Another Cat Lost – The Tale of Security Cat

I remember the first time we ever came across Security Cat.  We had expanded the area in which we were searing for cats to catch and fix past the Bitan Bridge.  Just beyond the bridge was a security house where the guards would sit in the evening and bicycles were rented to people on the weekends.  We were looking around and a little orange and white head popped out from under the wooden deck and called to us.  This is a pretty normal occurrence, except that Security Cat had a meow so loud anyone within one hundred meters could hear him.

 

For the first few weeks he was very afraid of us, only popping his head out to get food and quickly dart back under the deck to eat it.  He didn’t completely trust us, but he sure liked to talk to us.  Before, during and after feeding he told us everything he knew and then some.  As the weeks passed he came out bit by bit and talked more and more.  It was a joke between Brandy and I about how close we would get before he would start to call to us.

 

The night we captured Security Cat was funny.  It took us a while to get him to actually trust the trap, and when he did finally go in the door kept miss firing and it would go to early or not at all.  I think we fed him almost two cans of food to finally trap him. It was a good thing that his big mouth loved to eat as well.

 

He stayed with me for the night after being fixed and I didn’t get a minute of sleep.  I have had lots of cats stay here after their operation, but Security Cat seemed to want to talk from the second he recovered to the moment I took him to the bridge.  I returned Angel and Tabby Tail first then came back to the apartment to get Security Cat and wow did he ever let me have it.  Meowing down the stairs, on the motorcycle, all the way to the security office (which had the guards come over to see what I was doing) and then, after letting him out and freeing him, he stopped, looked around him, then started to yell at me again for not having any food there for him.  I made a run to 7-11 a block away for a can and I swear I could hear him the whole way there and back.

 

After that he became more trusting of us and also started to take care of two little twin orange kittens, Simba and Little Orange.  They became a small pride by the office, with the young boys staying back and Security Cat coming out to talk to us and greet us.  Brandy was the first to be able to pet him and once he got the feeling for human affection he never stopped.  While the brothers would stay back, Security Cat would come right out, meowing and rubbing right against us.  He was still smart a he wouldn’t trust people who were new at first, but with us it was like he was one of our own cats.

 

A few months back they took down the security house and replaced it with some cheap sheds for the bicycles.  I remember how much Security Cat had to tell me the first night I came.  I think we had an hour-long conversation about where his house went, what they did and where he was staying now (a set of bushes under the stairs by the new sheds).  The security guards always came over and had a big smile on their faces when they saw me feeding him and the brothers.

 

About a month ago, when the sheds were completed, I did my usual rounds to all the prides.  Simba and Little Orange were there to greet me, but something was missing.  Although they have both learned to be quite talkative by Security Cat, he just seemed so quiet and empty without him there.  I’m used to a cat being gone some nights, but a few nights later it was the same thing, only the brothers… no Security Cat. 

 

For the last month I have convinced myself that Security Cat moved on when the security house came down and the sheds went up, looking for a new place, or a more secure territory, but for how loving and affectionate he had become over the past months, I still had that bad feeling.  He had a great spot to live and the security guards even have bowls out where they put food and fresh water out for the cats each night.  He was a really lucky guy.

 

Last night when Brandy and I were out feeding the cats, the Taiwanese woman who feeds all the cats every night gave us the bad news.  The homeless man who sleeps by a set of benches around the corner from Security Cat and the brothers was really drunk one night, got Security Cat to come to him, picked him up, then slammed him into the ground, killing him.  As I sit here and type, I hope to whatever god was looking out for that cat that it was one hit and no suffering, but it never should have happened. 

 

Was he too loud?  Did he bite him?  Did he keep the guy awake at night having conversations with friends who fed and loved and took care of him?  All we know was he was drunk and he took a life… the life of one of my cats.  Street cat or not, these cats are my cats.  There are five prides at the bridge and Security Cat was always thought of as one of the leaders… the dominant male of his pride, protecting and taking care of Simba and Little Orange.  Now the brothers are alone.

 

We’ve lost cats before.  Big Head went missing last year.  Angel died from poisoning a few days after she (and Security Cat) was returned to their areas and others have just moved on in one way or another, but Security Cat… he’s been there for a long time.  I don’t like to rank the cats, but he’s one of the main guys.  I could always count on him, after visiting the other four prides to be there, ready to talk to me into the late hours of the night.  He loved to be scratched behind the ears, something most street cats will never know the joy of, and always showed his affection and appreciation with head butts, full body rubs and licks to your hands when he could smell the fish I’d been giving out all night.

