Many moons ago our family suffered a loss. In England, Nonna had lost her ancient cat. Although he arrived as a stray, upon the expiry of his ninth life, he was no castaway.
The death of a pet leaves a hole in someone’s life. If that person also happens to be elderly, younger people worry. Nonna was resigned, so when she appeared for her annual visit, we decided to lure and charm her into weakness.
Hence we headed off to the Humane Society.
The brother kittens that chose us, viewed Nonna and her room as a refuge and sanctuary. Our children were on a steep learning curve, with Nonna as counselor. The primary lesson was a negative one, ‘don’t kill with love.’ Oh how kind they were to those cats every living, breathing minute of the day. I was glad for Nonna’s counter balance, as I was in a state of shock. The arrival of felines also saw the arrival of words, lots of them, all lumped together in whole sentences. Non-verbal no longer. It was me that was dumbfounded, speechless to correct or curtail as I basked in surplus syllables.
They carried them around like babies, upturned and stunned. They poured adoration upon them as well as a great deal of spittle. The soggy cats endured microscopic examination of their persons. How clever to have a tail! What magnificent teeth! Claws that were retractable. They were the source of endless entertainment.
We had a slew of "Social Stories" about how to be a pal to your puss. We practiced stroking. We practiced stroking in the right direction. We also spent an inordinate amount of time being cats and pretend play burst into the foreground in full technicolour.
All too soon, it was time for the cats to get physical, or rather, have a physical at the Vets. With the children left in the tender loving care of their father, Nonna and I sallied forth with cat basket, such that she too could experience first hand, the American way.
A visit to the vet is a protracted event, especially if you have two cats rather than one. Each in turn was taken away for a physical examination.
Upon return, the vet looked grave. She passed the brothers back to us to put them in their crate. Nonna and her walking cane leant against the wall to cuddle normal cat. I put my finger tips on the table whilst atypical cat hid under my then long hair.
“You know……..there’s no nice way to say this,” she said nicely, lowered head and soft body posture.
“Eh? Wot she say?”
“BAD NEWS.”
“Oh gawd!”
The vet blinked but carried on, “I’m afraid he has some serious behavioural issues.”
“Eh? Wot she say?”
“BEHAVIOURAL PROBLEMS.”
“He er……......he seems to have failed to have bonded to his mother.”
“Eh? Wot she say?”
“FAILED TO BOND.”
“He um……exhibits dysfunctional and antisocial habits.”
“Eh? Wot she say?”
“DYSFUNCTIONAL AND ANTISOCIAL HABITS.”
"Additionally he exhibits abnormally high levels of anxiety."
"Eh? Wot she say?"
"ANXIOUS."
The vet paused, presumably for the enormity of her message to sink in.
“Wot you do about dat den?” asked Nonna directly as she winked at me, “does e need….....…therapy?”
She giggled.
The vet did not.
I pursed my lips to contain my snort.
The vet looked at us uncertainly. “Well I certainly think that this is a little kitty that is gonna need some real special care.”
I removed atypical, together with his needle claws from the back of my neck, picked up the cat carrier to make our way to the ‘exorbitant payment area’ otherwise known as reception.
Nonna watched me as I wrote out a cheque for a minor mortgage on a fixer upper.
“Well phtt!” she exclaimed complete with accompanying hand gestures.
“Hmmm?”
“Well what is dat for den! Dat is…….incredible.”
“Pretty standard out here I’m afraid.”
“No,...... not the bill …….although dat is also unbelievable.”
“So?”
“Well……all I’m saying is……. dah cats………...dey ave come to the "right place" aven’t they!”
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