Jake

Memories of a very brave best friend.

 The bravest friend ever I had arrived in Edmonds by ferry.  Unfortunately he had to be caged for the ride.  We thus met Jake, a long-haired, completely black, two month old kitten.  Suffering the trauma of separation from his mother and siblings, he was one frightened little fellow.

After the obligatory two days spent in the closet, he emerged and never looked back.

We had intended Jake to be a companion for our middle-age female cat Shady, but as it turned out, her entire life she would have nothing to do with Jake.  As a mischievous kitten, Jake would try to play with Shady, only to receive a paw across his nose.  If he persisted, she would retreat to a different room.  Her entire life she never showed Jake even a teaspoon of affection.  There was never the mutual grooming nor sleeping together I had always seen with two cats in my household.

As Shady refused to play with Jake, it befell us to keep the little rascal entertained, not an easy task, particularly as we both worked Monday through Friday.  I no longer recall my inspiration, but I began once a week bringing home large bags of shredded paper.  Mornings, just before leaving, we made a huge mountain of paper in the middle of the living room.  Evenings we returned to a wall to wall to kitchen carpet of confetti.

If Jake were human he would have been called an adrenaline junkie.  He had a real appetite for adventure and misadventure.  

One day I found our kitten perched on the one inch ledge that was the top of a closet door.  The doors were louvered; Jake had discovered the slant of the slats allowed him to climb the back of a door by hooking his claws over the slats.  Then he would proudly balance a while upon the summit before leaping back down.  He so loved this we took to always leaving one door open for him.

As soon as he was able, he loved to jump atop the half-wall of our deck.  At first this alarmed us, but there was no way to stop him short of never allowing him onto the deck.  After observing him repeat the jump countless times, demonstrating sure-footedness, we relaxed and allowed him free access to the deck, even leaving the slider open a bit when we went to work.  One day Diana returned and could find Jake no where in the apartment.  Finally, looking down from the deck, she spotted him lying on the ground.  Racing down the stairs, out the door, she found him just patiently waiting, apparently completely unharmed by his two story fall.

From an early age Jake demonstrated a love of the hunt, but no instinct nor appetite for the kill.  One warm evening we were watching tv when Jake came in from the deck with the most peculiar look on his face, his cheeks bulging.  Finally he opened his mouth and an unharmed moth fluttered up to the ceiling lights.  

As he matured I became adept at capturing birds in the condo, cornering them and throwing a towel over them.  I would carry them out, open my hands, stunned, they would be immobile for a few moments, then with a flurry of wings away they went unharmed.  Sometimes I caught Jake with the bird still in his mouth and he and I would argue about releasing it to my hands.

Later years we lived in an old rambler next to extensive church grounds with giant old evergreens and unkempt spaces.  It was like a forest meadow in the heart of Edmonds.  There we coped with Jake catching then releasing in the house not only birds but shrews, mice and rarely a small rat.  The mice and rats proved a challenge.  I caught some mice in the same manner as birds, but most often that proved impossible.  We took to building a highway lined with books and towels from a mouse’s hiding spot to an open door, then with brooms chased it out.  Eventually Jake released a very large rat in the house which proved an impossible challenge.  It lived for days on the dry food we left out for the cats and would race to a secure hiding spot when we approached.  When we urged Jake to recapture the animal his reply was Nope, it’s yours now.  Falling asleep one night I suddenly felt the rat traverse beneath my pillow and disappear.  I gave up, put away the cat bowls at night, and set a large trap with bread and peanut butter in the kitchen.  For a few nights the rat successfully nibbled the food away, but finally one night I heard it screaming as it died, a truly horrible sound.

But back to Jake’s younger years at the condo.  

Diana and I both felt our cats should be free to enjoy life as the Creator intended.  At the age of three or four months we began taking Jake outside under supervision.  The condo complex was set on extensive grounds with a running stream, a little marsh, all facing a substantial green belt that came alive at dawn with bird song. Really quite a remarkable landscape for a cat.  There was one big drawback.  Located near the north end of Woodway, we were a favorite hunting ground of coyotes.  One was particularly brazen.  He would visit in the middle of the day, have a sit on the lawn below our deck. Neighbors had lost cats.

