Beam Me Up - Trudy

The staff at Maddie’s had a clean up day earlier in the week. It’s hard to put a finger on the particulars, but the whole place seems neater and cleaner. They’ve also moved a lot of the cats around. Apparently that can help prompt the longer term residents out of their shells. (Sometimes they rename the cats too, this presumably more for the human visitors.)

Trudy is now in a nice big space, with a TV and main hallway window. She’s a pretty little five year old, gray with faint tabby markings and large wide set eyes. She has a sad story – her former owner died, she’s had some trouble adjusting to being at the shelter, and she’s been here for several months.

Trudy can be shy, with a tail twitching wariness, but she loves laps. Her preference is to crouch on one leg at a time. (My Muppy was like that, and would only sit on my left leg as I sat cross-legged. The boyfriend’s cats won’t do laps at all, though Allie will press up against someone sitting. My Montana will sprawl any which way on whatever part of a body he can access.)

Anyway, she settles happily while I pet her, paws splayed on either side of my knee, tail barely moving. When I stop she turns her head back with a tiny cry of protest. She shares a window with a frantic and undignified nine month old calico named Wanda. As Wanda scrambles around, Trudy’s eyes narrow and her tail starts switching faster.

But lucky Wanda’s gone before I’m done with my shift – turns out she was a runaway tracked down by her people.

A pair of older men who have been going carefully through the hallways for at least an hour approach. They’re interested in meeting a group of four active young cats who are housed together. At a glance, I’d type these guys as mid-western farmers by their appearance and demeanor. But I gather they’re a local couple once we’ve gotten acquainted.

Familiar story – they had two cats, and the older one died. They want a companion for younger one (who replaced the older one’s companion when he died). He sounds easygoing and active, so I’m confident that any of these barely grown kitties would work out. And both guys are into cats, so it’s pretty sweet to watch them all interact.

After awhile they decide they need to think it over some more. Clearly they’ve got all day to spend here, and I think it’s nice to take a good long time before adding a new creature to your home. As I’m leaving, I see them at the front counter. They’ve chosen Spock, a charming little black and white guy. I’m tempted to flash them the Vulcan hand sign, but instead just whisper "live long and prosper" to the men and cat both.

Special Day - Sao Sao Mao

I’ve just signed in when my first customers approach, a young, heavyset couple who are looking for a pair of cats. They laughingly explain that he likes boisterous active cats and she prefers quieter ones – and I can see that their own personalities match their preferences. But they are easy and comfortable together, and both relate will to cats.

After a couple visits, they opt for a pair of half grown kittens who are already housed together. Both are mellow, but they are still kittens, and I’d guess the guy will get his fix of feline activity.

I check the back of hallway 4 and find both Powder and Buster gone, and an adorable pair of orange tabby brothers, Gordie and Franco, in their place. Gordie’s got one of those wide flexible protective collars on, and he’s doing his best to scrape it off as he explores the condo. A guy in a motorized wheelchair making the rounds startles them both. Gordie, arching up with a low growl while still in his big blue collar is more comic than threatening.

Another cute couple approach, these two kind of young post hippie California. They have an adorable and precocious little girl, maybe three, who is keenly interested in the whole world around her. They’re looking for a somewhat independent older kitten who’s good with kids.

We go in and check out a number of the older kitten condos. The girl is gentle with the kittens. Along with stroking and waving a toy for them, she peppers me and the parents with questions and funny observations. And she comes up with alternative names for several of the kittens (my favorite is "Over").

Although the girl seems to have the most fun with the younger kittens, I can see the mom leaning toward a lovely and mellow seven month old. I stick a "somebody’s interested in adopting me" tag on her door while they head off for one more look around.

Although there are several people wandering the hallways, I manage a quiet interlude with Sao Sao Mao, a ten year old talkative all black sweetie. She’s a bit shy, one of those gals who warms up slowly but then gets very affectionate and even a little bit demanding. She doesn’t want to play but just lolls around on the floor next to me, rubbing and purring and issuing occasional squawky meows.

As I’m getting ready to leave, I spot the little family, who have decided on the seven month old and are just waiting for her to be boxed up. The girl looks serious in the weight of the occasion. "This is a special day," I tell her, "the day your new cat comes home!"

I’m surprisingly moved by that thought, but it’s true, what an amazing day for the little child and the little cat. I take a quick look back at Sao Sao, hoping her day will come soon.

Safe and Warm - Powder

Maddie’s feels nice compared to the blustery day outside. (I know, it’s nothing like the ice storms or three feet of snow elsewhere, but it’s no California Dreamin’ out there either.)

For whatever else is going on in the economy, things are ok here: donations were arriving up to the last minute New Year’s Eve and cats are coming and going at a pretty good clip, between the Macy’s windows and holiday shoppers.

