Once a mother…
That Friday when we opened the wire crate that held the pretty tabby she threw herself down on her shoulder and rolled to reveal her belly to us. She purred before we stroked her fluffy creamy white tummy and continued to let us know that this was all she wanted in the world. Her classic brown tabby face with topaz eyes rimmed in apricot fur was arresting. We had to bring her home.
Many other cats at the shelter were frightened, anxious, angry or not well. There were those that did not want to be touched and stayed back in their crates.We visited every one of the more than fifty cats waiting for adoption. We had to steel ourselves before we went. We knew we would be tempted to bring home more than we went searching for.
We were surprised to learn that Phoebe was two and a half years old and still intact. An unneutered female cat of that age has likely had kittens, maybe several times over. There was no information about her from a previous owner or whoever had brought her to the County Shelter.
Cats can reach fertility and bear a litter before they reach a year old. The County Animal Shelter required that she be spayed before she was released to us. All our animals have been neutered. It only made sense to us to adopt from the many homeless pets that fill our nation’s shelters and streets.
Phoebe came home the following Monday and we kept her in a spare bedroom until she could recover and adapt to the scents of the other animals in the house. She surprised us again by refusing all human contact even when we brought food. She stayed hidden under the bed, snarling if we kneeled beside the bed to peer under and coax her out. I worried that I had misread her signals. Maybe Phoebe just wanted to get out of the shelter cage and used her adorable cuddliness to win her release.
It took three days of gentle talk and the repeated offering of food for her to trust us again. Her shaved belly, still foreign to her with it’s vertical suture line, seemed to offend her. She gave me a cross look and didn’t want to show it to me now.
A week passed by as she adjusted to life with us. She taught our young Shepard mix Frida, to respect her using only her voice. Phoebe allowed Frida to fully sniff and inspect her as long as the dog’s movements were slow and deferential.
The other cat we had adopted that night was apparently her long lost love. Feynman is a large neutered black tom with three white chest hairs, about a year younger than Phoebe. We found him at the Shelter the same day we found Phoebe but since he was already neutered he came home with us that Friday night. He bathed Phoebe when he met her and she accepted all his grooming, falling into his attention with loud purring.
At night Phoebe becomes her other self. She begins the evening with my husband and I in the bedroom. After we turn off our reading lights and kiss goodnight she waits till we are settled and still. Then she suddenly departs, as though something is calling her. Insomnia has allowed me to know what happens next. A few minutes later she begins to sing. Her voice carries through much of the house and down the dark hallway. These are no straight meows. All the tones are held and turned, she bends the notes and produces a fully voiced aria.
She only sings at night as she collects pencils, pens, markers and other small items from my husband’s office desk in the middle of the house. I have gotten up to witness her process. The singing stops when she sees me. If I stay in bed but meow in response to her, she stops singing. I don’t interrupt her now.
We find the items she collects and carries around each morning. Phoebe leaves one beside our bed, two at the mat to the front door, another might be next to her favorite sleeping pad. Sometimes there will be six items that she has brought out, other nights only one. She carries them using her jaws, as mothers do their kits, sometimes singing as she comes with her mouth full.
I understand this cat, I also think of my children at night. They’re grown and gone and still I think of them. I see them as newborn babies and smell that scent I breathed deep into my brain and heart. I envision toddlers getting into everything with sticky fingers, keeping me in constant vigil. Under tens showing their characters and strengths. Teenagers who appropriately, can’t wait to be rid or me and on their own. I can see them fully grown as they are now and still want to check in on them, tuck them in, kiss their heads.
Like her, I’ve also had surgery after my baby’s births. I can identify with her changed body. Nothing is the same as before the babies came, in my body or my mind.
Her nightly excursion to collect her kittens soothes me. Some would argue that she is retrieving “prey”. You only have to see her to know that she is a mother. There is a waddle of extra fur that sways and sags with her regal walk. When her work is complete she returns to our bed and settles down, circling a nest between our shoulders. In the morning she offers me her belly, head and chin and luxuriates in a good rub, she deserves it.