 

He reminded me of George, my cat of fifteen years back in Canada and I always felt a special connection to Security Cat because of that.  Simba and Little Orange have learned from him how to carry on a conversation, but I hope they have also learned that not everyone can be trusted.  I miss my Security Cat, his head popping out from under the dark deck of the security house, the full-volume tales he would tell us each and every night, and I miss that look on his face after he would eat, just before he began to clean himself.  He would look at me like he didn’t have a care in the world and that he knew, of all the people that walked by him each and every day, I was his friend and I truly cared about him.

 

More cats will come and others will go, but there will never be another one like Security Cat.  That void near the sheds, by the bushes, under the stairs will always remind me of him.  Another cat who never knew he was dealt a rough hand, gone too early from all our lives.

 

Rest in Peace Security Cat…

above – Security Cat relaxing after food and affection one night

below – Security Cat the night he was returned to the bridge area

and Little Orange, one of the brothers Security adopted as his own

Teaching Mistake #572

I told you I wasn’t going to cut my hair until after your next birthday. Maybe I’ll wait until the wedding next year.  I’m sure it will look even better in another seven months.

For some reason I have kept track of all the books I have read since I left Canada for Taiwan.  I think it’s because I used to keep all my books on my bookshelves at home, surrounding myself with the words I have read along side the words I have yet to read.  I like having my books, but I can’t keep them as easy here, so my little list on my Facebook page helps me to remember what I read, what I thought about it and just little flashbacks to someone else’s words that kept me entertained, interested or transfixed.

My list from the first two years totals 46 books… this year I’m only on book 19.  For some reason I just don’t think I have read enough.  I read at the gym all the time, but not so much at home.  I don’t go to Starbucks as much now that my couch is more comfortable than theirs, but I have a lot of DVDs and a new PSP to take up my time.  I have a growing number of books that I want to read, I just seem to wiped out at the end of the day to get to them. 

I like the idea of at least 24 books by the end of the year, but I’m not sure I can hit that.  I do have shorter novels by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, but then it feels like cheating if I take that route.  Plus, a few of the books I intend to get to next are pretty big reads including The Count of Monte Cristo and Journey to the West (I’d love to add Three Kingdoms to that list but I think I would need to take a semester off to really read it properly).

Lately I’ve been into collections of short stories and have been more than impressed by both Hemingway and Vonnegut and their collections.  They have actually inspired me to get a little more writing done, which of course takes away from reading time.  My Lonely Planet travel guides do take up a lot of time as well, so maybe you could add the guides to India, Bangkok, Thailand, Philippines, Cambodia and Vietnam in there as well… but not really.

So, the list I’m going to try to expand a little more before 2010…

Really, it’s not a bad list at all.  A lot of my past and current favorite authors are in there as well as some surprises I never even thought about reading until I go tmy hands on them.  I’ll be happy if my list hits 22 by December 31st, but that just means a few more books next year to make up for it.

I just thought of one more book to add to the list.  Turn Left, Turn Right by Jimmy Liao.  It’s a Chinese book, and more about the artwork than the actual writing, but Eva and I have just spent the last five Sunday’s translating it into English for my nieces and nephews which is a big task.  We used it as part of my new Chinese lessons (more time away from reading) so technically I would say I’m at 20 books… 19 read and one translated.  Twenty feels better…

Now, I just have to get through this Shack book and delve into something completely different for the next novel to get my mind straight again…

Last Saturday night in a tea shop on the Northern Coast of Taiwan…

One Song… 50 Words

One Song… Fifty Words

A Simple Twist of Fate

It’s Just a Cat…

I went to the bridge tonight to see all my cats.  I fed 33 cats, a little more than usual, but Bunny had two kittens recently, the other two kittens have grown up and begun to fend for themselves, and of course there are a few new faces here and there… some will stay and some will go.  All the rest of the usual prides were there, ready for food, attention, affection and just a little bit of time to take them out of the world they live in and be loved, if even for only a moment.

As I entered the area of the Hill Pride I saw a new face a little ways down the path.  As I moved closer, he kept his eyes on me, wondering why I was calling cats. At first I had to take a second look as he looked so much like Big Head, one of our first catches who we lost about a year ago.  I called to him and he just watched me.  As I looked at him I knew there was something different, something that wasn’t the same in his look.  He looked lost.  Like a lost child who just realized that his mother is not standing by his side in the grocery store and doesn’t know yet how to react.  I called again and threw him a little food, just to draw him closer.

