Cats

Yesterday I had to take one of our cats to the vet. We have four cats. Mohawk, Corduroy, Socks, and Boots. Mohawk is 13 or so years old, a solid-white female with a black stripe across the top of her head, hence the name. Corduroy is four years old. We got him, along with his adoptive brother Oxford, for my fifth daughter Madeline’s sixth birthday. They came from separate litters but were the same age, and they grew up as brothers, and as indoor/outdoor cats.

Corduroy always liked it more outside. Oxford was more of a people person....I mean a people cat. He always sat at Madeline’s desk while she did her school work, sat on the back of the couch while you watched TV, sat in the middle of any group of people sitting around talking. One normal day Oxford went outside as usual. He usually was only outside for a few minutes but we were all gone for a cross country meet that day, so he was outside for several hours. When I got home that afternoon a neighbor came up to our house to say that she thought our cat was in her back yard. I ran down, Madeline right behind me. Yes, it was Oxford; he had been hit, I think by a car, and had run as far as he could before he had fallen, dead. I wrapped him in a towel with his “good side” showing so that Madeline and my other daughter who was very fond of him could pet him and say goodbye, and so that Corduroy his brother could sniff him and also say goodbye. Then we buried him.

Madeline was heartbroken. Oxford had been such a great and loyal friend. We always thought he was kind of dense, the way he would chase the flashlight beam around the room and never seem to “get it.” Corduroy would pounce once or twice, and then look at us like, “what do think I am, a moron,” and then go have a snack or go outside. Sometimes we would make Oxford run in circles until he got dizzy and walked like a drunken sailor. I know, it sounds mean. But it was funny. And he was a gem of a friend to my little girl.

Two days into her heartbreak we thought we just had to do something, so my wife and Madeline and Anna went by the Cat Clinic, where they just happened to have a litter of kittens that had been abandoned along a road somewhere. So Susan and the girls committed to get one, and then decided it would need to have a friend, so they went back to claim another – Socks and Boots they were named. Socks is black with white feet and Boots is grey with white feet. They are both very fluffy with big furry tales, and both are very affectionate.

Anyway, Corduroy, a 13 pound male yellow tabby has a condition or disease called Eosinophilic Granuloma Complex. It’s an immune system problem where the immune system goes hyperactive in response to certain allergens or parasites, creating bloody looking wounds and sores. Corduroy gets these sores between the pads of her paws, or on her elbows and knees, or on her stomach. They can get infected and he can get quite sick. If not infected, usually a treatment of a steroid, and vigilant treatment against fleas will do the trick. This time they were not infected.

I really appreciate the folks at the Cat Clinic. They are very good with cats.

I often like to sit there and look at my cats and think about what they are thinking. It doesn’t take much in the observation department to notice that they don’t have much brain above their eye level. So calculus, well, I don’t think they can do that. But I like to imagine or think about what it is that they can do that’s just like what I can do, or what it is that I can do that’s just like what they can do. Or what do they feel that’s like what I feel? Generally I think we underestimate the feelings and the intelligence of animals.

Anyway, there are so many times that I am not “thinking,” I am just “doing.” I am digging. I am catching. I am weaving my way through traffic. How much of that is like what my cat or a dog experiences?

For example, when I am running down a fly ball (which physicists and brain experts say is a pretty complex brain/body action), I really am not “thinking” of anything. I am focused on the task. I make the catch. It is very pleasing. There is a brain chemistry thing that says "pleasure." I thrown the ball in. How much of this is just like what a dog experiences when he chases down a Frisbee, makes the catch, and returns it to its master? I wonder.

When I am sneaking up on a rabbit with my camera, how much of what I am feeling and experiencing is like what Corduroy is experiencing when he is sneaking up on a rabbit. It may well be different because the purpose is different, but what may be the same is that while I am doing that it is just me and the rabbit, and nothing else exists, and it is very very cool. I like to think life for Corduroy is very very cool sometimes too.

Corduroy knows the sound of my car. When I am half a block away he will walk out into the gutter of the road and lie down on his back, waiting for his ritual stomach rub. He does not do that with every car. He does not even do that with all of our cars. But I give him a tummy rub every day when I come home. “Good Corduroy” I say in a low soothing voice. I think he likes that.