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Little did I know when I took these two photographs what was in store for us over the next 62 hours.
In a flash life can turn upside down.
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At this point we were wandering about calling for our adventurous cat, not yet too concerned, but over the next two and a half days we had to face the fact that Little Man might be gone for good.
That first night when anxiety took hold, all sorts of thoughts went through my mind. How one can torture oneself!
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Thursday morning before going out to top up the seed trays, I’d gone to unlatch the front door and there was Nibbs, come for breakfast.
As I placed his meal in front of him, I heard a voice:
“Can I come and get my cat?”
Looking up, I saw a tall youngish woman dressed in black at the end of the drive.
It turned out that Nibbs has a tracking device on his collar and the lady had wandered over the hill after him.
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At 6 in the morning and still in my nightshirt, I was somewhat taken aback to be meeting Nibbs’ owner but I had the presence of mind to ask where they lived and was told they had been at the horse farm before going over the hill, so Nibbs keeps going back, greeting his many friends on the way.
And his name is Floki.
Which doesn’t suit him at all.
Nibbs/Floki was carried off.
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It was just two hours later that Little Man rushed off as if late for a bus. He had never been interested in going out, yet suddenly he was in a tearing hurry and he hadn’t just gone to sit under a bush to stare at birds. He was nowhere to be found.
With the foliage gone we had a reasonable view under bushes and in the woods.
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Little Man’s arrival had been mysterious and I’d joked that he’d beamed down from a spacecraft. Had his transport come to get him?
Then I remembered Nibbs’ lady in black and somehow the two events seemed strangely coincidental.
Another thought I’d had was that Little Man had met up with Nibbs on the road and been directed to us by him.
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Perhaps Little Man had gone rushing off after his pal?
Unlikely. Nibbs’ lady was nice but there was something about her image, all in black, at the end of the drive.
Like a harbinger.
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When the boy had not returned by Friday morning we had nothing to go on, so we drove down the road and up over the hill where of course we saw no Nibbs, no Floki and no Little Man.
Vaguely, I noticed that it was a spectacularly beautiful day but we were in no mood to enjoy it and went home to resume walking the fields and fretting.
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It rained Thursday night, but it had not brought the boy home and we began to wonder if he’d gone back to wherever he’d come from, in which case even if he wanted to return to us, he might never have the chance.
With that came other thoughts.
Little Man was a small kitten when he turned up. We brought him in to keep him safe, expecting that someone would look for him, prepared to hand him over.
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We really had not expected to keep him but we certainly were not going to take him to a shelter, so he stayed.
But as I agonized during those awful hours I had to wonder whether someone else had gone through the same torment five months ago.
Maybe this was payback?
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There were other cats who moved in with me, in the past.
Blackie for one. She seemed to have been trapped, spayed and released. There was a woman close by in Washington who used to feed strays but Blackie was always around and she simply attached herself to me.
The woman only had to look up the road to see where she went but I have to confess, I didn’t ask. Blackie just came through the door and didn’t want to go back out.
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Willow was another. Like Little Man, she arrived out of nowhere, emerging from the ivy on the hill at the back of my Washington house.
The nearby roads were dangerous and Willow was only a few months old. Grant trapped her easily and she seemed thrilled, unlike any other trapped cat.
She crawled into my lap and announced that she had come to stay. Was someone heartsick over her?
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My feeling about kittens is that they should be kept safe, so I have not felt too guilty about keeping them.
But many years ago when Mohammed first went missing, a little calico cat came crying at my door. It was a particularly cold winter so of course I let her in and she came to comfort me at night. In the morning I shushed her to go home but she wanted to stay.
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The calico wore a flea collar so she belonged to someone, but each day when I got home from work, there she was and that was fine, until Mohammed came home one night rather bent out of shape. It was after the Christmas holidays and I suspect he had got locked in someone’s garage while they were away. He was nosy.
The calico could not remain, but I couldn’t lock her out in the bitter cold. So she went to live with Tim and Caesar and became Cleopatra.
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Mohammed had been Tim’s cat who opted to stay in the old apartment when his person moved with the new kitten. Tim had grown up with indoor/outdoor cats, so Mo was allowed out.
After his Christmas episode, I kept him in and he was content but when Spring came he cried pitifully at the door and reluctantly I let him out, each time saying goodbye.
Soon after, Mohammed left and did not return. I never saw him again, nor learned what happened to him.
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The agony of that loss never really went away. I kept track of Mohammed’s birthdays, imagining that he might still be alive somewhere, till finally I knew he must be gone.
Little Man’s disappearance brought it back in spades to settle in my stomach like a knot as my heart broke.
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The thought of possibly never seeing his sweet face again, of never seeing him run joyfully toward me, never again hearing him tear about the house and playing with his toys, it was piercing.
