Several things about Larenti that have developed in the last few days.

(1) ‘She’ is a ‘he.’  I’ll have you know it took shaving a good deal of his derrière to find the necessary bits to determine this.  Even the vet said there was much confusion and betting on the outcome as more and more hair was cut away.  Ultimately, however, his gender is now known with certainty.

Although I based my original hypothesis on his standoffish behavior, I grew to realize that stemmed from his distrust of people in general.  Nevertheless, I’d already spent some time referring to him as her and saw no reason to change that without proof.  Now the verdict is in.

I’ll go back and change all the personal pronouns and other gender references as time permits.

I’m not changing his name based on this information.  I think Larenti is a perfectly gender-independent moniker.

(2) He’s been inside since yesterday.  Quarantined, yes, but inside nonetheless.  All it took was a bit of cold air.

(3) We just returned from the veterinary clinic.  He’s now up to date on his vaccinations.  His general health is good, although there are a few minor issues to be dealt with before introducing him to the rest of the household.

For example, we need to give him flea treatment as there were some tapeworms found.  Neither fleas nor tapeworms are serious issues, you realize, yet both have been and will be dealt with (a shot to wipe out existing tapeworms and flea treatment to stop the threat of tapeworms. . .and fleas, of course).

Also, he has a wee bit of a yeast infection in his ears.  We now have ear drops to remedy that insignificant concern.

He’ll remain quarantined for two weeks as we allow the various treatments to work.

(4) He’s approximately 4-5 years old.  A young lad.

I never suspected him to be senior or geriatric.

(5) He purred the whole time he received his shots and exam, nestled against me like a warm engine looking to me for safety.  That made me feel like a million bucks.

There was some stress during the buttocks shaving, yes, but would you react any differently if de-haired in the nether regions by perfect strangers?  I think not.

(6) Not once did he cry during the trip to or from the vet.

(7) I’ll post some new photos of him tomorrow if any of them turn out.  I’m not exactly catching him at his best.

(8) He’s tired, stressed, worried.  My focus remains on ensuring he finds this place safe, the company loving and accepting.

(9) His “about The Kids” page will be built in short order.  Likewise, I’ll add him to the various categories, add his likeness to the thumbnail links in the sidebar, and generally tend to all the blog matters surrounding membership in this exclusive club.

(10) I have no concerns for his integration with the rest of The Kids.  He already knows Vazra.  He’s now met Grendel and Kazon without incident.

Given his propensity for wanting to hang out with other cats, not to mention his habit of sitting at the patio windows and “talking” to the Kids, I never thought it a concern.  There will be tribulations just as there were with Vazra; none of these have been major or worrisome.  I expect the same with Larenti.

(11) He weighs more than 18 pounds (8 kilograms).  I believe I’ve mentioned before that he’s a large cat.

In physical size, he’s approximately as long and as tall as Kazon, but his longer hair makes exact matches a bit difficult.

(12) I need to have him shaved to get rid of some knots.  After that, regular brushing with the rest of The Kids will see to it that such afflictions don’t revisit him.

(13) You may NOT call me The Cat Lady.

(14) There will be no further additions to The Kids.  Not for a while, at least, and not while living where I live and on the pittance my employer pays me.

Too many cats in a small space causes stress.  Stress is a cat’s worst enemy.

I already spend a great deal of money on these felines. . .more than you can realize given various health issues.  Any more would easily bankrupt me.

That’s not to say I’ll stop feeding the locals; it is to say I won’t be rescuing any more.

(15) Call this a god complex all you want, what with taking a cat from its life on the streets and in the wild, tending to its health, ensuring it has a loving home where it can live a long and fruitful life full of affection and company.  Call it selfish to interrupt a life in such a way, to take it from what it knows and introduce it to a new life that is alien.

I don’t care.

Vazra would have died in no more than a year had I not “interfered” in his life as I did.  Now he’s so healthy that he doesn’t even look his age.  The horrific, skin-ripping knots in his fur are a thing of the past.  He’s put on weight such that he’s now normal.  He’s so happy he could just spit.  He follows me like a puppy, talks to me incessantly, plays with the other cats, enjoys a life of leisure and no want. . .

But remember I had the same god complex when I snatched him from the lake and gave him a home.

Now, you’ll pardon me if I tend to some business, such as cleaning cat boxes, visiting with Larenti so he knows he’s okay, in a safe place, and giving the rest of The Kids the time and attention they need and deserve.

A blustery, significant cold front moved through North Texas today.  It carried with it the threat of wintry precipitation and the season’s first freeze, albeit these things might well never visit us here in the metroplex. . .  Or will they?

