Shadow and Andre

Memories of cat companions

SHADOW

We met Shadow at a party. Mary Anne’s boss had thrown a get together, attendance obligatory. We entered to find a majestic black and white tom cat perched upon a table in the entry way. We had to pet him, only to be warned that he bit. He did not bite us, in fact bored with the party, we returned again and again to speak to Shadow, to run hands over his glossy fur. Ken emphasized he was at wits end, Shadow had repeatedly bitten guests. We offered to take him. Shadow went home with us that night.

Ken had never had Shadow neutered. Certain that was key to his alleged aggression, we had our vet perform the procedure. Shadow became a docile, loving, gentle giant.

We were young, early in our careers. We expected to wait decades to buy a house, but then we found a despicable fixer upper. Edmond’s part time mayor, who dabbled in real estate development, had moved two old pioneer houses onto a vacant lot he owned. We were overjoyed to be able to purchase one of these homes. Never mind that mushrooms grew from the inner windowsills, nor that the stairwell and basement were strewn with straw, a relic of the hoofed animals kept there.

As the years passed, and our salaries grew, we began remodeling the house. One evening Shadow did not appear for dinner. Around midnight, I heard him crying, found him amongst the torn up floorboards of the office. I thought perhaps he had crawled between the floor joists, become stuck. But quickly I gathered it was much worse, ascertained he was injured.

We drove him to an all-night animal emergency clinic. The veterinarians determined he must have been hit by a car. We gave permission for emergency repair of his torn diaphragm, a fatal injury if not immediately addressed. They also diagnosed a completely destroyed knee joint, and gave us the name of a feline orthopedic surgeon. They kept him until he was stabilized, then he was transferred for joint surgery. The surgeon took muscle from his upper leg and grafted new tendons. He came home in a full length cast.

It was horrible. He tried to squat in his litter box, but the pain of trying to pee or defecate left him crying out in pain, and he often missed the box entirely being unable to lower himself adequately.

Kudos to that surgeon. I never thought Shadow would make his big jumps again. But several weeks later he began leaping onto kitchen counters. He particularly liked to jump onto the island containing the gas stove top when I was cooking. Two or three times I had to grab a towel and wrap his tail which he had set afire by swishing it through the flames.

While being treated for his trauma, it was discovered Shadow had a significant heart murmur. He thus became the only cat I had ever known to have a general practitioner, an orthopedic surgeon, and a cardiologist. Every six months I drove him to Ballard to meet with his cardiologist, a Dr. Doolittle character most assuredly. While Shadow visited, the vet’s own cat would frolic with the squirrels in the back yard, playfully wrestling. The vet reported he always had a difficult time listening to Shadow’s heart as he purred so loudly it masked his heartbeats.

At home, I bought large gelatin capsules at my local pharmacy, and loaded them with the three different medications prescribed for Shadow. He was always a very cooperative cat, allowing me to tilt his head back, squeeze his jaws open, and push the giant capsules to the back of his throat.

Shadow lived a long life.


ANDRE

Back in the day, if ever there was an organization, if ever there was a collection of people, too full of itself, it was PAWS.

We went there seeking a companion for Shadow and left smarting and red faced from slaps to our humanity and insults to our intelligence.

We wandered the cat cages but returned again and again to a middle aged cat with a stub of a tail and one ear perpetually at half mast, folded over ninety degrees. We knew no one would want him, an aging feline so scarred by life. But to us he was a jaunty French scrapper from the back alleys of Marseille. Certain he would go home with us, on the spot we named him Andre.

What a stupid organization! We couldn’t just take Andre, oh no! We were required to fill out a questionnaire several pages in length, then we had to stand at a counter while a staff member reviewed our answers. It was worse than any job interview I had ever undergone. Things got heated when our interrogator read aloud our answer to the question: have you ever, or would you ever, have a cat declawed? I had answered truthfully, I had had a cat declawed; it had not impaired his quality of life in the least. Well…..

We were informed we were despicable human beings, absolutely unfit to adopt any cat. We were not getting Andre. I pointed out the fact that Andre, due to his age and deformities, was unlikely to be adopted by anyone else, but the gentleman thoroughly emphasized once again that we were absolutely unsuitable to take home a cat. I asked him point blank: so you personally would rather have this cat euthanized, rather than allow him to go with us, and live out the rest of his life in a loving home. His answer: Yes, absolutely.

We left both angry and heartbroken.

Sometimes it’s wonderful to be a manager, particularly if an employee is also a friend. I hatched a plan. Mary Anne’s subordinate Karen, who herself had cats, agreed to my scheme. We gave her a thorough physical description of Andre, who after all was unnamed at PAWS, and thoroughly briefed her as to the questionnaire. She passed both the written and the verbal examination. She was allowed to adopt him. Out in the parking lot we exchanged the cold cash of the adoption fees for one lucky feline, Andre was ours.

He settled in wonderfully. We loved him, Shadow loved him. And he did not claw the furniture.

I swear what follows is the absolute truth.

I bet you think we were finished with PAWS. I did. Two months passed. Karen came to work one morning quite upset. She reported to Mary Anne that a PAWS employee had phoned her the night before, insisting it was time for the two month home visit, that PAWS must ascertain that Andre demonstrated no signs of physical nor mental abuse, ensure the home was clean and safe for a cat, examine the cat’s food to ensure it was appropriate and of high quality. He would not take no for an answer.

We thought of lending her Andre for the visit, but imagining Andre panicking in a strange household, we nixed that idea. Instead we had Karen hold the visit at our house, thinking we would hide in the basement while Karen pretended it was her home. Immediately she hit a snag. The auditor from PAWS asked why the address did not match the address on her adoption papers. The question floored her, but then she blurted out that she and her husband had just bought a new home.

Listening at the foot of the stairwell, I could sense how nervous Karen was. I decided to intervene. I had just reached the kitchen when Sir Paws asked to see Andre’s food. Karen opened a cupboard, opened a second cupboard, then I stepped forward and said “I moved the food sis,” and opened the correct cupboard.

We got him out of there with false smiles and final waves goodbye, then as he drove away we we chorused “go f… yourself.”

We never heard from PAWS again, nor did we ever again visit their shelter.

Reviews

[Soren]

Quite the story so earthy and real. Years ago my young daughter wanted a black kitten and they were hard to find. After numerous searches in wanted adds, calls to humane societies we located one and when she went to get it they did the same gave us forms to fill out, demanded documents of identification and verification of address including recent utility bills to prove address and there is where the hitch came, we were out of county and not allowed to adopt the kitten. My daughter crushed but we did eventually find another whom my English bulldog loved so much that he was constantly licking him and after seven years lost all his hair from the waist down from the grooming and decided to move to the neighbor next door.

[Michael Sun Bear]

What a great story!!

[Thomas W Case]

Shadow and Andre—your home became a cathedral for the broken, the beaten, and the misjudged.
This isn’t just about cats; it’s about grit, love, and sticking it to a world that confuses bureaucracy with care. I have 3 cats. Great work, my friend.

[Michael Sun Bear]

Thank you Thomas. We always had a minimum of two cats living with us; most were given to us however one or two just found their way to our front door. For one or two years we also had a Mexican lad living in our basement. He worked at a nearby restaurant. Our liquor laws require bars to close at 2:00am. He often partied with coworkers when their shift ended. Thus it befell him to be arrested for DUI one night. Unable to afford legal counsel he eventually fled back to Mexico.

[Desert Knave]

Loved reading these. I have had so many cat companions, both in-home and feral, over the years and cannot imagine being here without there interventions. ~Jim