Part 5 In Support of the Muskoka SPCA

And Zappa asks, "What is this they are adopting now?"

PART FIVE  

A Series of Stories in Support of the OSPCA's Muskoka Animal Shelter

The Little Cat That Can Put Me To Sleep

     Zappa the cat, named in honor of son Robert's music hero, Frank Zappa, was adopted my our family as a newborn. A tiny bandy-leged wee beastie named Beasley, was raiding our recycling bins, pulling out cat-food cans to lick-out the remainders. When we saw the skinny feline, obviously homeless and starving, we set out food and water at about the time she used to appear at the recycling bin looking for sustenance. We tried to encourage her to come to us, but she was obviously scared of humans, as if she had been mistreated by a former owner. She got better with us over time, and after about a month, she was rubbing against our legs when we stood near the food dish in the early evenings that mid-spring season. She was starting to look a little better after we started feeding her, but it still seemed she was still under nourished. We though we would try a milk-type supplement to help her along. Then one day, she failed to arrive at the feeding station, and we began to worry she had met with some situation that caused her injury. We have a lot of owls, hawks, foxes, coyotes and even lone wolves that are known to frequent The Bog across from our home.
     One evening, our family arrived home, and on the way into the back entrance, Suzanne and I thought we heard some plaintive cries coming from an out-building where we used to keep our lawnmowers and lawn chairs. She went into the house with our sons, Andrew and Robert, while I hung back to make sure it wasn't Beasley, injured and hiding in the shed. After only a few minutes beside the small building, I heard it again, and it sure sounded like the cries of kittens. Gosh, we were in for a big surprise.
     Andrew happened to own some large stage lamps for concerts we used to put on at the Opera House, here in Gravenhurst, and he set them up to shed some light on the darkening scene in and around where the noises were emanating. He shone the lamps on an area in the middle of a pile of scrap metal and the old electric lawn mower that was going to, that spring, be shipped off to the landfill site for recycling. No matter how much light we directed to the source of the sound, there was not visible evidence of a cat or kittens. Andrew entered the building, carefully, just in case he would put his foot down on a kitten, and when he tipped up the mower, to check below, Beasley's head popped up, and feeding at that moment, were three newly born kittens, as tiny as a small fist. They seemed okay but we were in disarray trying to figure out what to do next, now that we put faces to the plaintive cries. Which, by the way, were coming from the runt of the litter, we later called Chutney, after the preserving Suzanne was doing that autumn.
     We couldn't believe Beasley was pregnant, because of her thin size, and the fact we barely saw the cat up close, let alone examine it for signs of hosting kittens. We're pretty sure we played a couple of roles in saving those babies and Beasley, because we sensed the urgency early on, that she needed food and water in order to survive. We had about a month and a half to help boost her nutrition, and what we gained were four members of our extended family, to go with the three other felines, also strays, that we had taken in out of the weather. Our neighborhood, because of is green-belt, is a favorite dumping spot for unwanted pets, by uncaring pet owners wishing a quick solution to their problem. Many of them are killed by predators in the wild zone, and or hit by the cars that customarily race down our dead-end street. Beasley survived, and her three kittens were hale and hardy after only a month of care. For that whole time we planned an appointment with the Humane Society to surrender them for adoption to other interested families. It coincided with a time when the shelter was overflowing with cats and kittens up for adoption. And besides this, we couldn't let them go, because in the little time under our supervision, we had come to love them dearly. Are you surprised? Of course you're not, because you're most likely the same as we are, when it comes to enjoy their company, and feeling great loss when they're all gone. We also hated the idea of breaking-up the family. Geez, are we weak or what?  We figured that seeing as they were homegrown here at Birch Hollow, they had an inherent right of habitation. Andrew adopted Chutney, to look after. Robert got Zappa, Suzanne and I adopted Angus, and all of us adopted Beasley, now quite at home on our property, much improved from her skitterish days earlier that spring.
     Beasley is probably eight or nine years old now, and the kittens are seven years of age, and are still thriving in our homestead, with two adopted dogs, Muffin, and most recently, Pooh Bear, both acquired through the Bracebridge Shelter.
     Now getting back to Zappa, the cat that can make me fall asleep! She is a fur-ball of a cat, that appears twice her actual size, until she gets wet and reveals a much, much smaller animal within. As I have a problem falling to sleep, Zappa has been my go-to house-mate for good reason. In the evening, an hour our so after dinner, Zappa will get up on my knee, and slowly position herself up against my shoulder, and knead with her paws between my arm and chest, occasionally, yes, sticking her claws painfully into my flesh. But over ten minutes or so, of constant kneading, and with her purring at the same time, in the words of former Toronto Maple Leaf, Tiger Williams, "I'm done like dinner." The great part of this nodding-off-to-sleep thing, is that Suzanne can't blame me for this, because she knows how relaxing it is, to have a cat kneading and purring on your lap. At times she will have two cats, on her lap, usually being Chutney and Zappa, and sometimes, mother Beasley. Talk about a tranquilizing experience.
     So there in the chair sleeping soundly, will be Zappa under my chin, and me, with head off to one side, snoring like a longshoreman. It doesn't happen every night, although I pray that it will. There's so little on television these days, and I've actually taken to listening to jazz on CBC 1 after dinner. Zappa likes to play with the cord and often pulls the head phones off in the process, but she makes up for it with a comforting massage and vibration of purring, that inevitably brings down my heavy eye-lids. I love that cat for this, as I really enjoy an early evening respite, although Suzanne doesn't think I'm entitled, as she reckons she is more deserving. Her relaxation, other than pets on her lap, is to either make a puzzle, or knit something or other, while watching her favorite television series, "Wind At My Back," a CBC production from the 1990's, that starred one of our friends, James Carroll, formerly of Huntsville, who played school teacher, Max Sutton.
     We probably shouldn't have adopted the four cats born on our doorstep, because of the pets we already had at the time. It was pretty crazy that year, but we got through it without too much compromise, in living space, but with a lot more expense for pet supplies. Three of our cats have since died of old age, leaving the Beasley family of four to companion with our two dogs, which so far, has been a huge success as far as relations go. All these creatures, in one way or another, have enriched our lives, and we have no lingering regrets about keeping the cats together, and opening our home to Muffin and Pooh Bear. The cats and dogs will sleep side by side, with nary a growl or hiss of disapproval. Now that's a beautiful thing! It makes a house a home, let me tell you!
     This series of short stories, was written in support of the efforts of the Muskoka Animal Shelter, in Bracebridge, and the OSPCA generally, in their effort to assist pets in unfortunate circumstances in our region; and in turn, find them suitable homes where they can thrive and enrich those kindly homesteads. If you would like to help them, possibly you would consider adopting one of the homeless pets currently under their care. Maybe you would like to make a donation of time, as a volunteer at the Bracebridge Shelter, or provide a donation of pet supplies, or cash, to assist staff cover costs incurred rescuing, treating, and housing these wonderful little creatures. It is also a thank you to the staff, volunteers and directors of the Shelter, who keep the facility in operation. What would we do without them. Well, I remember a time when we didn't have a shelter, and believe me, we have made great strides in pet recovery and protection in contemporary times; so we must never go back in this regard. Please give some consideration to helping out the Shelter help these homeless pets.
     Please join me tomorrow, on this site, for Part Six of this seven part series of stories.