The Cat Post

(Because I am both a blogger and an academic, it is incumbent upon me to write a cat post.  This will be that post.)

In the Spring of 1996, I moved out of my parents' house and into an apartment closer to campus.  My apartment, unlike my bedroom, had many rooms: a living room, a bathroom, a kitchen and a bedroom.  They were all mine and empty and quiet.  The emptiness I could fight: I quickly populated every available surface with books.  The quiet was another story.  I could make noise, but the noise would be either too meaningful (music) or not meaningful enough (automated pot-banging).  What I needed was the pleasant hum of another consciousness, the uncertainty provided by something acting on its own accord.  I had never owned a cat before and decided I needed one.

I drove to the East Baton Rouge Parish Animal Control Center and looked at the kittens.  Most played in cages under their mother's watchful eye.  One litter, exceptionally small and shockingly pink, slept unsupervised.  They had been orphaned, the caretaker told me, and were only two weeks old.  They would require more care than a normal kitten. 

I had told myself on the drive over, "I will not choose the kitten: I will let the kitten choose me."  I didn't know quite what that meant until one of the orphaned kittens stumbled toward me, eyes half-open, and mewed. 

I had been chosen. 

The caretaker asked whether I had ever cared for a kitten before.  I told her I had not.  She struggled to convince me to adopt a more conventional kitten.  I wouldn't budge.  I had been chosen, I told her.  I had no choice.  She went to fetch the paperwork while I played with my new kitten.  When she returned she asked me for the kitten's name.  I told her I didn't know it. 

"What I meant was, what are you going to name her?" 

I told her I didn't know. 

"Well, I have to write something down."

I thought about it.  I was filling out a form, not performing a christening, so the name would only be a placeholder.  I had been reading Thomas Pynchon's V. and so I said, "Her name is Rachel."

"You're naming your cat 'Rachel'?"

"For now," I said and thought I meant. 

The name stuck. 

The kitten was Rachel. 

But the caretaker had been right about how difficult it would be to raise a two-week old kitten: nipples were sterilized with great patience; backsides were massaged with warm rags; tongues were impersonated with aplomb.  Rachel formed an unnatural (but expected) attachment to me and only me.  Kittens separated from their mothers this early form unusually strong attachments to their surrogate mothers.  They are needy and possessive.  Rachel is needy and possessive.  My lap is a Rachel-perch.  My feet are Rachel-warmers. 

My wife is an interloper. 

She must be eliminated.  She must be pounced upon from shelves unseen and cornered in the bedroom.  She must be scratched until she freely bleeds and howled at in the kitchen.

Rachel is a mean cat.  She is so mean that when she's nice we take a picture.  But she is my mean cat and I shudder at the thought that I might spend a day writing or a night reading without a Rachel-ball threatening to suffocate me.

So the past two days have been difficult. 

She stopped eating. 

She stopped stalking. 

She stopped demanding my lap. 

My wife could touch her. 

Something was wrong. 

Two trips to the vet and untold sums of money-I-don't-have later and we still don't know what was wrong.  The past tense is important.  The blood work was negative.  The X-rays revealed nothing more than an overfull bladder. 

But the pain medication and appetite stimulant worked.  Rachel is ravenous.  She wants food and food and more food.  She is no longer quiescent.  She wants to attack my wife.  She is mean again and that means she feels better. 

And I'm more certain than ever that I can never be a parent.  I'm not the Vulcan I was once declared to be.  I'm an emotional disasterpiece when those I love suffer.  (Inveterate pessimism does not play well with circumstance.)

But my mean cat is hungry and I am happy and this has been The Cat Post.

Comments

[hermit greg]

Hooray!

[Jana]

So this is the mean cat that my kids mentioned after a visit to your apartment... :)

We have a mean-ish cat at our house, too. The only problem is that she is adorable. Which means that, despite our warnings, visitors often try to pet or play with her.

Yah, and they only make that mistake once...

[Sisyphus]

Yay for cats getting better! My cat is mewling at the blank wall over there, which can only mean he is sending a message of happiness on to your cat. Peace out.

[Karl Steel]

And I'm more certain than ever that I can never be a parent. I'm not the Vulcan I was once declared to be. I'm an emotional disasterpiece when those I love suffer.

You been sneaking Stoicism again? of course you're messed up when your loved ones suffer. That's not a flaw SEK. As for being messed up: it's probably even worse with a cat, since you can only guess what she wants and feels. With a human, at least, you can ask.

[Anthony Paul Smith]

Overfull bladder? Did they drain it? Could she pee? FLUTD isn't normal in female cats and I'm sure they would have guessed that, but that sure sounds like what happens.

[Ahistoricality]

I'm glad to hear that your cat is better, but your introduction is bugging me

Because I am both a blogger and an academic, it is incumbent upon me to write a cat post.

I have never written a cat post nor, being pet-free, do I foresee ever writing one. Does that make me less of a blogger or less of an academic, or both?

[Jake]

What a cute little story.

That is all.

[The Constructivist]

Phew. Glad your mean cat's back to being herself again. Actually, I take this post as evidence you'd be a good parent. Insofar as that is possible.

[Ancrene Wiseass]

Ack! I think my heart skipped a beat or two at "she stopped eating." I'm so glad she's all right and back to being mean.

Mouse is surely one of the sweetest cats ever, and I love him with all my heart. But I have a special kind of affection for the mean ones, even the ones that lacerate me: they're just so very Cat.

[Joseph Kugelmass]

Scott, honestly, I felt so bad reading this post that I initially stopped before the happy ending. I'm very, very glad there is a happy ending. Also, I have made the discovery that Ancrene Wiseass is Lewis Carroll.

[SEK]

Thanks, all, for the kind wishes. Rachel hates you for them, but that's just who she is: a hater.

Karl and The Constructivist, I might be, but it'd kill me:

Too Damn Emotional + Inveterate Pessimism = Early Death

Ahistoricality, they didn't hand you a cat when you matriculated? What's this world coming to.

Jana, indeed it is. (I don't think we've ever let your kids get too close to her, though ... which reminds of another reason I can't have children:

Mean Cat + Helpless Baby = Jail

Anthony, they didn't drain the bladder because I didn't want to risk anesthesia. She wasn't running a fever, either. The vet was stumped as to why she wouldn't go, so we did steroids, pain killer and appetite stimulant, segregated her from the other cats with her own litter box, and hoped she'd take care of business herself. The next step would've hospitalization and an IV drip (to prevent dehydration and liver/kidney failure). (I think that's what it was: between stress, the vet and endless hours researching cat health online, I'm a bit confused.)

[Jack]

One day the world will be rid of the pestilence known as the common house cat.

[JPool]

Back after a busy weekend and very glad that things turned around. Karl and the Constructivist have it right, but I'll trust your youthful judgment.

My wife grew up not on but next to a farm and lost more cats to deaths natural and unnatural (mostly the latter) than she could count, but has only ever lived with our current deeply neurotic and occasionally lovable beast. It will be truly awful when his time comes, but that's the nature of loving people/creatures.

[Ollie]

Yay! So glad for Rachel (and her humans). A reminder that life is still fleeting, even in the midst of endless dissertating.

[alkau]

I am happy foryou that Rachel is better, but knowing her I am sure the other three cats had a sense of freedom when you took her out of the house to visit the vet. They had a few hours not being on edge, never knowing when she would pounce. I know you know how hard it is to lose a pet (Pokey) and even though I am not fond of her, I know she is important to you. Just remember. people are not like cats. We hope to live long lives and do whatever it takes to keep healthy. Love of a cat is not the same as love of a child. As a parent I know this.