He came foe the food and I could hear his breathing.  It was obvious he has some sort of a cold and was stuffed up.  He ate the little bit of food as I turned to feed Crazy Mama and Crazy their dinners.  As I turned back the new guy was right beside me.  I went to give him more food and he climbed into my lap and curled up in a ball and began to purr.  I have worked for over a year now with these street cats and maybe five out of forty would climb into my lap, but it would take a lot of coaxing and calming.  This cat knew that there was safety in a person’s lap. 

He never bit, scratched or did anything but purr and sleep.  I sat there for over forty minutes, petting him, telling him it would be okay and that he was in a good area for cats to live and get fed.  I wiped his nose and eyes, trying to clear him up a bit and he just sat there, looking up at me, wondering where the last person went whose lap he sat in.  Wondering why they haven’t come back to let him sit with them again.  Probably wondering what he did.

I picked him up and set him down beside me so I could go and see the other cats on my route and before I could even stand, he was back on my lap, laying down the best he could to keep me there, to keep the warmth and keep the only place he has felt safe real and a part of him.  I sat for ten minutes longer. 

Whenever I walk away from the different street cats and the different prides, I know the looks I am going to get.  Some want more food, some want more attention and some just look at me with a thankful look like they know they will be seeing me again soon.  Each and every cat there knows their situation and the world they live in and I am just a visitor… a friend.  But this cat, it just seemed like he didn’t understand.  I felt like I was doing more harm by walking away, making him believe that more people are just going to walk out on him.  If he was a child I know he would have been crying… I almost was.

Half the cats at the bridge are dumped pets, and the rest are born and raised there.  The dumped ones have a little more trust for people, but you have to earn it.  The ones born there, it takes time to build up trust and a relationship with them.  Some take weeks, some months, and some more than a year before you can even give their back a quick pet as they eat.  This guy hasn’t realized it yet, he doesn’t know this is now his world.  He still longs for a sofa, a blanket, a warm lap, someone to sleep with, someone to feed him, someone for him to give his unconditional love to every day or just someone to be there for him, in a house where he is safe.

This guy really got to me.  I guess I have never come across a cat so new to the environment… so lost.  I can only see it going downhill from here.  He will learn not to trust people as much and will have to learn when to trust and when not to.  Taiwanese people are not so good with street animals and will chase them away out of fear for themselves.  Over the next few days he will approach people for even the smallest hope of affection and he will be met with actions that will instill fear in him.  The new animals, the cats and dogs of the area will see him as a new threat and he will have to learn to fight, and fend for himself.  He can join one of the prides, but it isn’t as easy as asking for a membership card.  He will have to earn his way in, which will include a lot of cat fights and being chased.  He is going to have to learn about the feeding ladies, and how they ring a small bell each night for the cats to come.  His food won’t be in a nice bowl anymore and he will have to eat what he can get with the rest of the cats.  If he’s smart, he will adapt… but why should he?

I want someone to tell me what he did.  A cat this affectionate should not be where he is right now.  Did he not use the litter box every time?  Did he scratch the sofa?  Did he knock a picture off a shelf or chew on the cord to your computer?  Did he do the things that cats do and you just couldn’t handle that an animals will do things you can’t always control?  Did he have fleas?  Did he catch a cold and you didn’t want to take him to the vet?  Was he too mouthy when he was happy to see you?  Did he want to sleep on your lap and show you thanks for everything you give him too much?  Did he take too much of the covers while you slept?  What?  Give me a reason that is rational and true and maybe I can accept it… but tell it to me while he is curled up in a ball, on your lap, purring because even that simple action makes him feel like his whole world is safe and nothing could ever go wrong.

Did you take him off your lap and put him in the carrier to dump him, or did you explain to him why first?  Can you imagine your parents taking you from your house when you were young and just driving you somewhere and leaving you there?  Oh, it’s just a cat, it’s different.  Not in my eyes.  No cat is just a cat.  No dog is just a dog.  No animal is just an animal. 

My Bubba used to curl up in my lap the exact same way when he lived with me.  What I wouldn’t do right now to have him in my lap as I sit here, but I lost him to a brain tumor that turned him from loving to a very scared, violent cat.  But at times, he still new my lap was safe.  He knew, even when he didn’t know much, to climb onto my lap was the one place where he didn’t have to be scared of anything.  He’s gone because if was the right thing to do for him, but I took that day off work and I layed on the couch all day with him.  He slept on my lap, he curled up with me on the couch and I cried all day, telling him he was going to be better soon.  My sister had to come with me so I wouldn’t back out and I watched the light in his eyes go out in the end.  I never left his side, no matter how bad he got, and the vet even let me take him with me (against regulation) so he could be buried with Tiger and Whiskey (and now George) in my family’s backyard.  Even now, he’s still with me in many ways, so I ask you again… what did this cat do to deserve being put somewhere to survive on his own after living his live in a home?

