The Cat Lady, Part II

I've been thinking about her lately, mostly because I haven't heard from her. Not the lady from Hoarders who hoards both live and dead cats (the one I wrote about in a previous post), but my cat lady. The one who took our two cats to keep "until we get a house" and then disappeared from the face of Midtown.

I'm still haunted by nightmares of the disastrous process of getting the cats from our condo to her house.

It was a cold afternoon a couple months back when the cat lady came over under the premise of relieving us of said cats, Sierra and Jade, and I was full of anticipation. After my son's birth, the cats had become increasingly intolerable - tiny litter pebbles trailed throughout the condo, a litter box that grew more obnoxious even when cleaned daily, gray cat fur constantly falling from their bodies, Sierra's occasional hissy, hostile behavior that had been getting worse as she aged. They had become little storm clouds that drifted through our home raining nasty, and I was eager to find them a new home before I woke up to find my baby making sandcastles in the litter box and munching cat turds.

When the cat lady showed up, the cats were in carriers and ready to go. It had taken twenty minutes to get a hissing Sierra into the larger crate, and that I managed to do so without any scratches was nothing short of a triumph. I was hoping to whisk them out to her car and start vacuuming the living room.

"Here," I told cat lady, as she moved toward the crates, "I can help carry."

Turning to my mom, who had come over to watch the baby while I took care of the cats, I said, "This lady's like a cat whisperer," which is something I assumed because she runs a nonprofit dedicated to rescuing cats...and she has a lot of them.  

I watched in dread as the cat lady sat down next to Sierra's crate and made herself comfortable, saying something to the effect of I'd like to help smooth their transition and get them used to me before taking them into my home...so what I'm trying to say is THESE CATS AREN'T GOING ANYWHERE, MUAHAHA.

"You know, it took me twenty minutes to get her in that crate," I said as cat lady reached for the carrier's door latch. There was a sound like rushing wind - Sierra hissing warnings through the metal bars. "I don't think that's a good idea?" I offered uncertainly. Cat lady had known about Sierra's mounting behavior issues, so what was she doing? 

Mom and I watched in horror as cat lady removed Sierra, a ball of thrashing fur, from the carrier's safe confines. "I understand," cat lady crooned in a high, singsong voice as Sierra released a series of low, guttural growls. The cat's face was twisted into a demonic leer, paws spread so wide they looked like tiger claws ready to rip flesh. Satan, is that you? I wanted to ask. But I couldn't move. Curling her arms protectively around the baby, my mom backed away from the scene.

Sierra lashed violently at cat lady's face, narrowly missing her nose. "I understand," cat lady repeated firmly, trying to caress Sierra's head.

The cat shrieked, reared back and in one swift move, slashed cat lady right between the eyes. I jumped back as bright red blood began to spurt from the open wound. "It's ok," she continued, not releasing her grip. "I understand."

"Oh...my god," I said. "Um, are you ok? Let me, uh, get you something."

While retrieving a toilet paper roll from the bathroom, I heard the cat scream again, and when I returned, the tender flesh between cat lady's right thumb and forefinger had been opened like a letter. We stuffed Sierra back in the carrier, which entailed removing the lid and quickly replacing it over her squalling form rather than coaxing her through the door.

"I don't think today's the right day," Cat lady warbled from her bloody face, "It's just not the right time for me to take them."

In light of the events that had taken place, I could hardly argue, but my heart sank.

"Maybe," she continued. "We should...wait a couple weeks...and I could come over and get them used to me. And they can come over when they're ready."

I was relieved she was still willing to take them, but pretty sure she was insane. Ready? Without the help of shock treatments, I couldn't see Sierra ever being "ready" to be handled when she was spitting and growling. Or any cat. Cat whisperer, my ass.

"I can't keep them here," I said. "Especially with...the way Sierra acted. I can't have that around my baby. I'm sorry about what happened, but we're going to have to figure something out."

Figuring something out took about two days. In the end we drugged Sierra per cat lady's request, "to help with the transition." The first thing cat lady did was call an animal psychologist to try and figure out Sierra's issues.

It's been about four months since the cats left, and I've only received two phone calls from cat lady. One to say it had been two months and had we sold our condo yet, and the other to say it had been three months and she would need more money if we planned to continue keeping the cats there. I returned that last call, telling her to let us know how much she needed and whether she wanted us to Paypal her Web site or mail a check. A week later I called again to reiterate that we would give her money, just let us know how much. Silence.

So she's been crossing my mind. What happened? Is she upset because I haven't visited? Did one of the cats die and she's afraid to tell me? Or did they run out of drugs and Sierra finally finished the job she started here in the condo? I picture cat lady lying motionless and defeated in a swarm of meowing fur, and I shudder.

Cat lady...come out come out wherever you are?