma’s cat bit me hard when I was little. I haven’t liked them since.”
“You’re such a big baby” I giggled.
Two days after returning from our honeymoon, a stray tabby appeared on the porch. She was carrying a heavy load; a tummy so packed with kittens that we could feel her belly writhe as the little ones inside jostled for space.
“I think Dorothy would be a nice name” my new husband remarked, as the cat purred in his lap.
You could have knocked me over with a feather.
A few days later Dorothy made us grandparents, and our home was never catless again.
A 19 pound gentle giant named Simon has been with us for the last six years. White with black spots, he’s playful and loveable as well as sole owner of an impressive collection of catnip mice.
If our boy had a resume, his profession would be best described as “surface tester.” He moves from chair to bed, sofa to floor. Simon is all about comfort.
For the first few years he was alone much of the day, but he didn’t seem to mind. We made it up to him by showering him with love when we returned from work.
Then out of the blue, he began to mope. I knew he wasn’t sick because he still ate like a horse. And he certainly didn’t lack for attention.
But something was wrong.
“Get him another cat to play with and he’ll perk up” said my friend Aimee. “He’s probably lonely and no one in his family is fluent in critter-speak. Imagine being the only creature in the house who understands what meow means.”
She had a good point.
The following weekend we went to the animal shelter to find Simon a buddy.
Ralph and our daughter Julie walked through the cage area, while I went to the Kitty Kat room.
Inside it was wall to wall cuteness. I sat down, and within seconds I was claimed by a young tabby named “Sid.” He purred, bumped my chin and quickly settled into my lap. Of course my heart melted into a syrupy mess. I was about to announce that the search was over and I’d found Simon’s soul mate, when Julie barreled through the door with the same claim.
Sid’s competition was a seven month old female, with big astonished eyes, long white whiskers and black fur with white spots; the opposite of our white fur with black spots Simon.
“Please can we take her home? I want to call her Maggie” Julie said excitedly.
The cat poured on the charm, for Ralph and Julie.
But she wouldn’t let me near her with a ten foot pole.
After fifteen minutes of coaxing, I was over it.
“C’mon guys, she doesn’t like me. I found a sweet little guy next door. Let’s get him.”
Their distraught faces told me that we weren’t adopting Sid.
“I hope you like me better when we get home” I muttered, loading her into the car.
When Simon met Maggie, he made it clear that his home was his castle and he wasn’t into sharing.
Maggie immediately took possession of his palace and didn’t care if he liked it or not.
For the first month their spats were endless; growling, swatting and hissing. The first time Maggie snatched one of Simon’s precious catnip mice and ran upstairs with it, he looked ready to blow a gasket.
Clearly he was no longer lonely.
Prickly little Maggie was a constant source of amusement; from her bowlegged catapults down the stairs, to her sneak attacks on Simon while he was surface testing. She lay on her back like a dead bug while watching TV, and loved to lick the ice cubes bobbing in everyone’s glasses. Ralph and Julie played with her all the time and spoiled her rotten.
She still barely tolerated me. I was permitted to feed her. That was it.
Every attempt to show her affection was met with a firm rebuff. If I tried to pet her, she’d allow me to lightly touch the tip of a whisker or brush my finger over a tiny white paw before running away. I would cuddle with Simon and then coax her to join us. She watched from a distance but never accepted the invitation.
Then one day I was cleaning out a drawer and came across Maggie’s adoption paperwork. What I read was an unpleasant eye opener.
Her former owner was a woman that the intake staff described as loud and obnoxious. Maggie’s reaction to her voice led them to believe that the woman might have abused her.
The cage tag was also included. It stated that Maggie was “due out” two days after we adopted her.
Abused.
Due out.
My eyes filled with tears.
When Julie found Maggie she was alone, frightened and unwanted. She wasn’t in the Kitty Kat room with the more adoptable cats. If we hadn’t come along when we did, she might have traveled a sad one way journey taken by so many before her.
Suddenly Maggie’s behavior made sense. Maybe in some small way I reminded her of her former owner, and she didn’t trust me. It never occurred to me that she might have deep scars from her previous life.
It was time to start over, but I hadn’t a clue how to begin.
Fortunately, Maggie did.
Ralph had gotten into a routine of brushing her each day before he left for work. She loved it so much that she’d stand guard on the chair next to the door, so he wouldn’t forget her.
One day I was watching a movie and found the brush wedged between the cushions. As soon as I pulled it out, Maggie leapt onto the sofa, and meowed. We regarded each other for a moment, and I gently placed it front of her. She sniffed it, sniffed my hand and began rubbing her head against the bristles. After a few strokes she wriggled closer to me and purring, with her eyes closed.
It was a long awaited miracle.
The brushing became an everyday event, mixed with soft words of encouragement. Slowly the walls came down.
Now Maggie follows me everywhere. She curls up next to me as I watch TV; she lies by my chair as I write. She drops a catnip mouse at my feet, expecting a game of toss and fetch. She wants the ice cubes in my drinks, and burrows under our sheets at night.
I can’t scoop her up and cuddle her as I do Simon. That’s not who she is. There’s still a skittish boundary in place that I’m not permitted to cross.
But Maggie finally loves me. Of that I’m certain. The love of an animal. One of God’s greatest gifts.
And I feel immeasurably blessed.
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