Yellow Cat
Lament
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He was quiet through the whole long drive from Kaaawa to the Humane Society in town. I had to drop Meda off for a meeting, and then the yellow cat and I drove the rest of the way alone. He didn't say anything, but I tried to speak reassuringly to him along the way, as I've talked to him over recent months. We've shared a number of hours recently, yellow cat and I, as he warily accepted cat food on our deck while I tried, with calm voice and slow movements, to break through his inbred distrust of people. But unlike other times I've gone through this time consuming process with cats who later joined our tribe, he stayed just beyond reach. I've never met a cat I didn't understand, and none I didn't like. Yellow cat was no exception. Under different circumstances, he would have earned the right to join the household, but that's just not possible now. And so, for the good of our existing cat family, we've been trying to get him into a trap for two days, feeling guilty and conflicted the whole time. First he just stayed away. Then he got hungry. Last night we watched as he slowly came up the stairs onto deck, walked over to the cat door (which was locked), and sat down, staring into the house as several of the inside cats, who sat at a safe distance, looked back. He waited in that pose, expecting that, as on other nights, I would deliver a bowl of food and a few words of wisdom. This time I didn't move, although the sliding glass door left no place for either of us to hide. Yellow cat was within inches of the trap but didn't enter. He looked at the food dish in the trap. He appeared to think about it. Then he walked away and sat down at the edge of the deck and began to clean himself. Taking his time. I honestly didn't know whether to cheer or curse his caution. That emotional confusion has had us wrapped up in knots since deciding several days ago that the status quo could not continue. Early this morning, a couple of hours before dawn, I added some leftover salmon to the trap. A bit on a piece of paper towel just inside the door, and a little more in a dish way in the back. Yellow cat didn't appear. Just before 6, I disarmed the trap door to prevent any of our cats from trapping themselves and we left on our daily walk. Down the block, another upsetting encounter. Mr. Silverman came running across tiny Olohu Road just as we rounded the corner from our short segment of Haahaa Street. It was only our second contact since the blue-eyed cat decided to move down the street, but he erupted into loud meows. He was very excited, rubbing against our legs, talking all the while. "Purrrtt," said Mr. Silverman, as he wrapped himself around our legs. When we started walking again, he followed, trotting along like a dog. After a suitable love-in period, we encouraged him to head off towards breakfast. He wouldn't go, preferring instead to follow us closely. So we turned around and went home, with Silverman following on our heels. But, as soon as we walked down our driveway, he got spooked. He was happy to see us, but not prepared for the appearance of Lindsey and other cats. So we walked him back to the corner, this time taking advantage of the appearance of one of the morning dogs to slip down the street and around the next corner without being followed. Actually, it felt very good to see Mr. Silverman and know that he's okay. It was upsetting, though, as a reminder of how attached we've become to other stray tomcats who entered our lives. Silverman was a stray. So was Tommy, who ate with us and defended our territory for several years before disappearing. Kolo was a stray, although he quickly became a most loving cat. We've been at this a long time, and this is the first occasion we have been forced to trap and remove a cat. Yellow cat was waiting under the house when we got back from the walk. After a near confrontation between yellow cat and Ms. Wally down at the front of the garage, I managed to get all the household cats inside, leaving the yellow cat alone outside the walls. It was another half hour before I looked across the living room to the deck and saw the yellow cat at the entrance of the trap. The salmon was too much to ignore. In slow motion, he ate the first bit of salmon, sniffed the air, and stepped forward. A few long seconds. The door slammed shut. Startled, he twirled around. Then he sat down. He looked scared and tired. As if he knew how this was going to play out in the end. When we reached the Humane Society, I spent several minutes in the parking lot, rear door of the station wagon open, attempting to say a few final things. On close inspection, yellow cat appeared to have an injury to his mouth or lower jaw, which accounts for the deliberate manner in which he addressed each bowl of cat food. He wasn't struggling, or trying to escape. Perhaps he was wiser than I. Inside the reception area, a relentlessly upbeat local woman had me fill out the appropriate paperwork while she calmly transferred yellow cat to a clean white cage with a clear plastic front, and then carried cat and cage from the room. That was the last I saw of him. Tonight we will offer apologies and try to make amends to the cat goddesses, if there are such. We'll celebrate the lives of our eight cats, each also rescued. And we'll stop for a moment of silence out of respect for the yellow cat without a name. |
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