Iowa Dave's Blog

We just completed a ten-state driving tour with our cat, Savannah. Learned three things:

1. Make reservations ahead of time with hotels that do accept pets.
2. Cats will “hold it” a long time in a car. Like ten hours.
3. If they really need to go before you stop (like, sixteen hours,) they will use a litter box in the car. Thank goodness.

We equipped ourselves with a collapsable cage that folds out to the size of an efficiency apartment regrigerator. In hotel rooms where we stayed for several days, we put her in the cage when we were out of the room. That way the housekeeping staff could clean the room without fear she would escape.

We provided her food and litter box in the cage at all times so being in there did not inconvenience her. When we were in the room we let her out of the cage and put a pillow on top of it with a view out the window. She liked to lay up there.

It was our first time to travel with a cat. Won’t be the last.

We owe to cats a debt beyond the grasp of gratitude for all that they have done and are doing to promote thrift and financial self-control in this spend-crazy time of year.

Savannah, the newcomer in our lives, takes endless pleasure from a crumpled sheet of brown, kraft paper and a length of cord. She hides the string in the paper then pounces in to pull it out again. Over and over.

The paper came as padding in a box of calendars from the printer. The cord is one we made years ago, to hang a tassel. Two bits of scrap material that would normally be thrown away.

Somewhere back in memory I keep my own recollection of playing less with the Christmas toy than the box it came in. Especially if the box were bigger than me. I think the difference was simply this: the toy contained someone else’s imagination, whereas the box gave me a place to invest my own.

Clearly the cat sees it the same way. It is cheaper fun, and better, when you create it yourself.

Years ago, an organization named Dalbar surveyed hundreds of sales representatives in a certain field, and thousands of their customers. The survey focused on the moment at which the sale is consummated, the paperwork signed, and the purchase paid for.

• The customers felt, overwhelmingly, that the relationship with the sales person was just beginning.
• The sales representatives felt that the relationship with the customer was concluded.

It is similar with cats. Take Savannah (no, not like that; she stays here!) The first few days after she came to our house, she was the Most Affectionate Animal In The World. Could not get enough of winding around our feet or having her ears rubbed. Let us hold still a moment, and she would plop down alongside with one paw stretched just enough to touch us.

This behavior must be taught to cats early in kittenhood, in the same academy that trained those agents in the Dalbar survey. Allow a cat to work this magic on you for even five minutes and the contract is as good as signed.

But once the cat figures out the deal is done, everything changes. 23 1/2 hours a day the cat busies itself with occupying various flat spots around the house. 15 minutes of the remaining half hour goes for eating and litter-boxing. Finally, a quarter-hour remains for companionship—but mind you, not all in one sitting.

Savannah has made her sale, and knows it. She collects her due gracefully. She arranges her slumbers where we can see her most of the time. It is OK. She’s far from our first cat, and we expected it.  I remember affectionately describing our Burmese cats as “self-relocating furniture.” It soothes me to see a cat resting peacefully in my home.

Also, he he, I know something she does not. Winter is coming. The house will feel colder, heat it though we will, and she will develop a certain practical appreciation for a warm lap.

Our cat loving friends (you know who you are!) will be wanting a photo of Savannah…

Savannah

She made herself right at home, I am happy to say.

She made eye contact the moment I walked into the room. There was no mistaking her intentions. I would be taking her home with me.

Our pair of Burmese cats died last year. We raised them from kittens, they lived 18 years, and we grieved for 12 months after the last one expired. It surprised us, how hard we took their demise.

For a while we thought we would rather go without a pet than to suffer that way again. But a house that has known animals comes to feel empty without one, and a stray cat needs a home. At last, the simple logic of need dissolved the stoic self-denial that follows loss.

We began to hear about this cat a month ago from our long-time veterinarian. She had come in pregnant, an outdoors cat with remarkable people skills. The doctor let her have her kittens, making sure afterward they would be her only kittens. Her health returning to normal, the day approached for her adoption.

She had no name, they told us. No particular breeding either, as one quick look at her will attest. Her ears and nose are albino pink, her body solid white, her tail an abrupt and striking mix of orange tabby fading to gray, Klibanesque raccoon rings at the tip. But beauty is in the eye, and there were true hearts eager to be won.

Andrea and I went out last night for a fresh supply of cat litter. This morning we put the pet carrier in the car and drove over to the vet’s office. On the way, we talked of cat names, as we have done several times recently. “I have to see the cat first, before I can name it,” Andrea said.

We walked into the office. The adoption cages sit to the left, at the far wall of the waiting room. I spotted the pink ears right away, as she swung her head toward the sound of the door. Her look met mine and it was history in the making.

“Hello, Savannah!” Andrea exclaimed. The story begins there, in my wife’s happy face.