April 7, 2003

Many people, myself included, are afraid of death and think of it as an end. Is it really an end, or is it a beginning? A transference from one life to another. I did not grieve properly for Wiley. Instead of feeling the pain of his loss, I poured myself into finishing my book. When it was finally finished, I suffered and am still suffering. Even though I have a publisher very interested in it, I find no joy in it. Hopefully that will change.

Now that I live in North Carolina in the country, I've been letting my cats out. They are supposed to only be out when I am home to supervise, but there have been times that one or another gets left outside all night. That happened to Olie and a wild cat bred her. That turned into a good thing, but it could have been disastrous. I realize there are risks associated with their outside access. There's hawks, snakes, at least one coyote, neighboring dogs, etc. Of course there's less dangerous risks like fleas and ticks. I feel the benefits, both mental and physical, they derive from their outside excursions, outweighs the risks. I do keep an eye on them. I did not worry about cars because I live a quarter of a mile from the road and up until now they've always stuck pretty close to the house.

The first day of spring was a beautiful day. I got home about 6:30 and immediately let the cats out. They filed out one by one as they always do. I think they sit by the sliding glass doors and wait for me to come home. I noticed Tippy's head was tilting more than usual. As a kitten, Tippy had a chronic ear infection that lead to a head tilt. It corrected itself to some extent, but he retained a slight head tilt. I thought to myself he probably needs his ear cleaned out. I did not see him alive again.

When it started to get dark I rounded everyone up. Herding cats is far more difficult than you can imagine. It's when it's starting to get dark that they really want to be out. I found everyone but Tippy. Since he was neutered, he was always very good about sticking around the house. I can't say the same for my bunch of hussies who tend to head out looking for a mate. It was the females who I rounded up first, trusting that the neutered or spayed cats would return. I was wrong.

When I couldn't find him outside, I thought maybe he had gone back in and was sleeping somewhere. While I was inside I heard Druscilla barking up a storm and then a coyote howl. I flew out of the house with a flashlight. I headed down where Druscilla was barking and started calling Tippy. I searched and searched. I was searching in the opposite direction of where he went.

I slept very little that night. I kept getting up and going out looking for him. Early in the morning, before it was really light, I looked out by where Wiley is buried. I thought I saw Tippy stalking the birds. Tippy always wanted to catch a bird. When my eyes focused I realized it was just a branch. I got up and headed out again to where I was looking last night. I kept hoping the coyote had scared him up a tree. Tippy was a scrapper, I wouldn't want to mess with him if I were a coyote. I saw the coyote again. I thought for sure he was either back looking for Tippy or for another meal.

A few hours later I called the caretaker of the property I live on to tell him I thought the coyote got Tippy. He made arrangements to come out early some morning to see if the coyote came back. He would either shoot him or shoot at him to scare him off.

Later on that morning the caretaker drove up in his truck. He asked if I had gone out at all that morning. I had not. "I found your cat," he said. A coyote didn't get him, a car did.

Tippy is now buried next to Wiley. I feel terribly guilty for not looking towards the road and maybe even for letting my cats out to begin with. I do believe in Karma and that everything happens for a reason. I let my cats out on the porch in Boston, Tippy could have just have easily fallen off the porch and if he survived the fall, run into the road there. He surely would have been hit. The road I live on now is not well traveled and is as I said a quarter of a mile from where my house sits. I don't know why he went that way. Maybe he was chasing something, maybe the coyote scared him, maybe he just got turned around and got lost.

I know there are people who are going to blame me, it was my fault and I don't take proper care of my cats. I know in my heart Tippy had a good life and he died doing something he enjoyed. I could keep my cats inside, where they would be safe from coyotes, hawks and cars, but would they be happy? Of course not now that I've let them outside to experience the great outdoors, but even if they had never gone out, they surely would want to go out. It is what a cat is, a creature who runs around in the grass and chases small animals. They are not animals who are completely happy and content spending their entire lives running around on synthetic floor covering, observing birds and squirrels through glass or screen.

I spent two hours on the telephone last Sunday with an animal communicator. I'm not 100% convinced people can really talk to animals, but it was comforting to some extent. The animal communicator told me Tippy committed suicide. That he was going to go on to develop a horrible chronic disease and to avoid that, he committed suicide. I'm not so sure I buy that. Since our session, however, Tangle has stopped heading that way on the property as she was doing. According to Tangle, some energy was drawing her towards that end of the property.

I have the male cat I have on lease and Charya in what was a chicken coop towards the front of the property. It's a make-shift solution for when I'm able to build an enclosure closer to the house. Perhaps Tippy followed me out there when I fed them, I know Tangle often does. I'm always having to go back out and round up Tangle. She's better now. I'll be building a screened in enclosure off the back porch in the next couple of weeks. That way my cats can go out on the grass and chase bugs in the dark which they enjoy tremendously. They'll be safe that way. I'll still let them out during the day when I'm home.

There are breeders who keep their cats in cages in their basements or garages. That's all these cats know unless they are lucky enough to be placed when they are no longer useful as breeding animals. These cats die for various reasons and they die no knowing the feeling of grass beneath their feet and sometimes not even knowing the feeling of sun on their coats. My cats know what it is to be real cats and they are better for it. I'm not going to take that away from them.

I'm still blocking the grieving process to some extent. It hurts. I have a huge hole in my now that Tippy's gone. Combined with Wiley's loss it's almost too much to bear. Both died on a Friday. I have been lighting a candle every Friday for Wiley. Now I have two candles to light. On Friday night when I'm walking Druscilla and get to the end of the driveway I almost fall over in grief.

Tippy was supposed to have been sold into a pet home as a kitten. His ear infection prevented that. When I tried to place him as a young adult he let the people who adopted him know under no uncertain circumstances that he was not happy with this arrangement. He was returned to me the next day. I did not try to place him again. Tippy wanted to be with me. He got along well with everyone and was usually not any trouble. The only time he caused trouble was when I served food that he didn't find acceptable, which was quite frequently. Like Yukon, Tippy liked the "wilder" meat. He loved rabbit, but usually wanted it whole, the same with turkey. If offered either rabbit or turkey ground and chunked and mixed with supplements it was unacceptable. Eventually he would eat, but he'd let you know he was unhappy. No one told Tippy American Shorthairs are supposed to be quiet and I'm not sure where he got the voice he had, but it was not a typical American Shorthair voice. He grumped and grumped and carried on. If his grumping did not get what he wanted he would walk directly in front of my trying to trip me. Tippy should have been named Trippy. This all was quite enduring to me, I don't know anyone else who would have put up with it. He was a fascinating, entertaining, sweet cat and I miss him terribly.

Unlike most of my cats, Tippy was not afraid of the vacuum cleaner. He'd run along behind it and chase the cord. He loved those little furry mice and to sleep in bags and boxes. He often slept upright curled under like an armadillo. His sister Oleander always did better in the shows, but as he aged, he almost as pretty as his sister. His scowling took away a bit from his pretty expression, but he had filled out and became a stocky, well-built kitty, even though he seemed to miss more meals than he actually ate.

The animal communicator said on the other side animals don't eat, but I hope she's not right and that Tippy has been able to catch the birds he so wanted and that he's been eating meals made exactly as he wanted them — if that's possible. I often thought Tippy didn't really know what he wanted, he just wanted.

Until later ...

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