Anyway, the point is not the weather; it’s Larenti.

For the first time since I started leaving it on the patio a few months ago, I found her just now resting comfortably in the cat carrier.  The one I hope to use to rescue (trap?) her in when the time comes to help her escape her life on the streets.

I can’t claim she’s never been inside it before.  I’m not home 24/7, you know.

But she’s in it now.

In it with a warm towel to curl up in to stay warm.  In it where the gusty wind is held at bay.  In it where safety is a commodity to be measured rather than to be hoped for.

She’s in it.

That’s what I know, what I see.

Capturing her is a breath away, a hair from my body when I step outside.

Perhaps tonight, perhaps tomorrow, but she’ll soon be in my grasp.

Then it’s off to the vet for tests, vaccinations, examinations.

Her trip from the outside world to an inside existence of pure love and protection is a wink away from reality.

Wow!  I’d considered but never assumed a bit of cold air could push the process forward so rapidly.

Yet here we are.

Five times in the last five days have I wished to bludgeon myself with a plastic spoon for not having my camera with me.  Five times!

And you wonder why I strongly believe having my camera with me at all times is of the utmost importance. . .

First: I awoke before five one morning and stepped out to the patio.  In the distance, I could hear a kitten crying.  And crying.  Unable to ignore the poor distressed thing, I quickly donned shorts and a tee shirt before heading out into the darkness.

I let myself be guided by the sound of the plaintive cries.  All too soon I realized the smallest ball of fur had climbed a large tree only to realize it didn’t know how to get down.

Luckily, several other people already had found the cat and were focusing an intent rescue mission on helping it back to the ground.

When I turned to leave, who came running to see me?

Clance!

I’d not seen him in quite some time and feared for his well-being.  I stooped down and petted him gleefully as he rubbed against me and purred with contentment.

He seemed in fine health.  Someone’s been taking care of him.

When I finally walked away as he went to investigate the commotion in the dense woodlands where the kitten was stranded, I chastised myself for not having my camera with me so I could snap a photo or two of him.

Second: I drove to Starbucks for my usual morning fix of caffeine and company.  Dawn barely had reached the sky overhead with dim light as I stepped out of the car.

I turned and looked toward the southeast where the sun would be rising.  What met my eyes was the most vivid, stunning sunrise ever imagined.

Clouds stretched as far as my eyes could see, a dim azure to the west that slowly, over the course of the sky, changed hues to a brilliant, deep, unimaginable shade of violet to the east, dark clouds kissed gently by a sun struggling to climb above the horizon.  Where its light filtered in beneath the clouds, hints of gold and red danced like magical beings.

I could scarcely believe my eyes, what with such beauty right there for anyone to enjoy, right there where—Well, damn it!—right there where I could capture the event in but a few simple photos. . .if I had my camera.

Third: Rick and I enjoyed a Sunday lunch sitting on the patio of a local favorite.  Some clouds and some blue sky offered excellent weather, so we sat on his front patio a while afterward sipping Perriers as Wylie skipped about in dappled sunshine.

Eventually the time came for some Frisbee fun.

Only then did I realize what a magnificent scene rested before my eyes.

Sunlight danced through the clouds only to find itself dancing through oak leaves both falling from and clinging to still dressed branches.  Mounds of them rested atop the ground in a blanket the likes of which sings of autumnal grace.

And amongst them pranced this terribly happy dog who wanted to run and play.  Each time he nestled down awaiting the next throw, he half disappeared in a bed of fallen foliage.

Anyone would be proud of such splendor on display for all the world to see, beauty drafted upon the landscape by nature itself.

“I could kick myself for not having my camera with me,” I said, the ‘anger at self’ rather evident in my voice.

“They’ve only started to shed their leaves, and Wylie’s not going anywhere.  I’m sure there will be other times,” Rick replied.

Nevertheless. . .

Fourth: Larenti lay at my feet soaking up attention as though it were a necessity without which she could not live.  I barely noticed anything other than her incessant purring and pawing. . .and the smile so evident on her face.

Peripherally, as though a specter passed between reality and unreality, a wisp of something as gray as smoke pranced through the patio fence and walked directly to the bowl of cat food.

Psiwa glanced at me for a moment before lowering his head to the bowl.  The munching sound of consumption filled the air.

He learned some time ago how to enter and exit the patio through the hole in the fence I created.  I’ve seen him coming and going, usually when I’m indisposed or unable to take photos other than through a window.

