Hurricane escape from a cat's point of view
No, I am not going to write as if I were one of my cats, but it is amazing how the ups and downs of our emotional journey seem to be mirrored in our cats' behavior in the past days.
They always know something is up when we start stacking large quantities of stuff near the front door. All day Saturday (8/27) the pile by the door gets bigger and bigger. The cats grow wary. Then comes the executive decision -- when do we keep them inside for good? What if it were time to leave and they would not come inside, and we couldn't find them? The answer may seem simple -- just err on the side of caution, and bring them in early. But there are repercussions -- they then yowl like the world is coming to an end. So you let them out and keep your fingers crossed.
By 2 a.m. they were holed up in the bedroom, surprisingly calm. Could they already feel the pressure change? Did they know we had to get outta there? They even cooperatively climbed into the carriers. When we loaded the car a couple of hours later, we put the cat carriers in with the windows facing each other so they could look at a familiar face. They cried pitifully all the way out of town. Not meowing, but wailing.
But they eventually settled down, and then we let them out to roam around the car. They were floored by the views of scenery speeding by. Kinda creeped out by it, I think. We have finally concluded that they really prefer the safe space of their carriers to wandering around the car. Letting them out so we can hold them and comfort them and see them is really just for us.
The transition to our friends' house in Birmingham goes ok -- the cats' home base is our bedroom with ajoining bath -- plenty of room to hide, rest, play -- they seem fine and find places to nap. They have no knowledge of the two dogs that also share this home -- a little "circus dog" and a medium sized brown and white shepherd mix of some sort? Sorry -- don't know my dog breeds. All is well. We eventually go to bed.
Then Buster starts to yowl and scratch at the bedroom door. He cries like he has never cried before. He is inconsolable. This goes on for what seems like hours. We worry about him waking up the kids. We hold him, berate him, scold him, hug him, pet him, and eventually we all fall into an exhausted sleep. Bibi, the other cat, is quiet as a mouse.
In the daytime, the cats are fine, and we expand their available territory little by little. When the dogs are outside, the cats come downstairs and explore. The dogs can see the cats through the porch door and they are dying to meet (or eat?) them. The cats sit on our lap, or on our hosts' laps while we watch Katrina coverage. They seem a little more comfortable everyday.
We even let them venture outside a bit. Bibi stays under the boxwood hedge by the front door. Buster stalks up the driveway with a determined look like he is planning to walk back to New Orleans. I sweep him up in my arms and we go back inside. I am not ready to lose my cats too.
At night, it's still bad. For four nights, Buster cries like he is trapped in the fifth circle of hell. He yowls like he is being tortured by demons. But he never starts up until we turn out the light and try to go to sleep. On the fifth night, he is asleep on the bed when we turn in, and we all float off to dreamland together. Finally, I think, he is adjusting to this new routine. Alas, at 1 a.m. I wake up to the horrible lamenting of a cat who has given up on ever being able to go out on his familiar front walk, to sit on the sidewalk and chew the grass, to hop over the picket fence to see the neighbors, to lay around lazily and happily in the New Orleans sun.
I know that he wants to go outside. I fear that his cries will wake up the kids. We go downstairs to the screened porch and cry together. I miss my yard, my sidewalk, my picket fence too. I want to go back home too. Like Buster, I can relax and enjoy our pleasant situation during the day, but I am scared and confused at night. I hate feeling helpless. I hate watching people suffering and literally dying on television because our leaders are bungling the relief effort. I hate what has been allowed to happen to our beautiful city. I hate thinking about vandals destroying our property for no good reason at all, and hope desperately that it hasn't happened. The cat and I finally both give into exhaustion and go back to bed.
We develop a new theory -- the cats are quiet and happy until the lights are out. Is it just too dark? In New Orleans, streetlights shined into our house . Here, it's dark. Really dark. We try turning on the bathroom light. It works! Not a well-controlled experiment, we know, but finally, we get a full night's sleep.
Now, on day 10, things are looking up. Buster and the dogs have seen each other. He comes down the stairs and sits just out of reach on the other side of the baby gate. The dogs stare hopefully. The big one throws her paws over the gate. Buster hisses but doesn't retreat.
Outside, the cats seem more comfortable. They stay pretty close to the house. Buster is not heading off the property anymore. However, today, Ginger, the bigger dog, somehow jumped her electric fence in the back yard and ended up in the front yard with the cats. I catch Ginger by the collar and bring her back down the driveway. Buster looks confused. What am I doing with the dog? Have I gone to the dark side? Then I think I shock Ginger accidentally putting her back into the back yard.
Stay tuned. Will Ginger figure out that it's worth a shock to see the cats? Will Buster keep sleeping through the night? What bizarre behaviors will Bibi develop, besides chasing her tail like a maniac, and shredding any papers left on the floor?
A couple of days ago, Shaw had an idea that made me laugh like I used to laugh pre-hurricane. He suggests that we put the little electric collars on the cats too, and throw everyone in the back wooded area, but include some other creatures in the mix, also fitted with electric collars, for distraction and to even the playing field. A couple of turkeys, a bear, a llama, some guinea pigs, maybe some monitor lizards, a boa constrictor . . .
