Category Archives: Kako

Not the most restful of mornings

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2:43 AM.

Why am I awake this early in the morning?  More importantly, why did I awake so abruptly?  I sleep soundly, but I also remain aware of what’s going on around me and wake at the slightest discrepancy.  A noise.  A movement.  Sometimes only because I have the impression that something is amiss.  It’s my natural alarm that has always served me well in the past.  So why did it go off at 2:43 in the morning?

I look around the bedroom through wide-open eyes and see all of The Kids scattered about.

Kazon is on the pillow next to my face staring at me blankly.  He too wonders why I’m awake at this hour, and he also believes, since I’m awake, that I should not hesitate to pet him.  So I do while continuing to take stock of my environment in an attempt to identify what caused me to rise from the depths of slumber.

Grendel and Kako are curled together in the middle of the bed next to my waist.  Kako is staring at me intently also trying to fathom why I am conscious at this hour.  Grendel only briefly notices me before going back to sleep.

Loki is the only one not on the bed.  He’s sitting next to the patio door looking outside.  I focus on him for a moment, and then I follow his gaze out to the patio.

Could there be some wildlife in the area finishing off last night’s dinner?  Perhaps they made some noise while eating and I awoke in response.  If the last raccoon party of three is any indication, I might even have heard a scuffle break out between the diners given how loud and violent they can get.

A sudden movement catches my eye.  It’s a dark form milling about just outside the fence.  And then I see another, not as dark even in the shadows, who likewise is near the first dark form on the other side of the fence.  I recognize both immediately.

The living shadow of the first creature is Vazra.  I focus on him momentarily.  How odd that he’s here this early in the morning.  His schedule is like clockwork: always here between 5 and 6 in the morning.  Worry overtakes me with tremendous speed.  Is something wrong with him?  Is he hurt?  What caused him to arrive at this hour?

So I turn my attention to the other form moving slowly just a yard (a meter) away from him, and I immediately recognize it is the presumed female Larenti that more and more follows Vazra in the mornings and indulges me by having a bite to eat.  She still is not clear on how to respond to me.  She is, after all, more feral than her friend.  Despite her fear and uncertainty, however, she does talk to me and responds when I talk to her, and she also will eat the food I put outside the fence for her.  There are times when I sincerely believe she asks me for something to eat.  Seeing her with Vazra is not a surprise as I have mentioned before, but again I am forced to ponder why both are here so early in the morning.  This has never happened before.

I rise out of bed and slip on a pair of shorts.  Before I can take a step toward the doors, Vazra leaps atop the fence and drops down the other side onto the patio.  I move toward him as he moves toward me.  Having reached the door, I unlock it, open it, and step outside to the happy feline greetings on the other side.

That’s good.  Vazra sounds fine.  At least, he certainly doesn’t sound wounded.

“Why are you here so early?” I ask with no expectation of a coherent answer, although often I wish I could more clearly understand the outside cats as well as I understand The Kids.  Experience.  That’s the difference.

Vazra rubs against my legs and meows affectionately.  The other cat also speaks a few times in that dishearteningly lonely way she often does.

I reach down and pet my Persian friend while continuing to talk to both of them.  In return, Vazra purrs contentedly, gives me several love bites, and continues to rub against me and talk with joy.  I kneel down and give him plenty of attention.  In the meantime, the other cat has come closer and is also talking.  How I wish she trusted me more.  Perhaps with time…

After several minutes of Vazra soaking up as much attention as he could get with conversation filling the air between the three of us, I stand and promise an immediate return.  I rush back inside and grab fresh food and water for them.  As usual, Vazra meets me at the door and talks and rubs as I carry the bowls out to the patio.  I mentally note how wonderful it is that I can still hear him purring with tremendous glee.

I set the bowls down in the middle of the patio, and then I grab a small handful of food while Vazra digs in.  The other cat is still asking a question I do not yet understand, although I believe at this point that she is asking for a meal, something I dutifully provide by placing some food outside the fence.  The moment I take a few steps back, she moves in and begins eating.

3:00 AM.