Yet there he sat quietly enjoying a bite to eat as I stood barely more than an arm’s length away from him.

Several times he glanced at me, his exquisite green eyes a near match to his flawless gray coat, and each time he did so I mentally screamed at myself for not having my camera with me.

Fifth: Later that same day, Larenti wandered off on an excursion.  I stood on the patio soaking up the unusual autumn warmth when once again Psiwa crept silently through the fence for a bite to eat.  This time, however, was different.

I stood a breath away from the food bowl.  He had to walk within a hair of me to get to it.  But he didn’t.

Instead, he walked toward me.

I watched him, speaking softly with hellos and how-are-yous.

Hesitantly, sweetly, and with a great deal of curiosity, he came to me, a bit reluctant to be touched, yet nonetheless wanting of my attention.

And I felt consumed by those magical eyes. . .

Without my camera, though.

I stepped outside to give Larenti some attention and to enjoy the cool darkness of the as yet unfamiliar early dusk.  The patio felt stark, barren, a windless, lightless place, a landscape where even the stars forsake humans despite their valiant struggle to penetrate Dallas’ unforgiving light polution.  Were it not for Larenti’s presence, the night’s chill would have been my only companion.

But we were not alone.

As the sweet feline scampered about my feet stretching and purring, reaching for every bit of affection she could absorb, she suddenly leaped as her eyes rested on a large, dark moving mass crawling beneath her.  She nearly stepped on it before she saw it, and when she saw it. . .  Well, let’s just say it took her by surprise as much as it did me.

She took a few steps to avoid the monster, shook off the initial surprise, then leaned over to sniff it, investigate it, give it the once over it deserved for invading our time.

Then she turned her back on it.  Obviously nothing worthy of more than a first glance.

I felt otherwise.

I could see plainly that it was a caterpillar of some kind, a large one, a dark one moving with unalterable intent toward the living room doors.  I also knew better than to assume it benign.

Furry caterpillars can be dangerous.  It’s always safe to assume they are until/unless you know otherwise.

So I opened the bedroom door, turned on the patio light, and turned my attention back to the interloper.

Aha!  I immediately recognized the tiny giant as a leopard cub (or so I like to call them), the child of giant leopard moths (a.k.a. eyed tiger moths or great leopard moths; Hypercompe scribonia).  You might remember them from here and here.

Such creatures are harmless, their only defense to curl into a ball, show their red stripes, and hope for the best.

So I reached down, intercepted the miniature leviathan, picked it up, and carried it inside.  It remained motionless throughout the journey, a small, black and red-striped furry monster held with powerful care in the palm of my hand.

Then what?

If my last experience offered any insight, these are very patient creatures.  The last such caterpillar didn’t move for thirty minutes once wrapped in its bristly ball.  Yet I can be quite the patient ape when I want to be.

I therefore put the visitor down on a piece of paper on the desk, something white upon which its shadowy figure might be perceived, and I waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

My amazement at the patience of these insects grew as I watched it.

Then finally, like a flower opening petal by petal in the day’s early light, it began to move.  Almost twenty minutes later.

I let the child walk about the desk a bit to gain some comfort in the alien surroundings, after which I placed my hands in its path hoping to intercept it.

After the briefest pause while it investigated my fingers, the little thing crawled right up on my hand and continued its search. . .for an exit, for a place to hibernate, for something.

I can’t tell you how many photos I snapped while it investigated me from stem to stern.  It crawled from hand to hand, arm to arm, and all the way across my chest from shoulder to shoulder.

My only concern is that many of the photos will be little more than garbage.  I have no idea what I was aiming at while snapping photograph after photograph.  All I know is that I did my best to grab an image or two of the stranger in our midst.

Not wanting to torture the little beast any more than necessary, I finally put the camera aside.  The time had come to set the cub free.

After pulling it from my sweatshirt like so much lint, I placed the ball of hair in my hand and carried it outside.  And just as I had done before, I took special care to lay it down well outside the patio fence, sheltered by darkness and flora and hope.

I can’t tell you where it is or where it went.  I do know I’m stepping carefully when I go outside, looking intently for any movement before placing my weight on the ground.

Meanwhile, I’m going through an unbelievable number of photos hoping to find one or two I can share here as I simultaneously hope the child finds a place to hibernate for the winter.  When spring arrives next year, should it survive, this large black caterpillar will feast again, even if for a short while, and then it will cocoon in time to metamorphose into an impressive leopard moth whose size and coloration will dazzle and intrigue all who see it.

Or at least those who aren’t calloused about such things.