That first day my emotions seemed to freeze and I walked about like a robot. The first stage of grief: denial?
Sub-consciously perhaps.
My mind was fully aware of the possibilities.
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Guilt isn’t included in those 5 (or 7) stages of grief they talk about, but it should be in certain circumstances.
My mind turned to doing the blame game.
I was being punished for taking other people’s cats.
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Karma and if it wasn’t that, it was because I’d written about him so very recently.
What?
My brain wanted to blame. Me.
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By Friday night, we had both reached full-on depression.
Grant was wrecked because it had been he who’d opened the door to let Willow out for her walk and I was wallowing in a re-arousal of so much past grief.
Which brings us back to the pet-grief thing that I have written about before.
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Many people grieve deeply for lost pets and many more believe such people to be feeble-minded or emotionally weak.
What I think is that there are three kinds of people.
People people. People and pets people. Animal people.
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The first group are never going to care about animals or birds or anything but other people. Possibly not them either.
People and pet people are likely to give animals a nice home and probably consider them part of the family, but when their pet passes on, generally it is accepted as sad but not earth-shattering.
I generalize, of course.
Animal people are devoted to any creature that shares their lives. They have deep empathy for those creatures which become a vital part of daily life.
Generally it is because such people have been disappointed by our own kind, finding love and comfort in animals they did not receive elsewhere.
Or because they are socially awkward, like me.
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This, I think, is why there is a lack of understanding about people who go to bits over pets.
As far back as I can remember, I always have done and that is just the way it is. Grant is the same.
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I had written only days ago, about this nutty cat and his crazy antics that made us laugh, about how he brought life into a household of aging cats and people.
He cheered us up when we were down.
And he’d brought us joy.
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Suddenly the house was silent.
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No small boy climbed up to drape himself over our shoulders.
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No one to nibble an ear.
(Or chew our toes)
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No breakfast time games.
Meals were grim.
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No tracks on the bedspread or bumps beneath.
No one to help make the bed.
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When I turned my head, that corner was empty.
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One of the most poignant moments after losing a pet is when you go to feed the others and you lay out one less dish.
Friday night we cried for our boy.
Our joy was gone. Our link to sanity in a mad world.
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At the same time, those other 6 still needed our love and care. Cats are sensitive creatures.
They know when something is wrong, no matter how much fuss you make of them.
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Lily came to turn her sweet face up at me.
She has done this in the past when I’ve been sad.
It’s as if she comes to check on me.
It may seem fanciful, but I know her well.
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There’s always a chance of course, that a certain cat was quite pleased with the situation.
This was Dee Dee’s look after the wicked boy returned.
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I’ve mentioned all the others here, so I can’t leave out shy Sophia.
The naughty lad sometimes chases her but she is stoic and uncomplaining.
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The object of our anguish, unrepentant.
He did creep up on my shoulder this morning to rub his face against my cheek, just a little bit more obviously and I swear he cast his eyes up coyly:
“You do still love me, don’t you?”
How could you not love him, and all the other beauties who you share your life with?
Nor should we rule out the possibility that he’s happy elsewhere.
He may have been taken in by a loving family.
I am part of the “animal people” club, that you speak of.
I felt every emotion you shared, as I read your last 2 posts, describing Little Man’s escape, and ensuing days after.
I understand your fear and heartbreak, of thinking he was gone.
I am so happy, and relieved, that he is back with you both! ❤️
Thank you for sharing him with us. He is so adorable!
Catherine
Such a harrowing tale, well told. Having a life filled with many animals brings many joys, but, as you point out, heartbreaks as well. The ones that disappear are excruciating and never forgotten, which is worse in some ways. I try to accept their choice was to follow their own fate. And we can hope that they landed in a good place, as Little Man has done. I love your stories of all the cats, and the pictures are wonderful. Please stay home, Little Man!!
I get it completely. Ollie never ran away, but I did once lose him for 15 minutes when out on a walk. They were some of the worst 15 minutes of my life. By coincidence, I was missing him so badly last weekend, I had to stop myself from crying as we were eating dinner in a restaurant. I would do anything to have him back.
Best wishes, Pete.
I know you do Pete and I have broken down in tears over lost animals too. It’s an awful feeling and yet one doesn’t want it to stop because it will feel like letting go. I have never felt the same about a lost human.
If I had a dog or cat and they got lost, I’d hope they ended up with someone like you! I agree, His Nibbs is definitely not a Floki – yet I’m glad he has an owner (although she’s dressed all in black). It’s always nice to see your cats … I’m sure Dee-Dee had a stern talk with Little Man. Lovely post (and I’m with you in the animal people corner).