When Jake was perhaps six months old he took it upon himself to perhaps stroll through the micro marsh not too far from the building entrance we always used.  This area is absolutely thick with seven foot high reeds.  We had no idea he was in there until he began crying.  We called and called to provide him direction but he failed to emerge.  I went into the thicket listening and searching and to my dismay began sinking up to my calves in the boggy soil.  I would pull a foot sucking from the mud, parting reads, trying to locate him by his crying.  I lost a brand new Birkenstock sandal deep in the mud.  It seemed that with every labored step toward him he moved just that much farther away.  This went on for about ten minutes until Diana shouted “Here he is!”  I came out and measured my mud against his.  My lower legs were plastered; the bottom of his paws were a little dirty.

By the time he was a year old, he so loved to be outside, that when I got home from work, I would walk him down the stairs and open the glass- paned door for him.  Jake was a stubborn companion.  He would often stay out for hours.  I would go down at 10:00 pm, peer into the night, yell Jaaaake…..Jaaaky from the open doorway.  I would repeat at midnight.  Repeat at 2am.  I’m surprised I never received a neighbor’s complaint. Sometimes he came running on first call, often the last. It was exhausting, waking myself repeatedly, trudging up and down those stairs.  Jake did not in the least mind bad weather.  Many a night he would finally return in the wee hours, his long black figure completely drenched. He would run up the stairs ahead of me. In the apartment I would towel him down then he would begin grooming.  His entire life, Jake was an immaculate groomer, kept his long black fur clean and glistening.  In the fall he would grow a thick undercoat as well, would shed it come summer. I think this meticulous grooming, along with his jet black fur, aided him in avoiding coyotes.  But more importantly, I am certain he just had an instinctive cunning for survival.  

Jake developed one friend, a female cat let out during the day.  Jake was neutered, so they never got frisky.  But we would often find them sitting together in the landscaping or under the short elevated walkway that led from the carport to our side entrance, a favored spot.  

One evening as I approached the building I heard Jake crying out in distress from under the little bridge.  I immediately thought, no no no, that he had somehow been badly injured and managed to crawl under the walkway.  I jumped down, crawled under there myself.  What the hell no Jake. The cries continued; looking around I realized the sound was emerging from a small hole in the massive concrete foundation, a hole no more than a foot square. I crawled over, peered in, could see nothing. I crawled out, hurried upstairs for a flashlight and returned.  Shining it down through the hole I could see Jake’s green eyes reflecting back the light.  He appeared to be about eight feet down. What’s that saying, curiosity killed the cat.  Just like inexperienced pilots in Alaska, who on fishing expeditions land their small float planes on wilderness lakes only to find the lakes are too small to allow them to reach takeoff speed, Jake had jumped into a situation from which he could not jump back out.  He was pacing, disappearing in one direction for minutes, back in the other direction for minutes.

I began to really panic.  I hurried back upstairs, we brainstormed on how to construct a long narrow ladder that would fit through the small hole.  We simply had nothing.  I walked the entire grounds, peered into carports, hoping to find a stray board.  I thought of cutting a limb off an evergreen, but we had no saw.

The sun set.  

We searched the ground floor for access to a subfloor somewhere inside the tons of concrete supporting the building.  Nothing.  We began knocking on doors, explaining the situation.  It took quite some time, but we found a tenant who knew of an access point.  She showed us a small hatch in the hallway located near the windowed side door.  She warned there might be water down there.  I shown my flashlight down and saw a small crawl space.  Crap that did not look inviting.   I went up and got my phone.  Returning, I had stuck both legs through the opening when we heard a cry we knew so well.  There was Jake, looking in through the glass, crying Let me in!  He had finally managed the jump.  I don’t know how.  Perhaps as in humans, extreme fear gave him extreme strength in those back legs.

Every weekend we took Jake on a safer adventure.  We took walks all around the property, circling both buildings, Jake running ahead, falling behind.  We would pause, wait when his nose took him off this way and that way, exploring carports, bushes, vehicles, or to chase a squirrel or bird up a tree.  Residents on upper floors would watch from windows and decks.  Several times we later encountered neighbors who told us Jake amazed them, they had never seen a cat go on walks like a dog.

We lived there several years but grew weary of battles with the incompetent board of directors.  I took to driving randomly around town looking for homes for sale, got lucky, chanced upon an older rambler, a rare thing in Edmonds.  It was perfect for two aging people who no longer wanted any stairs in their lives.  Adjacent to that large meadow-like churchyard, we knew Jake would love it.