There are a bunch of new kitties, but I have little time for socializing visits even with several other volunteers around. I help a woman and her teenage son, who are looking for a kitten to join a bossy four year old cat at home. The boy is all slouchy in his baggy pants, but quite sensitive and articulate about cats, and the mom and son are nicely comfortable with each other.

Next I spend awhile with a nice quiet middle aged woman who’s just venturing out after having lost her 18 year old kitty a couple months back. She seems like a fine cat companion, with a quiet house, a host of cat accouterment, and a preference for organic wet cat food. We visit three young guys each for awhile, and she has a hard time choosing. She says she feels funny about getting the same kind of cat, an orange marmalade, but she is very much drawn to one named Leon, who’s newly arrived. And she seems a bit guilty about adopting a young cutie when there are needier cats – but he’s a real winner, spunky, affectionate and adorable, and I encourage the match.

Then a fellow asks for help locating a friendly three to five year old female. It takes a minute to place his accent – then I realize it reminds me of Inspector Clouseau of Pink Panther fame. So when he says, "Is she cuddly," well, I don’t laugh outwardly but in my head admonish myself to stop being juvenile. It turns out he’s picking the cat for himself and his wife, who didn’t think she could handle seeing all the homeless kitties. He decides he’ll take Sarah, a big friendly tortie, though only the second cat he meets. It’s more like he’s gone out to shop for a scarf than a pet, but he seems satisfied and heads for the front.

Hallway 5 is loaded with people. Three little girls are pressed up against the door of the back condo, and the two cats are right there rubbing toward them. I ask the nearest adult if they’re interested in adopting. She says they were actually just dropping off some donations, but maybe her little girl could pet the cats?

The cats, Buster and Powder, are big friendly guys who don’t seem at all bothered by kids, so I usher them in. The other two girls immediately want to come too; the mom’s confer and then in we all go. The girls need to shed their rain boots, and one of them is really more interested in the cats’ toys. But the other two pat the cats as best they can. One of them even hugs Powder, who politely ducks away but then spins around to rub around some more.

Soon the kids have to put their rain gear back on and head out, and I’ve got other cats and customers to attend to. But it’s a sweet little visit for all of us.

Tell Me About It - Gilroy

It's another quasi holiday at Maddie's. Lots of activity, whole families visiting, kids dashing along the hallways in those shoes that light up, grown ups giggling like children at the cute cats.

The first guy to grab my attention is Boomer, who's newly arrived from Animal Care and Control. He's a vivacious long hair tabby with an unusually loud demanding meow. I imagine a sad story goes with him - although he's friendly, he's clearly upset and searching the hallway for someone who's not here. He lets me pet him but stays alert, yowling whenever someone enters the hall.

One cat meowing can have a domino effect, with anyone else prone to vocalizing pitching in, so between the cats and people it gets fairly noisy.

I help a mom and her daughter, who's a bit scared of cats. Can't tell her age, nine or ten maybe. Anyway, she's decided only one cat out of the whole shelter will do, a delicate little gray girl named Natasha. We all sit together and discuss cat body language and the meanings of tail movements.

Most other visitors decline help or make it clear they're not planning to adopt. So I go to visit another loud guy, Gilroy, who demands attention from everyone he sees. He's a ten year old mangy looking long hair, kind of smoky black, with battered looking ears and tail. Full of personality, though, very sweet and can't get enough of any lap.

He's got a whole long story written up about him on his door as well as several undignified photos; you can tell this guy has been around the block several times but he's ready to come inside. His photo in the Santa suit, for instance - most cats would not tolerate such a thing, but for Gilroy, as long as you're paying attention to him, he doesn't much care what kind of outfit he has to wear.

One of these noisy families would be just fine for him. No one's interested so far, but the day is young. Like the cats, I watch and wait.

Departed - Thelma

I started the morning at 6:30am, with a cold rainy drive to the crowded airport to drop off the boyfriend. Also, it’s the one year anniversary of my late kitty Muppy’s death. . . so it’s just not shaping up to be that good a day.

I have several emotions churning a year later, beyond the obvious sadness. There are many pleasant memories, the puzzlement of where did those 15 years disappear to, even relief that the end was relatively fast. And guilt – because my Montana, whom I still call the new cat, has nosed his big sweet self pretty far into my psyche.

For a long time he was like a big friendly interloper, despite his attempts to win me over. But I realize in talking to others that he has done just that. Where I first complained about his obsession with kneading my hair and neck and sleeping head to head, now I rationalize it. Tell him he’s a good boy as he gazes adoringly into my eyes, and mean it. And then feel remorse pangs about no longer so much missing, starting to not even remember, all those things about my Muppy.

