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Earl
the Dead Cat TM
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(1) prairie dogging - In an office segmented into
work spaces shaped like cubes, the act of standing up and looking
over the walls (like a prairie dog emerging and perching above
its hole) to see events unfolding beyond the partition.
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As I stood watching, a blush of
indignant anger rose from my neck to my face. What insensitive jerk
had created this mock torture of a cat using an inanimate object? Clearly
someone was demonstrating an underlying distaste for felines and a warped
sense of humor. It had to be the employee in charge of the building's
mail, whom I’d seen a few times as I walked by the mail room. I dubbed
him the Evil Mail Clerk. This was a real scratch in the face to the
cat lovers, and to all the pet people in the company.
Naturally the toy cat "in drag"
was the topic du jour at lunchtime in the company cafe. As I walked
through the lunchroom selecting my meal and locating a seat, I picked
up various snippets of related conversation. "I can't believe someone
would have the nerve to do that...It's disgusting and totally inappropriate...Someone
ought ‘ta do something."
I decided I had to be the “someone”
to "do something." I was more than your average cat lover.
I shared my home with multiple cats and had, for several years, been
active in animal rescue. But this was a unique situation; it was at
my job site. I was a contractor, not a full employee (a bridesmaid,
not a bride). So this mission would have to be conducted as a stealth
operation.
Earl’s
great escape
Two days after my Earl sighting
I was in my office, plan in place, on the lookout for the mail cart.
Most employees in my department were in a mandatory meeting. Contractors
like me were not invited, which presented my opportunity. As the robot
cart glided by on its rounds, Earl in tow, I dashed out of my cube after
it, a pair of scissors in hand. When the cart arrived at its next delivery
stop, I rushed up behind it, snipped the toy cat free of its bond, and
scooped it up. Then I scurried back to my office, watching to be sure
no one had seen me. All clear.
I placed the purr-loined prize on
my desk. Intrigued, I took a moment to look at the toy I'd rescued.
It was like no plush cat I'd ever seen. Gray and flat, it looked as
if the stuffing had been removed from it. I read the tag: Earl the Dead
Cat TM it said. Ah, I thought, hence the flatness. Wondering
who in the world would market such a strange thing, I removed the string
that had bound him to the cart and threw it away. Then, to avoid anyone
seeing Earl, I quickly buried him in the back of one of my desk drawers
for safekeeping. Fortunately, because the toy was flat, it took up very
little room.
The next day, I overheard people
around the company talking about this latest development. "The
cat's gone...Who do you suppose took it?" Although my friends at
the company, knowing my feelings about felines would have understood
my action, I was reticent to tell them. I feared word might spread,
and I might face the wrath of the Evil Mail Clerk for taking his plaything.
Have
you seen me?
A couple of days after Earl's rescue,
as the mail cart made its usual trip, I heard some snickering and tittering
near my office. What now, I wondered? I looked out to see the cart gliding
by. On its top shelf, a 1/2 gallon milk carton was fixed in place. I
moved closer for a better look. Like the ads for missing children that
often appeared on these containers, the sides of the carton had a picture
of the head of a cat with these words under it: “Have You Seen Me?”
Clearly the Evil Mail Clerk wanted his catnapped toy back. Tough luck,
you postal pervert, I said under my breath with a smirk.
The milk carton stayed on the cart
for about a week, until the joke soured. But no one came forward to
return Earl. Soon the incident was forgotten.
Sneaking Earl home
Earl stayed hidden in my desk for
several months. Whenever I opened the file drawer where he was stashed,
I’d see his head sticking up in the back and smile.
After six months on the job, my
contract work was complete. It was time to hit the corporate road and
find another tech writing gig. At the end of my last week at work, I
packed my personal things, mainly books and work samples, into a box.
As I rifled through my drawers for personal items, I spied my filed
feline and wondered: How was I going to sneak him out of the building?
The company had a strictly enforced rule which required everyone to
have their belongings searched by a security guard as they left the
building.
I was more concerned about the embarrassment
of explaining Earl to Security than anything else. So I folded him up
and hid him inside a large three-ring binder of documentation, which
I placed at the bottom of the box. As I left the building at the end
of the day, the guard gave contents of the box a cursory look-through,
but fortunately didn’t open the binder holding Earl. Yes!
