DARTER

1/1/01

A white cat with orange markings joined a group of stray cats that we were feeding. Unlike these feral cats, this one was not afraid of us and was always trying to get into our house. We already had too many house cats so we kept trying to convince him that he would be happier outside. He disappeared for a day or so, and I thought we were off the hook. No way! He turned up lame, with automobile grease markings on him, probably the result of an unfortunate encounter with an automobile.

His difficulty with movement persisted, and he willingly walked into the cat carrier for a trip to the vet. A shot of cortisone, a date to have him castrated, immunization shots, and we were the proud owners of yet another cat. We kept him in a cage until we were sure it was safe to let him associate with the other house cats. He behaved very aggressively with them, so it was back to the cage for him. He was allowed out of the house, and I carried him on the trip between the cage and the house door. I would hold him against my chest with his front paws on my left shoulder so that I could stroke him with my right hand and calm him down when it was time to put him in his cage.

The cage worked for about a year. Then he started resisting being put in it. He also learned how to escape from it, no matter how I secured the lid. But by this time he had learned to get along with the other house cats, so we stopped putting him in the cage. He was the only house cat allowed outdoors. He adapted pretty well to both worlds. By this time, we were calling him 'Darter' because of his hyperactive movements. He also had a habit of scratching himself until he bled. It seemed like compulsive behavior, rather than the result of a skin problem.

One black and white outdoor cat named 'Moustache' (because of markings on his snout) was very fond of Darter. Moustache would wait for him to come outside and rub against him and butt him with his head. During the summer of 1999, Darter was in the habit of staying out at night and returning in the morning to be fed. He failed to show up one morning and was gone for two and a half weeks. I made frequent visits to the Town of Hempstead animal shelter, but they had not picked him up. Mustache was also gone during this time. They came back together. We guessed that they were trapped in a garage somewhere in the neighborhood. I found Darter staring at a dish of water, brought him inside, put him on the bathroom sink and turned on the cold water. He liked to drink running water. His fur had lost its gloss, and he appeared to be dehydrated. Mustache was younger and in much better shape, yelling loudly for something to eat.

That was the end of Darter's outdoor career. He seemed to adapt, but developed a habit of seeking places to seclude himself: closets, forbidden rooms, kitchen cabinets, kitchen sink, linen closet, hall closet. It was quite a problem to keep him out of places, or remind him to urinate in the litter box (How do you communicate with a cat?) or check on him every couple of hours when he was perched on a shelf in the closed laboratory. Also he wanted to be held like a baby being burped, and later on he turned into a lap cat.

He also lost his playfulness. When he was young, he could amuse himself tossing leaves in the air and chasing them. He also tossed mice and birds that he caught and killed, but that was not fun to watch. As he got older, his darting became more purposeful. He would run toward a door that he wanted opened and then freeze and point his nose at it. It was something like a ballet performance. He also chewed the nice looking fur off his hind legs, making him look scrawny.

During November of 2000, he seemed to lose his interest in food, and it became increasingly difficult to get him to eat. He still drank a lot of water and had no difficulty urinating. By December, it was obvious that something serious was going on. The animal hospital had changed ownership, and we had just spent $1000 on a cat that died as a result of an operation that was performed without first clearing up an infection that she had. We would not have hesitated to take Darter to the old vet, but we had little confidence in the new people. Besides, he was acting like he did not want to live any longer. We decided to let him outside on sunny days, and he seemed to perk up at first. But he seemed to be disoriented. For example, he would walk up the front steps of the house next door and point at that front door.

He stopped eating completely around Christmas and died a few days later. He never seemed to be in pain. His personality and awareness just seemed to fade away. We have seen this many times in the cats and dogs that have been part of our lives over the past 47 years. Other people have related the same experience. It also seems that an animal cries out when its soul, or life, or its personality leaves its physical body. Is it calling to its Creator? The answer to this question is hidden in the mystery of physical and spiritual life. It seems pretty certain that cats do not ponder these weighty questions. Are humans the only creatures that think about this stuff? We sometimes wonder about whales and Vietnamese pot bellied pigs.