They always know something is up when we start stacking large quantities of stuff near the front door. All day Saturday (8/27) the pile by the door gets bigger and bigger. The cats grow wary. Then comes the executive decision -- when do we keep them inside for good? What if it were time to leave and they would not come inside, and we couldn't find them? The answer may seem simple -- just err on the side of caution, and bring them in early. But there are repercussions -- they then yowl like the world is coming to an end. So you let them out and keep your fingers crossed.
By 2 a.m. they were holed up in the bedroom, surprisingly calm. Could they already feel the pressure change? Did they know we had to get outta there? They even cooperatively climbed into the carriers. When we loaded the car a couple of hours later, we put the cat carriers in with the windows facing each other so they could look at a familiar face. They cried pitifully all the way out of town. Not meowing, but wailing.
But they eventually settled down, and then we let them out to roam around the car. They were floored by the views of scenery speeding by. Kinda creeped out by it, I think. We have finally concluded that they really prefer the safe space of their carriers to wandering around the car. Letting them out so we can hold them and comfort them and see them is really just for us.
The transition to our friends' house in Birmingham goes ok -- the cats' home base is our bedroom with ajoining bath -- plenty of room to hide, rest, play -- they seem fine and find places to nap. They have no knowledge of the two dogs that also share this home -- a little "circus dog" and a medium sized brown and white shepherd mix of some sort? Sorry -- don't know my dog breeds. All is well. We eventually go to bed.
Then Buster starts to yowl and scratch at the bedroom door. He cries like he has never cried before. He is inconsolable. This goes on for what seems like hours. We worry about him waking up the kids. We hold him, berate him, scold him, hug him, pet him, and eventually we all fall into an exhausted sleep. Bibi, the other cat, is quiet as a mouse.
In the daytime, the cats are fine, and we expand their available territory little by little. When the dogs are outside, the cats come downstairs and explore. The dogs can see the cats through the porch door and they are dying to meet (or eat?) them. The cats sit on our lap, or on our hosts' laps while we watch Katrina coverage. They seem a little more comfortable everyday.
We even let them venture outside a bit. Bibi stays under the boxwood hedge by the front door. Buster stalks up the driveway with a determined look like he is planning to walk back to New Orleans. I sweep him up in my arms and we go back inside. I am not ready to lose my cats too.
At night, it's still bad. For four nights, Buster cries like he is trapped in the fifth circle of hell. He yowls like he is being tortured by demons. But he never starts up until we turn out the light and try to go to sleep. On the fifth night, he is asleep on the bed when we turn in, and we all float off to dreamland together. Finally, I think, he is adjusting to this new routine. Alas, at 1 a.m. I wake up to the horrible lamenting of a cat who has given up on ever being able to go out on his familiar front walk, to sit on the sidewalk and chew the grass, to hop over the picket fence to see the neighbors, to lay around lazily and happily in the New Orleans sun.
I know that he wants to go outside. I fear that his cries will wake up the kids. We go downstairs to the screened porch and cry together. I miss my yard, my sidewalk, my picket fence too. I want to go back home too. Like Buster, I can relax and enjoy our pleasant situation during the day, but I am scared and confused at night. I hate feeling helpless. I hate watching people suffering and literally dying on television because our leaders are bungling the relief effort. I hate what has been allowed to happen to our beautiful city. I hate thinking about vandals destroying our property for no good reason at all, and hope desperately that it hasn't happened. The cat and I finally both give into exhaustion and go back to bed.
We develop a new theory -- the cats are quiet and happy until the lights are out. Is it just too dark? In New Orleans, streetlights shined into our house . Here, it's dark. Really dark. We try turning on the bathroom light. It works! Not a well-controlled experiment, we know, but finally, we get a full night's sleep.
Now, on day 10, things are looking up. Buster and the dogs have seen each other. He comes down the stairs and sits just out of reach on the other side of the baby gate. The dogs stare hopefully. The big one throws her paws over the gate. Buster hisses but doesn't retreat.
Outside, the cats seem more comfortable. They stay pretty close to the house. Buster is not heading off the property anymore. However, today, Ginger, the bigger dog, somehow jumped her electric fence in the back yard and ended up in the front yard with the cats. I catch Ginger by the collar and bring her back down the driveway. Buster looks confused. What am I doing with the dog? Have I gone to the dark side? Then I think I shock Ginger accidentally putting her back into the back yard.
Stay tuned. Will Ginger figure out that it's worth a shock to see the cats? Will Buster keep sleeping through the night? What bizarre behaviors will Bibi develop, besides chasing her tail like a maniac, and shredding any papers left on the floor?
A couple of days ago, Shaw had an idea that made me laugh like I used to laugh pre-hurricane. He suggests that we put the little electric collars on the cats too, and throw everyone in the back wooded area, but include some other creatures in the mix, also fitted with electric collars, for distraction and to even the playing field. A couple of turkeys, a bear, a llama, some guinea pigs, maybe some monitor lizards, a boa constrictor . . .
posted by carla at 10:20 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home