Why am I outside feeding the neighborhood cats when I could be inside sleeping?  The answer is simple: because I wouldn’t be able to sleep while they are out here asking for a bit to eat and some water to wash it down.

Both cats eat heartily with much crunching, and Vazra requests — and receives — more attention after he has his fill of food and drink.  The other cat finishes most of the food and immediately begins talking again.  It is that persistent question, that undeniable cry of aloneness.  I wish she trusted me more than she does.

Vazra decides it’s time to go and leaps the fence with ease.  He hops down on the other side and walks comfortably away from me.  The other cat follows him without skipping a beat in her conversation.

I, on the other hand, go back inside and climb back into bed.  Because I know opossums and raccoons will be back through this area before dawn, I take the food and water back inside for safekeeping.

4:33 AM.

Again I wake up, and again I see Vazra on the patio (I do not see the female cat this time, but that does not mean she isn’t out there somewhere close).

In what is a very new development, Vazra is sleeping on the patio.  I do not know where he normally sleeps.  That means seeing him there is an odd thing and beckons to me for action, but I do not wish to disturb him.  He is curled comfortably against the wall directly outside the bedroom windows.  All I need do is roll over and look out to see him there.  I decide not to get up this time and instead go back to sleep.

5:18 AM.

I am again wide-awake, so I look out to the patio and do not see the black Persian where he was sleeping before, so I squirm a bit to get a better look at the rest of the patio.  I find him curled up in the middle of the concrete floor.  He’s sleeping soundly and I do not even get out of bed, but more and more I am curious about this scenario and how it is playing out.  It is a new experience.  And again, I feel a tinge of guilt at not doing something for Vazra, but I can not as yet bring him inside and I dare not disturb him lest I give up the rest of my morning.  So I go back to sleep.

6:02 AM.

The tap-tap-tap of feline claws on the windows wrests me from sleep.  There stands Vazra on the other side of the door.  The instant I move, he meows and looks at me intently.  At this point, there’s no need to think I will get any more sleep, and the last several hours have been anything but restful, so I rise from bed, get more food and water, and step outside for our normal morning routine.  Again he takes his fill of sustenance, washes it down with a healthy drink of water, and requests and receives plenty of attention.  His female friend is not present this time, but I will see her again.

[on a related note, I’ve been unable to capture Vazra; he does not react well to the pet carrier despite my efforts to acclimate him to it; that makes me wonder about his past; irrespective, my efforts continue in that regard so I can get him to the vet and the groomer; depending on his health status, he may well become the official fifth member of The Kids — assuming my plan actually works out; and another thing: it might be time to come up with a name for the female cat; it would certainly help when writing about her, especially if she’s going to continue coming around as much as she has been (at least daily with Vazra); any ideas?]

He’s my man!

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And don’t be makin’ me hafta tell ya twice now!  Uh-huh…  Think I’m a lie…

Close-up of Kako sleeping next to Grendel (149_4955)

[The Lovers: (left to right) Grendel and Kako; click on it for a hi-res version; again, check out her ear freckles; I think they’re cute]

Alright, Yoda, get outta the bag

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Kako is sometimes called Yoda.  This is for a good reason.

She suffers from excessive and undeniable curiosity.  Sure, all cat’s do, but Kako gives it her own flair.  As long as she doesn’t feel threatened, and sometimes even then, she simply can’t say no to that overwhelming desire to rummage through everyone’s business.  Simply put, if it might possibly contain one or more trinkets, it must be investigated thoroughly.  And how does one determine if it might contain one or more trinkets?  One should simply assume at all times that all things and all people are hiding some very interesting secrets and should therefore be plundered in the name of discovery.

Any visitor can attest to this.  Jenny, for example, will often set her purse down on the floor.  Kako knows Jenny.  Once she realizes it’s her, the purse is besieged.  The Yoda part is that immediately she’ll stick her head into it and start nosing around.  If anything catches her eye — ooh, shiny… pretty… interesting… any other trait… — she pulls it right on out.  Pens are a favorite in this regard, as they serve quite well as toys sliding easily across the carpet like a scampering mouse.  But anything will do so long as it grabs her attention.

