Previously: Lizzy needs to find a cat. Her friends offered her a scruffy one that kind of repulsed her. She's hoping for another one.

******  

As if the universe had heard me,  with no manipulation intended, Maria offered her daughter Lena's cat from her foster home.  I already knew this cat, which had a much more hopeful name, Snowball.  

The plan was hatched. I would get the cat the following Saturday.

 I thought this was more like it.   This cat had been cared for, was clean, calm and snow-white.  For some reason, the fact she was white made things seem all better, even though a white cat can show dirt sooner than most.

But it seems that Scruffy and I were destined to be together.  The morning I was supposed to pick Snowball up, Lena called to say she had decided to keep the cat in the foster home where she had previously spent a year and a few days. The cat seemed to be settled nicely there, and Lena thought it better to keep Snowball in the foster home.

********

That afternoon I resignedly went to get Scruffy, who fortunately was not on one of his street adventures, but waking from one of his afternoon naps. When I reluctantly picked him up, noticing every one of his ribs, I had no idea what a potentially rugged, handsome, cat I was gingerly clutching.

I got him into her teal blue, 91 Civic Honda Hatchback, a color and space he would later make a beeline for, a sense of the familiar.  When I arrived at my apartment, I quickly unlocked the door and released him from my tight grip. 

Having been cautioned about letting a new cat outside in a strange neighborhood, I swiftly shut the door as I slowly set him onto the kitchen floor.  

Scruffy had different plans.  Remember, he was a street cat and he apparently didn’t see any streets in the apartment. He wanted out.  Also, keep in mind that I had never had much experience with cats, consequently, I didn’t know that cats meow, short of howling when they don’t get their way.  

Are cats naturally nocturnal?  I was soon to learn the answer, at least Scruffy’s interpretation of night prowler, night yowler.  I was all set to settle in for a long Saturday night’s nap. But not my new tenant Scruffy.  He was bound to pioneer the unknown territories and beyond.

Those of us who have entered into a power struggle with a cat knows the futility of it all.  I was unfamiliar with such frustrating, exhausting exercises. I just dug in deeper, under my downy feather pillow, clenching my teeth tighter against my acrylic bite plate.  

I had to show this new inhabitant of the apartment there were certain morés, which needed to be heeded.  I couldn’t lose my grip now. I greatly feared the repercussions of Scruffy awakening Dody, the prissy princess above.

I’d finally had it.  It was 5:00 A.M. in the middle of the night.  For me, anytime between the hour I go to bed and the time I get up is considered the middle of the night.

I angrily grabbed him. Gone was the afternoon gingerliness. Opening the door, I flung the strange invader of precious sleep and a previously peaceful apartment. Out into early morning light he flew.

Growling, I Informed him she’d deal with him later.  I almost slammed the door but remembered part of the reason I had put him out, to begin with, was a silent night.

Finally waking, I’d almost forgotten the living nightmare I’d been through no more than six hours ago.  When my groggy brain began to jump-start, I remembered the unfinished business known as Scruffy. I thought I’d open the door and he’d blithely saunter in. On the contrary, there was no sign of him.  

I handled the situation the way I always have with unLizzyable truths. I shut the door and found something else to do, knowing that he’d return later.

Throughout that afternoon, scanning the outside, I sighted no Scruffy. Where could he be? I’d heard of remarkable journeys of animals returning to their former home.  I couldn’t imagine why Scruffy’d ever want to go back there to eat from the kitchen floor, where the kids had thrown their pizza crusts.  

I set out searching for him anyway. When I didn’t find him at his former home, I slowly, vigilantly, headed back up the street.  She thought for a moment I saw him, but it seems we see what we want to see and I've become aware of a plethora of Maine Coon cats everywhere.   When I checked the bowl I’d set out for him, only the flies had feasted on the tuna. No Scruffy.

My grandmother from hell did some serious damage to my mother’s self-esteem and belief system.   I heard her tell my mother she wasn’t a good mother to us three children, Nike, Lizzy, and my sister.

Continuing the cycle, their mother told Lizzy’s sister she could someday admit to her son why she wasn’t a good mother. Pass the toxicity forward.    

It was crystal clear to me at that point why I would never make a good mother. God forbid, I got tired of my child’s whining.  Would I have put my child outside to quiet him, all to save my sleep?

I felt guilty and certain this was a sign I didn’t deserve a cat. When I shared this vignette and belief system at my Alanon meeting, the members told me I did deserve a cat. They went as far as to say if Scruffy didn’t ever show up I should get another one. They suggested I freshen her bowl of tuna. 

On the way home from my meeting I spoke with my mother’s spirit asking her to help Scruffy find his way back.  Serenity surrounded me. I knew things would be all right now.  

Clearer-headed, hopeful, and affirmed by my friends that I did deserve a cat who would return, I sat on the porch steps waiting for his arrival.  

The scraping caught my attention and turning around I saw Scruffy nibbling at the tuna. I feared her excitement was so loud it would startle him.  Was he real, or had my wishing, so much and so hard, created a mirage?  I came to her senses and ever so quietly opened the kitchen door, never taking my eyes off him.

Slowly, with the concentration and caution of one disarming a nuclear weapon, I pulled the newly filled dish closer to the apartment door until I could grab him and toss him inside.  

That evening I yearned to hold him tight all the nightlong.  Of course, he’d have none of that.  I didn’t care if he yowled. I was just grateful he was with me.