FanStory.com - Act of Resignationby Liz O'Neill
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Lizzy had to get the scruffy cat
A Particular Friendship
: Act of Resignation by Liz O'Neill

Background
Lizzy is conflicted with the scruffy Maine Coon cat her friends offered. We hear the backstory

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.

 

Author Notes
In retrospect, I see how hard my mother worked against the influence my grandmother from hell had on her. She did not want to be anything like her and she wasn't to me anyway.


     

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