I took Earl home that night and
pulled him from the box. Knowing my male cats, even though neutered,
would want to “christen” him by peeing all over him, as they did with
almost any new toy in the house, I decided to spare Earl this further
humiliation. I found him a cozy spot on the top shelf in my bedroom
closet, where he stayed, incognito, for some months.
Earl comes out of the closet
I had some experience with orphaned
kittens like these. When the woman dropped them off, I examined them
and guessed they were no more than three weeks old, eyes still shut.
They cried and squirmed, poor babies, but appeared in pretty good health.
The most urgent task was to feed
them. I mixed up some powdered feline mother’s milk replacement that
I kept on hand for such emergencies then fed it to each of the kittens
with a dropper. Next I rubbed below their tummies with a warm washcloth
to stimulate them to urinate, as mother cat would with her tongue.
After their meal, I set up a large
box to serve as their new home. I lined it with newspaper then added
a heating pad set to low, a soft towel, and a wind-up clock to simulate
mom’s heartbeat. I placed the box in a quiet closet area where my crew
of curious cats wouldn’t bother them, and gently put the kittens inside
it. After some squirming, I was relieved to see them fall asleep.
But as anyone who’s cared for orphaned
kittens knows, all quiet on the western cat front lasts only a short
time. Within a few hours, the orphans were mewling up a storm. Though
I fed and bathed them every three hours and cooed and cuddled as much
as possible, it just wasn’t enough for them. They were desperate for
their mother. After spending a nearly sleepless night worrying and wondering
what more I could do, I jumped out of bed with an idea: Earl!
I ran to the closet where I’d put
him and grabbed Earl from the top shelf. After so much time and inattention,
he was a bit dusty. I threw him in the washer with a load of clothes
on gentle cycle, including a little bleach for disinfectant. After his
bath, he went into the dryer. Once dry, Earl was clean, warm, fluffy,
and ready for action as a surrogate mother.
I hoped and prayed it would work
as I lowered him into the box and placed the kittens around his belly.
After some jockeying about for position, all four kittens began kneading
on Earl’s stomach and purring with contentment. I could almost hear
them saying in unison, “Momma, you’re back!” Laughing at their pleasure,
I softly backed away and left them to their happy reunion.
The kittens continued to accept
Earl as their adoptive mother until they were weaned and could eat on
their own. I was so excited about Earl’s success as a surrogate parent
that I called several friends who were also involved in cat rescue to
tell them the story. They thought it was funny as well as a great idea.
Soon after, I received a call from one of these friends saying she had
taken in a litter of orphaned kittens that were distressed. Could she
please borrow Earl? Of course, I told her. Earl to the rescue!
Earl served as pseudo-mom to a total
of five litters of motherless kittens over the next several years. He
never returned to the closet. In addition to nursing kittens, Earl volunteered
as a toy for rescued adult cats, letting himself be dragged around the
house as prey by various parts of his anatomy. The transgender and play-toy
roles never seem to bother him. He never complained; in fact I think
he relished his ability to help with the rescue effort.
Earl
finds his purr-pose
Through his service to rescued animals,
Earl had finally found a positive purr-pose for his existence. He was able to overcome his handicap of congenital
death, as well as the abuse and humiliation he had suffered in his early
life. And, best of all, he had earned the right to live out his remaining
nine (positive) lives in happiness.
Today Earl is semi-retired. His
years as a rescue helper have taken a lot out of him. After all the
suckling, kneading, dragging, and laundering he’s been through, his
stomach is practically threadbare, and his tongue is down to a few red
threads. He still serves as a drag-about toy for some of my cats, but
he spends most of his time quietly resting and reflecting as he lies
on his sofa in my office. Once in awhile, as I pass him, something will
flash in my peripheral vision. (Was that a twinkle I just saw in Earl's
eye?)
About the author
B. Cat Stone (Barbara) is a writer,
training developer, and animal communicator. She lives in Black Canyon
City, Arizona with her animal friends. She welcomes feedback from readers
by email at bcatstone13@yahoo.com.
Copyright May 2008, Barbara J. Stein
– All rights reserved.
Earl the Dead Cat TM
is a registered trademark of Mad Dog Productions Inc.
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