The answer is simple… absolutely nothing.  I can even use the answer many people would give me for this… he’s just a cat, which to me means there isn’t a single thing that he could do to deserve being treated like yesterdays garbage.  I hope soon he’ll forget those people, not because he should, but because I don’t want him to be sitting every night, on a boardwalk by the river, wondering if they are ever coming back, and wondering what he did to make them leave him there.  He deserves better.  They all do…

It’s been more than two months since I was in India.  Everyone asks me about it and why I don’t have any pictures up, or anything written about it.  Well… I think sometimes you can’t fully appreciate where you were until some time has passed. 

We spent two weeks in India.  It was part of one of the longest vacations I have ever taken, the first real trip for Eva and I, and really some of the best and worst times I have ever spent.  My words for the last two months about India… it sucked. 

I can’t help it.  It was hard.  I was on drugs that were supposed to keep me from becoming sick, but instead they put me into a depressive phase that made it hard to even enjoy the best of times on the trip sometimes.  Other times, it was just the sheer overwhelming shock and awe of it all.  Even with emotional responses dulled by little doctor prescribed capsules, India broke through and made us fight, yell, scream, cry and absolutely stand in awe of the good, the bad and the ugly.  Different parts of India can bring out the worst in you.  You cannot… and I mean cannot in any way put yourself into the place of the people you see and understand why they are following you, putting their hands out to you, or harassing you to the point you want to strike them down when all they want is food or money. 

Everyone had their hand out, from beggars to the person who opened a door for you at a roadside bathroom.  People expected gratitude in the form of money at every turn for even the most simple things.  That man opened your door, give him some money.  That girl moved some sticks out of your way so you didn’t walk on them… give her some money.  A man sweeping the ground outside a tomb tells you a quick, over rehearsed tow minute speech about the tomb you are about to see, then asks for money.  And when you give him a dollar or two, he says he usually gets more than that and offers to give you change for a ten. 

Tour guides, paid by the company we paid for part of the trip expected large amounts of money for bored, zombie-like tours of places that were easier to see and more fun to tour without them.  one guide actually told us we were wasting his time by not accepting his tour and going on our own… and he asked for money when we finished.  Our driver was tipped very well for the trip, but was always talking about extra expenses he was having, and telling us about how much his rent was per month and how much it cost to have a family in Delhi.  In the end he was upset about the low tip, which was equivillant of his monthly rent… just not enough for him I guess.

We saw many sites between fending off guides, touts, beggars, purse snatchers (not a very good one at that) and everyone man in India who wanted a picture with the beautiful Asian girl even when she told them no.  We went to Agra to see the Taj Mahal, which was a beautiful place but began our less than thrilling ride through guides and tours that just weren’t for us.  not all tourists are the same, and we didn’t fit the mold they expected.

We went to Jaipur, Pushkar, Udaipur, all beautiful places which have places I will remember more over time than the other, more dominant memories.  Waiting at the side of the road for an elephant to pass before shopping for camel leather books will soon be the memory that blocks out the drug dealer lined streets.  A small samosa stand with workers who were so happy to serve us fresh, hot samosas for less than what you would pay for a stick of gum, then smile when the saw how much we enjoyed the first, steaming hot bite will blur the memory of a so-called monk who was insulting and pushy when we didn’t have more than a small amount to give on the banks of the ghats in the holy town of Pushkar.  A group of men attempting to swarm me as I reached in my pocket for some money to buy some food for the two of us (luckily I noticed and walked away quickly) may fade the back while I remember the boys all seeing Eva in Haridwar and each began to do the best flips and dives they could do into the Ganges to get her to notice them.

All the memories remain.  Eva looking like she was going to tear my head off and eat it for dinner when she found out Rishikesh was a vegetarian city and no meat could be consumed there.  Walking almost three to four kilometers up a mountain trying to find an old, rundown ashram, finally giving up and walking back down to discover the road to the ashram was right outside of the town.  The heat and sore muscles of that day will become second to the small stream that ran across the orad in a shaded area, just deep enough to cover your feet and cool off your entire body with the cool crispness of fresh mountain water that began somewhere higher up in the Himalayas and would end up flowing through India and past thousands as it becomes part of the Ganges.  Actually I do enjoy that thought… my feet… my sore, aching feet touched that water first, before flowing along the mightiest holy river on our planet. 

And what made me finally want to write about this?  These words…