Jake most assuredly did not like it.  We kept him in for a week.  The day we first let him out, he disappeared.  I searched for two days, knocked on doors, no luck.  I received a stern lecture from our immediate back yard neighbor who admitted hating cats, nasty things that dug in her flower beds,  who told me she better never see Jake in her yard.  

We were in absolute despair.

Then Diana drove back to the condo complex to gather up the last odds and ends from our apartment.  Pulling into the carport, to her amazement, there was Jake, sitting on a rafter immediately above our parking space.  He had made a journey of well over a mile, probably cutting through yards, using sidewalks, crossing streets, including the busiest two lane street in all of Edmonds which was trafficked by thousands of vehicles each day.

We kept him in. The next time we let him out he promptly disappeared.  No he didn’t, did he?  Sure enough we found him that night back at the condos.

The third time we let him out he demonstrated he had perfected the route.  I found him five hours later sitting in a flower bed face to face with his girlfriend.  Thankfully there was no fourth attempt to go home; he accepted exile.

For years Jake led a happy less eventful life at our new home.  I told you of his hunting prowess.  To his frustration, despite being blazingly fast on his feet, he could not capture a squirrel.  Nose to a tail, he would chase them to the cherry tree, leap a few feet up the trunk, but no luck.

I had one worry.  The backyard neighbor had an area in the corner of her yard dense with tall weedy plants. In summers, Jake loved to crawl in there and sleep.  In addition, he frequently crossed her back yard setting off on a favorite stroll.  I worried she might poison him. I am pleased to report that did not happen; I don’t believe she ever tried to harm him.

Year round I maintained a bird oasis beneath the old cherry tree.  I put out fresh water, a variety of seed, and whole peanuts for the crows.  Astute crows would sit in the cherry tree and watch squirrels bury peanuts for the future.  Then the crow would flutter down and with one or two thrusts of the beak seize the buried peanut and fly off.  I made sure all species had enough calories to survive winter, even after snowstorms digging out the feeders, stomping down an area and supplying fresh feed.  When the crows were molting, I gave them the extra calories they needed to grow new feathers.

We had lived there several years when one day Jake made a very serious mistake.  He managed to catch and kill a juvenile crow.  He had never killed his prey, I don’t know what happened with the crow.  The church grounds, with all those ancient firs and cedars, was home to a crow rookery, home to hundreds of crows.  If Jake went out in daylight, a warning would go up, the entire crow community would begin screaming at him.  Their sentries were very alert.  Jake only had to poke his nose out the open slider to the patio, or even just sit in the bedroom window, and the raucous roar of birds would commence.  If he fully emerged he would be dive-bombed.  Crows never forget.  He was their enemy the rest of his life.  It was a good thing cats are nocturnal; at night he could hunt in peace.

In that house beside the church, we had a six foot tall china hutch placed a couple feet from the kitchen counter.  Frequently in winter, Jake would jump upon the counter, then to the top of the hutch, where curled up in the room’s warmest air, he would sleep for hours.  We put a cat bed up there, named it Jake’s Sky Bed.  

In old age, Jake suffered from a typical feline malady, his back legs grew weak.  He could no longer make the compound jumps to his Sky Bed.  We began to find him sitting near the hutch, looking up with what I took to be wistful longing.  A couple of times I lifted him up there but that only irritated him and he immediately jumped down to the kitchen counter.  Then one day there he was, sound asleep in his Sky Bed.  We were baffled.

Until one day I witnessed the miracle.  We had installed a louvered door, an exact match to those closet doors in the condo, in the entrance to the laundry room.  When swung completely open, the door was about eighteen inches from the hutch.  Using the power of his front legs, Jake would climb the door, balance a moment atop that one inch of wood, then gently hop to his Sky Bed.

Jake lived eighteen years.  His last year of life he was constantly in my lap, the two of us in our big easy chair.  I slept the night long on my back, never turning over to my side, as every night Jake would curl above my diaphragm.  He suffered.  The inevitable time came; we ended his life.

Reviews

[Thomas W Case]

Beautiful work. You made this come to life.

[Michael Sun Bear]

Thank you Thomas.

[Desert Knave]

Beautiful write. My favorite cat, Cocoa, lived with me right at 20 years and I still sometimes wake in the morning and expect to have her there. ~Jim

[Michael Sun Bear]

I feel for you. Thanks for reading.