Because it’s not just looking but taking, and because she rarely takes no for an answer in such matters (or any other matter now that I think about it), she’s rather like Yoda digging through Luke Skywalker’s supply case and, much like a child, setting his eye upon a small thingamajig or doohickey, and not letting anyone or anything sway his resolve in taking and keeping it.  Yep, that’s Kako.  If it’s of interest, it surely must be for her, and she has no qualms with going and getting it herself.

The cutest aspect of this is when both head and paw disappear into or under the curious oddity that calls out to her.  You can almost hear Yoda’s grunting and murmuring while she’s doing it.  Things start tumbling out onto the floor, items which immediately get a cursory examination to determine whether or not that was the right whatchamacallit.  If it meets her exacting standards and needs, further study and even play will be explored.  If, however, it happens to be less interesting on the floor than it appeared in its original hiding place, it becomes sloppy seconds for the other cats while she goes back to Yoda-ing.

Forevermore companions

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How long can it last, this thing we have?  How long can it endure the test of time?  Will I be old and gray with you by my side?

My heart aches in the realization it can never be so.

The Boys, Grendel and Loki, were adopted early in 1997 and are now nine years old.  For cats, they are middle-aged, equivalent to being in their early 50s.  They reach 56 years of human age on their tenth birthday next February.

In comparison, Henry was over 100 years old (relatively) when he died well into his 21st year.

And what of The Twins, Kako and Kazon?  They turn eight years old this September, and that is equivalent to 48 human years.

The Kids are my children, the source of unconditional love that fills home and heart.  But how long can such a thing last?

Not long enough, I’m afraid.

My first concern is for Grendel.  His health has never been excellent with asthma, arthritis (for which he had to have hip surgery), and now this inflammatory bowel problem caused by an errant bacterial infection in his intestines.  Add to that the discovery of stones in one of his kidneys as well as his bladder, issues we have not yet addressed directly because they are not causing significant problems at present.

Not only is it bothersome that his own body seems to rebel against all hope of normalcy, but the medication he must take to manage both the asthma and intestinal problem has the unfortunate side effect of causing damage to the body with long-term use.  It places him under threat of diabetes, organ damage, immunosuppression, and a handful of other problems.  Sadly, the treatment for his health issues will almost certainly shorten his life.  Perhaps even significantly.

My heart sinks at the thought that my roly-poly, my love sponge, the knower of no strangers will not enjoy the full life his brother Loki will probably have.

Yet this is an assumption based entirely on what I know.  The greatest concern comes from what I do not know.  About any of them.

Kako, likewise, has health issues.  As she is prone to deadly urinary tract infections, it is possible she too will go sooner than expected.  If, with age, her body becomes less able to manage the problem alongside the special food they must eat because of it, and given the suddenness of her approach to death in past experiences with this ailment, I also fear for her well-being.  When she suffers from this problem, she does not indicate it until it is almost too late.  The vet made clear that waiting even less than 24 hours in each case would have significantly altered the scenario.  She likely would not — could not have survived.

What if as she ages her body weakens and is no longer able to manage the problem long enough for me to seek treatment?  Could it be her innate need to hide weakness will be her undoing?  Might she wait too long to speak up about the pain and anguish?  I lament the thought.

Age has a funny way of changing the rules when it’s least expected, and watching The Kids grow older, especially now that all four of them are at least middle-aged, causes me to ponder what heartbreak waits in the ever-nearing future.  Which of them will be the first to hear my weeping goodbyes?  Upon whose fur will my tears fall in those final moments of companionship?  Whose life will I watch drain away in my arms as I am forced to yield my love and devotion to the natural progression of life?  On whose final stillness will my sorrow first be cast?

I watch my children grow.  I watch them age and wonder at the continual development of their personalities.  I celebrate in the awe of such love and companionship given freely and unconditionally.

