Memories: Installment 2

It was never any secret that I love animals. Always have. Probably always will. It's ingrained into my identity and personality to such an extent that it may very well be impossible for me to survive as anything else. I save little lives. I save big ones, too, if opportunity presents. I nurse wounds. I cuddle. I pounce. I wrestle and play tug-of-war. I discipline and teach. I call command, I reward good behavior, and I have relied on them with my life. I've even saved other human beings with their help. (That one's for another time, if ya'll want.)

It's not an exaggeration to say I've always been this way. One of my first words - according to my mother - was "bug". There was a fat praying mantis on the wall, just chilling out, right above my crib. I've never been anything shy of obsessed with horses from the time I knew what they were. And of course: cats. Cats forever. Always. There is a cat shrine in my heart. There always will be. Everyone who has ever met me for more than an hour knows it.

So I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised.

It was a typical day in high school. I was in Mr. T's history class. I loved that guy. He was this eccentric old guy with a great sense of humor, and he had a gift for making history interesting. If my memory serves, both my older brothers had him as a history teacher. I know my oldest brother did. I digress. I'm sitting there in class, watching "Stalin". We were studying the end of WW2. All of a sudden, over the entire school loudspeaker, my name gets called.

"Ms. W., would you please come to the front office? Ms. E. W., to the front office please."

... which of course made everyone turn and look at me wondering why the hell I'm being called in.

Some context: I was NEVER in trouble in high school. The only time I ever got sent to detention was for not having my PE clothes with me. Add to that the fact that this was a small-town - and my high school wasn't exactly huge either - and my reputation preceded me as 1.) being the youngest sister of the Smart Guy at the rival high school, 2.) the kinda scary girl in tie-dye clothes on top of the theatre hill at lunch who hung out with goths and underclassmen, and 3.) the weird chick who got along better with teachers than she did her own classmates. (All true, for what it's worth.) Me getting called into the front office was like someone investigating the Dalai Lama for saying cross words to a small child. The number of faces with the confused expression of, "... the HELL?" was oddly flattering.

I looked at Mr. T with my arched eyebrow and ducked head - if you know me, you've seen it: it's my silent request for permission. His face bore the same, "wtf?" look. I would have laughed if I wasn't so self-conscious. He gave me the nod, and I quietly ducked out of class.

Walking down the eerily empty hallways of the school to the front office, my mind raced with possibilities. I obviously wasn't in trouble... at least, it was obvious to me. Hell, the staff knew me well enough and liked me well enough where even if I HAD done something, I could have gotten away with it. So it was pretty well impossible that I was in trouble. But then why call me in? Questioning? Had I see something recently, or noticed anything out of place? There were fights at school sometimes, maybe they were going to ask me if I'd witnessed one and could place names to faces. But I surely wasn't in trouble. What on earth could it be?

I walked in, a bit apprehensive, and quietly approached Ms. I. She blinked at me kindly through her tiny wireframed glasses and smiled. "Oh good, you're here!" she said happily. This only confused me further.

"Uh, yeah," I said, "what's up?" (Give me a break. I was a teenager.)
"Oh, nothing major, but we have a request."
A request? I thought to myself. I really hope they aren't going to ask me to volunteer for something. Ugh. I hate saying no, I mean I'm not sure HOW to politely decline, but I really could care less about-
"See, Mr. S is getting married, as you may know."

I did know. Mr. S was the principal, and, well... like I said. Small town. Everybody knows this sort of thing.

"It turns out his soon-to-be stepdaughter is terribly allergic to cats. He has a cat. We were wondering if-"
... oh god are you serious?!
"-you'd adopt him, because nobody wants him to go to a shelter and we don't know where else to ask."

Turns out, word around town included that I was a big fat softie. Anyone who had pets knew about the County Shelter. I KNOW those people are doing the best they can with what they have, and as a state shelter they don't have the option of being no-kill. But having been in there... all it takes is one visit, and you'll cry even thinking about that place. The terror, the loss, the heavy sadness weighs down on you the moment you park in the lot. It lays like a blanket over the entire establishment. I don't know how those folks work there. It would break me. I would never allow an animal to go there if I could help it. Stray kittens were adopted out personally. Dogs were re-homed through friends and family. The shelter was never brought up... unless we were going out to adopt a new animal.

So, yeah. Of COURSE they went for an easy target. One who wouldn't let a poor, healthy, no-fault adult male cat with almost no chance of being adopted from a shelter, go to meet his untimely end in the cold confines of the state's cages.

I... probably never told my parents this, so I apologize if you're reading this mom and dad - I agreed before I even discussed it with them.

Did I mention I hated saying no? I must have. Read back a bit.

The relief on Ms. I's face was immediate and genuine. I don't remember the conversation after that, since I was then scrambling to find a way to present a case to my folks that we needed ANOTHER cat when we already had like three at the time. My teenaged brain was going over the scenarios in rapid-fire possible outcomes, first mom (I knew she'd be easier to win over, so I'd start there) and then dad (who thought cats were about as close to useless as you could get). I went back to class, still trying to figure out a way to argue  for the cat's life when I'd already said yes.

Going for mom first was the correct choice. She stuck by me when I presented the case to dad and - being dad - relented in the face of two confirmed cat-lovers. I can still see the rolled-eyes, hands-in-the-air capitulation. I think at this point he was kind of used to me bringing home everything under the sun and might not even have been surprised if I'd tried to adopt a stray rhinoceros. And so, my principal came by some while later to drop off "Cougar" (named after our school mascot), whom we promptly renamed Tom Cougar Mellencat.

Oh shut up. It was awesome.

So the next day I was of course accosted by half a dozen people asking about what happened. Most of them actually didn't believe me at first, but then they remembered that this was me they were talking about and DUH they would call in Nature Girl to come adopt out the principal's cat. I mean, obviously. Who else would they call?

It's a fond memory, if silly. It makes me giggle still to think that the staff felt it necessary - appropriate, even - to call me in from class on the PA system, letting the WHOLE SCHOOL know. Tom lived with us for many years, turning from indoor-only to strictly-outdoor by his own volition. He never did learn proper hunting, and eventually developed a nasty habit of biting people. He also had a weird proclivity for running up to people, even total strangers, and throwing his entire weight into their legs in an... affectionate? rub. It was the most aggressive affection I'd ever seen from a cat. It was like he wanted you to love on him but also wanted to knock you onto the pavement to split your skull open.

Weird cat. But then, with a back-history like that... who can blame him?