My second cat, my caretaker.

Dec 11, 2006

Ursa was my second cat.

I adopted Ursa from an adoption fair at my then-local Petsmart. I was ready to adopt a second cat, hopefully one who would keep Monkey company during the days when I went to work; and because I’d always wanted to have more than one cat. A small black cat and his sib were both up for adoption. A little girl had just asked to see the female kitten. The slightly smaller male kitten looked just a little bewildered as his littermate was removed from the cage. I asked the attendant if I could hold the other one, and as soon as I picked the kitten up he draped himself over my shoulder and started purring.

I mentioned to the woman running the adoption fair that I would be moving in about a month. She stopped and said, “Why are you adopting a cat, then?” It’s a mark of how naive I was that I just stared at her stupidly. I’d be taking the kitten with me, of course. I was taking my furniture. I was taking my clothes. I was taking my books. Why wouldn’t I take my cats? (Apparently, there are plenty of people who move and just…leave their pets behind. I know. I can’t wrap my mind around that one, either.) Ursa was okay with the cat carrier; but he was much more interested in sitting in the passenger’s lap (or climbing up on the passenger’s shoulders) and staring out the window.

The new kitten was more sociable than Monkey had been, much more of a cuddler and purrer, more adventurous. Monkey acted like a mom-cat, grooming the kitten’s forehead and sleeping next to him as they sat in the patch of sunlight. Ursa even took to my roommate (which surprised him, since he was used to Monkey going saucer-eyed whenever he tried to approach her.) When we’d leave our iced Sbux drinks on the floor, Ursa would try to eat the straws. Ursa was forever prying open closet doors, to sit among the hanging clothes, quite secure in his dark, cool hiding place. (This had the side effect of covering my longer clothes with cat fur. Fortunately, Ursa wasn’t a white cat — I wear mostly darker pants and skirts, so the black fur wasn’t quite so noticeable. Though perhaps that would have made clean-up easier..?) On a few occasions, we saw Ursa do the oddest, silliest thing: he would freeze, then jump about three feet straight up and clap his front paws together. When he landed, he’d bounce out of the room, tail straight up in the air. I’ve never seen another fullgrown cat do this. Sadly, as he got older, Ursa did this less and less. I used to be able to trigger this by staring fixedly at him and drumming my fingers on the nearest flat surface. I saw him do this about five months ago, after not seeing this behavior for at least a year.

For whatever reason — possibly because he and his sib had stayed with their mom-cat for just over two months before being readied for adoption — Ursa was quick to “mother” me whenever I felt unwell, or was especially tired. Once when I successfully staved off an epileptic seizure, Ursa sat beside my head, purring loudly and licking my fingers. He’s sat by me when I’ve had fevers, when I had heatstroke, and when I was bedridden and immobile with a horribly sprained ankle. I’ve often woken to see him laying, Sphinx-like, near my head. He doesn’t stay like that all night, but periodically he’ll come lay by me for, oh, about 30 or 45 minutes. Then he’ll wander over to the footstool, curl up on his blanket, and get some sleep where he doesn’t have to worry about a flailing human rolling over and accidentally pushing him off the edge of the bed.

Ursa has his own special behavior quirks. He’s more social than Monkey, but he did pick up some habits from her. Whenever someone approaches the front door, he’ll leave the front room and head for the bedroom. He walks or saunters, as opposed to Monkey who makes a beeline for under-the-bed; but he is in the bedroom by the time the front door actually opens. It’s as if he just believes that this is a part of the routine of this household: Otherhumans come, the cats go to the back room. Another of his quirks (or perhaps just another facet of the one I just described?) is his fondness for routine. My normal weekday morning schedule is: wake up, bathroom, feed cats, start the coffee, shower, let Ursa drink from the bathroom faucet dress, drink coffee, and get on with the day. On weekend mornings I’ll rise later, take my morning meds, bathroom, feed cats, start the coffee…and half the time I’ll just fire up the computer and get my geek on. This variance in the routine leaves Ursa a bit distraught. He’ll go into the bathroom, sit on the toilet tank (where he normally waits for me to finish showering and turn on his Magic Kitty Water), and miau. He sounds a bit like a lost child at a department store, calling, “Mom? Mom…” I’ll call to him, and eventually he’ll come out; but he always looks mildly put out that I’d just change things about without notifying him properly.

When I adopted Fog, Ursa was the first to warm to her. They’re good buddies now, curling up together to sleep, playing together, and generally posing for Hallmark cards. Ursa’s still incredibly mellow (I can clip his claws), he’s in fairly good health though he has had one episode with kidney problems, he once had an allergic reaction to fleas, and the closest he comes to a nervous habit is his fussy scheduling issues. He’s a sweet cat, and I’m glad I had the good fortune to adopt him all those years ago.

Related entry: Monkey
Keywords: | pets | Holidailies | family | cats |
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