When I myself am in pain, whether physically or emotionally, it is they who stand by my side, who tend my wounds, who ensure I know I am not alone.  I have wept the bitter tears of a thousand lives stemming from a thousand pains and a thousand losses, and yet these fur people remain vigilant and unrelenting in their care of me.

Lying on the bed curled in a ball with a blinding migraine headache, tears streaming from my eyes, was it not Kako who wept with me, who spoke in soft and loving terms only a father could understand, who rested herself next to me and gently caressed me with her paws to let me know she was there with me even if she could not take away my pain?

Sitting on the couch after Derek’s death, rending my own heart upon the altar of memory and time, was it not Kazon who so gently wrapped himself around my shoulders, purred comfortingly into my ear, repeatedly kissed my cheek and nose, and whispered soul-to-soul his unyielding devotion, and all that despite knowing he could not undo the past?

With Kako in the animal hospital under threat of imminent death from her own illness, and with my own pacing and crying, was it not Grendel who wrapped his arms around my hands, who silently meowed to me as a gentle reminder of his love, whose purr right next to my face kept me anchored despite the trembling of my body with mourning, and who stayed with me no matter where I collapsed under the fatiguing weight of emotional distress?

Having cried my soul upon the veterinarian’s counter with Henry’s limp body wrapped in my arms, my tears wetting his fur for the last time, did Loki not reflect the greatest of the absent feline’s teachings by sitting upon the pillow that later caught my sobs, stroking my cheek with his paw, and speaking to me in reassuring tones as he shared in the anguish and desolation of it all?

And today, for some unknown reason, I awoke with this sudden dread.  Why?  Is it that some unconscious revelation while I slept gave me in waking the unwelcome knowledge that, at least for most if not all of The Kids, there are fewer days ahead than there are behind?  Especially for Grendel, I think, but for any of them, perhaps even far fewer days ahead than what has already been shared?

With my stomach tied in knots, I sit here typing this while Loki rests comfortably against my arm.  He is sleeping, his breathing a soothing rhythm, his fur barely moving in the gentle breeze from the ceiling fan, and I marvel at him, at this predator, this once wild animal who is, as a species and in the historic scheme of things, the only creature to have chosen humans as companions rather than having been chosen by us.  His ancestors surrounded the ancient cities of Egypt and as a whole accepted humans in light of the opportunity we provided with our granaries overrun by destructive rodents.

We had no solution to the indiscriminate consumption of our grain stores.  Cats did.  They partnered with us and adapted to life with us.  As a species.  Consciously.  They chose us.

At first, we hated them, and then we tolerated them for they certainly helped us a great deal, and then we grew to revere and even worship them.  As life goes, we humans had never seen another species intentionally join us, engage us in a mutually beneficial relationship, and that could endear itself to us with ease as they enjoyed our company as much as we did theirs.  Even if they care not to admit it and try very hard to hide it.

To this day, no other species has willfully joined us in this way.  It is the only personal human-animal relationship that was not our idea.

And you wonder why cats fascinate me so.

To the loving and critically important predators who share my home, I am truly sorry I will not be able to save you.  There will come a time when we will part.  We will have to say goodbye.  My heart will break in those final moments, if it is not already so, and it will pour upon you all that I am and all that I feel.  My soul will encompass you and wrap you in its eternal warmth.  Your essence will join mine, and together we will be both more and less complete.

Like a fire in the night sky, your memories shall burn within me and will forevermore shine a light on the emptiness you leave behind.  It will be a reminder to me that all things end.  It likewise will be a reminder to me that not all natural beauty and wonder can be found in the likes of man.  The hollow will bring forth a wellspring of giving, for as I rescued you from uncertain fate and gave you the life and home very few enjoy, and just as you came to us in our need and provided more than we could ask, so again will I open my heart to your kin and kind, offer my home as a place of joy and peace, a retreat into which they are welcomed, and shower upon them, and certainly in your memory, all of my love and care, a gift as unconditional as those they present me.

But whether it be with me or within me, your life will exist so long as I breathe.  This solemn vow I make to you.

And your legacy will survive in those who follow, your descendants who will find refuge just as you did.  They, too, will know of home and family.