Senior Daze

by Katie Bourg

About Katie: Having arrived in time for the Great (?) Depression, WWII, and all other 20th century problems, I am endowed with long and varied memories. Writing classes have long been my home away from home. Other people's stories are fascinating, and sharing is growth at its best. Hope you seniors will join me with your stories. Try it. You'll like it.

It's been off the front page for about a week or two now, but I haven't been able to get it out of my mind.

I'm thinking about the little girl that was being starved and mistreated until a store clerk took action to end her pain. I think about it every time Charlie the Cat crawls into my lap. If I haven't already bored everyone with his story, I feel a need to tell it again.

I didn't really want a cat at the moment. I'd spent two years trying to ease a wild and frightened kitten into a house cat. Bandit never really became entirely comfortable with me. He had only recently learned to sit in my lap and then for just minutes before he began to shake, then jump and run. When I moved I took great pains to keep him in and give him time to adjust. It hadn't worked. Someone left a window open, and he disappeared, never to be found. It hurt, but I wasn't really surprised.

My new neighbor, Kathleen, a cat lover and a 'cat rescuer,' showed up a few weeks later with a heartbreaking story. Another young neighbor took her children and moved out. Charlie was left alone in a big empty house. No water, no food, and much too young to be without his mother. He had been there over a week or more. He was emaciated and probably shouldn't have survived. Kathleen asked me to take him. I wasn't over Bandit and said no. She returned the next day and asked again. I still said no. The third day, she knocked on the door and, without a word, handed me this tiny bit of fur, whose eyes had yet to turn color.

The kitten recognized the warmth of my chest, and slid his paws up towards my shoulders. His little pink nose sought out my neck, hoping to find the comfort of his mother. I pushed him away from my neck, but he went right back. I'm a sucker. I said I'd take him. Kathleen said his name was Charlie, and left me. That was over a year ago. It's been an experience I'm not allowed to ever forget.

Charlie grew into a very large cat with wide black stripes and beautiful green eyes. He has sometimes been a challenge. At all times, he has been a comfort, a joy, and a lesson.

Charlie is quite vocal for a cat. Not just when seeking treats. He talks a lot, and when hungry he lets me know. He can ignore me for long periods until he feels like playtime. I've learned to avoid his claws when he is not in the mood for play. He bullies Owen the dog, and he's fiercely independent. I've had other cats that were very much the same. But there is another side to Charlie.

If I leave the house for too long, he will be at the door when I return. Not to greet but in that old shaky panic. And the minute I sit down, he will be in my lap, his paws reaching and his nose against my neck. He quivers.

I never had a cat act like this before, but then I'd never had an abandoned cat. Charlie's memory is still telling. When I left for a week, he was frantic. My son was home at night, and fed him. Owen the dog was with him all day. But something in Charlie triggers the old fear that was in that tiny kitten, and he doesn't handle it well. He spends much more time in my lap after such an episode. And the fear never really goes away.

You say he is just a cat. Well, that's true, but his needs, his emotions are not that much different than yours or mine. Or a frightened little girl, who has already had a lifetime of sorrow and fear.

I hope wherever the little girl in the paper is finally placed, there will be people who understand about needs. Hidden memories that don't go away. She's going to need someone who knows. Just like Charlie.