Cat Songs - Abby

There are not too many people or cats around at the start of my shift, and I enjoy the relative quiet. A couple condo visits later, I’m playing with Abby, a lovely, energetic, and long legged tabby. She’s quite chatty as well as playful, with a high pitched, inquiring sort of tone and lots to say.

Kitty voices run the range. My boy Tana was completely silent when I met him here, so I was surprised that he’s turned out to be fairly vocal. If you just heard his voice, you’d picture a somewhat crotchety older gal, not a big friendly/goofy boy, I think.

One of the staffers hurries in and asks me to box Tyler, who’s going home. He’s a tan level and I wasn’t involved in showing him, nor have we met. But I fetch the adopter’s carrying case (he’s brought his own, clearly an experienced cat person) and ease into Tyler’s condo.

At first I think the staffer was confused and someone else picked him up, because there’s no cat visible. But I call around and make some chirpy noises, and sure enough comes an answering cry. There’s a little metal bed with a cushion on it maybe three inches off the ground and Tyler has flattened himself beneath it. This is before I’ve even let on that I’m here to, as they say, box him!

The official volunteer guide glosses over this task nicely. Scruff the cat and place him in the box, securing it firmly. Um hmm.

I crawl around, talking softly, cooing and urging him to come out from hiding. No go; instead I have to lift up the bed and gather him up. Poor guy, he’s struggling and purring both, almost shivering in his anxiety. He’s a sweet faced tan long hair, clearly a sweet cat but having a hard day. Does not want to go either head first or feet first into the carrier, and finally I have to tip it on its rear and push Tyler’s hindquarters in with gravity on my side, shoving his head down when he tries to climb back out.

The click of the carrier door sets him to crying, a loud pathetic set of yowls particular to a confined cat. I carry him out to his new person feeling like I’ve damaged him, as other people stare towards us, towards the noisy cries.

The man waiting, a nice looking older guy, kind of Wallace Stegnerish, smiles reassuringly, and thanks me. "They all complain like this, don’t they," he says, offering some kind words to his new kitty.

I wish them both well, and see them out the door, glad for the successful adoption. Give Tyler a half hour or so, I tell myself. He’ll make it home, he’ll quiet down, he’ll start to realize his bad day is actually a really good one.