Which brings me to Thelma. It’s pretty slow at the shelter, which is good because I’m pretty tired, and just bonding with the cats is my speed today. Thelma’s a perky 7 year old brown tabby/calico, with neat stripes that vary in color; she’s long legged, alert and playful. She reminds me in both looks and personality of C.R., a precious cat I lived with for a couple years in the ‘80s.

My former roommate told me C.R. wandered around crying every night after I first moved out of the shared flat. I missed her terribly, and looked forward to updates and occasional visits. But time passed and more time passed, and suddenly those decade or two feline life spans seem cruel and unfair. So many dear little ones, gone and slowly being forgotten.

Thelma’s antics, batting for my attention as I sit spacing out, and Morrison’s plaintive meows from across the corridor, bring me back to the present. "Hey, we’re here now…"

Make it Stop - Evie

I switched my shift to mid-week, so it’s pretty quiet at Maddie’s, at least at first. A few people wander through, but they’re just looking, or seeking a cat fix but aren’t able to adopt.

I stop in to see one of my current favorites, Evie, who happens to be housed in the condo where I first met my boy Montana. She’s a sweet, soft, slightly chunky two year old calico. She’s initially shy but warms up quickly, she shows well, and I can’t believe she’s been here for a month now.

She’s a squirmy girl – she’ll climb partway into my lap, then roll off it and onto the floor next to me, pressing belly up against my leg and deliriously happy to get a belly rub. She purrs loudly and kneads the air with her paws. Evie only gets interested in playing when I’m about to leave, but I’m glad to see she stays out and alert even when I’ve moved across the corridor to meet adorable tabby and white O’Reilly.

They’re doing some kind of constructions upstairs, and suddenly a very loud motor starts up seemingly just above us. O’Reilly stops playing and leaps to the top of his structure, Evie retreats to her bedding, and the other cats I can see are either nervously at their doorways or hidden away.

It’s loud and annoying, but I try to reassure all the kitties that it won’t harm them. And that it will stop, they just have to put up with it for a bit.

I’m unexpectedly reminded of our economy. I spent part of the morning sifting through year end appeals from a host of worthy organizations, and also looking at my 403b and other bank statements. Yeah, there’s a part of me that wants to crawl under the bedding too.

This spiral thing will stop too, right? I’ve got to believe that, and to make my year end donations in spite of the extraordinarily gloomy outlook and outright craziness. (Dude selling Senate seats, for instance, and some of the other pols have to strive to appear surprised or outraged.)

The construction noises sputter and start and stop several times before lessening to a mild drone. The cats remain wary.

On Display - Jenga

I arrive to my shift only to find the shelter is closed 90 minutes beyond its normal 11 am opening. Oops. No reason given. I snag a staff person to let me in the locked side entrance. The shelter is eerily quiet and deserted. I have to confess I kind of like it that way – it’s like some childhood fantasy of sneaking around a giant cat house.

Whole rows of cats need visits. Ideally each cat gets at least one volunteer visitor a day, but some have gone three days since their last socializing session. It’s the time of year, people get busy, plus the Macy’s holiday windows [http://www.sfspca.org/adoption/macys.shtml] are in full swing, taking up many volunteer hours.

I head for some scaredy cats (those unlikely to ever set paw in Macy’s), starting with Jenga. There are several cats in hallway 4 classified via "felinality" as Private Investigator, the most timid rating. But the system falters here – the other cats are cautious and slow to approach; Jenga is the absolute extreme.

She’s a two year old dil tortie who’s been at the shelter since May. The first few times I saw her she stayed fully hidden in a cat cozy, and she hissed and swatted when I made the mistake of offering my hand in for a sniff. In the intervening months the cozy has been removed so her best hiding spot is on a shelf of her climbing structure, where she spends most of her time.

She doesn’t run away, but crouches, eyes wide, ever wary. People have mistreated her, that’s for sure, although I have to guess her nature hasn’t helped. She has quite the stubborn streak. I try to wear her down with soft loving talk. She will allow herself to be touched only by the wooden handle of the dangle toy. This she clearly likes, and each visit now I manage to ease a hand in for some behind the ears stroking (which she enjoys till she realizes what’s happening then stiffens with a mortified expression).

She has the tiniest little purr, just a soft little clicking sound. But she does purr every time I’m there with her. Unless a door opens or someone walks by or something. This is a cat who does not deal well with being on display. I watch her watching me as I bond with Maya, who’s housed across from her. Her eyes meet mine then turn away.

After awhile everyone returns from wherever they were, and cat shoppers wander through, mostly just looking. I’m in with Tara, a frisky eleven year old, when a large group troops by and someone official says, "There’s one of our volunteers playing with a cat!"

Everybody stares in and I self consciously keep dragging the toy around for her to chase. Fortunately Tara is cute and entertaining – nothing like a bunch of strangers seeing your attempts at play disdainfully ignored. But it makes me think of Jenga, how she’s so nervous with eyes upon her. Wish she got it that I get it.