It's a Virtue, Right - Helen

The day before a long weekend, I expect a crowd at the shelter. In keeping with the crowds everywhere else… if you've been downtown this week, you know what I'm talking about. Tourists galore!

Yesterday I saw a young pair almost get hit by a car, a result of their wandering across Kearny Street against the light. They seemed puzzled by the honks and yells; they're on vacation, the normal rules of traffic don't really apply here, do they?

Other drivers just looked resigned, and waited patiently for the intersection to clear. People have big plans for the weekend – a dash out of town, a visit to the big city, an orgy of slow food eating. I'll be okay with some good meals (cooked in the home kitchen) and Lincecum pitching another winner.

Anyway, I'm kept busy at Maddie's. I show the same group of kittens to two different families, and explain the shelter's policies to some out-of-town visitors. Then I spend a good long time with a good hearted but very indecisive man.

He's gone through the whole list of cats on the website and already spent half a day here earlier in the week. He's got specific criteria in his search for cat number two – small, young, shy, and ok with being picked up – and he's written down a long list of possibilities.

We meet seven different kitties, spending awhile with each. He picks them up, examines them up down and sideways, and asks a lot of questions, only some of which I can really answer. I can guess about behavior and make recommendations about introducing new cats, but I don't know much about our kitties' pasts, nor how his cat will feel about them. He's just not sure. (And if he doesn't know his own mind, then I'm afraid I don't know it either.)

I try to be patient, and attentive as he muddles things through. Finally, he heads to the front desk for more input.

I return to little Helen, one of the two who did not make the (er somewhat) short list. She's a young and pretty calico, but she's got a very difficult disposition. Something has spooked her badly.

She'll act friendly toward people in the hallway, but when someone actually enters her space she hisses and retreats. She doesn't sniff fingers like a normal cat, or exhibit much curiosity. Rather she crouches in her hiding spot, not making eye contact, looking annoyed.

Not surprisingly, she's been at the shelter awhile. It'll take a very quiet and persevering person to finally draw her out. I sit and talk to her for a bit. Then dangle a toy for her – darting out to bite the end of the toy is the only reaction I've drawn from her so far.

Today, though, Helen surprises me. She gets so into the toy that she leaves her hiding spot and trots across the room pursuing it. Then sits – not hidden! – and puts up with me talking to her. She still won't accept petting, but neither does she swat at my hand. Like many others – she just needs lots of extra patience.

Making Myself Useful - Kitter

I’ve barely got my apron on when my first customer approaches. She’s already been through the shelter and has a selection of young adult cats she wants to meet. A cat person and recent veteran of an 18 year long cat relationship, she need little assistance; I’m just there to open the doors and confirm her thought process. Not surprisingly, she settles on the top kitty on her list, the first one we met.

Soon after, a group of young people want to meet some kittens. Initially, one young man comes in a small condo with just two shy kittens. Unfortunately, the little gray one he likes hides completely and can’t be coaxed out. By this time the group in the hallway has swelled to seven or eight, a youthful, mixed race group that’s mostly men, and I’m going to say mostly gay. (Hard to tell with these young guys, possibly they’re merely gentle, friendly and unusually well groomed?)

Four of them accompany me into a bigger condo housing six kittens. It’s cuteness squared. I gather that two of the guys are a couple, and they don’t know the others – but they all pass the kittens around while the people still in the hallway call in info about age and names from the cards on the door.

The original guy decides on a sweet little gray and white girl. When I offer to write down her ID number, he says he’s got it, and whips out his phone to jot down the number and snap a couple photos. (Up to this point, I was unaware of the cell phone’s use as a notepad.) I, with my so last century pencil and scrap paper, again feel a bit superfluous. But I’m glad he found his kitty.

The main group troop off together, talking enthusiastically. I take the couple in to look at a few more kittens, and they agree on an adorable shy tabby. They’re impressed this tiny guy seems to know already what he likes and doesn’t like.

At last, some quiet time to socialize the grown cats. I meet Kitter for the first time. She’s a pretty, soft and sweet gray fur ball, a long hair 11 year old with a loud purr, loving disposition, and a funny anxious meow. She rubs and purrs, alternating between happy feet kneading and rolling across my lap. After a bit, she calms down and curls up, blinking up at me to say how happy she is that I’m here with her.

And I remember why I’m here too. It’s all part of the process.

But Wait - There's More! - Simon

They’re having another cat sale at Maddie’s. Maybe hoping to move more adult cats during kitten season? I’m not sure the general public quite appreciates these price fluctuations. It’s like with modern airfares – you’re psyched when you get a good deal, but it kind of ups the anxiety level in general to know the rates may still rise or fall.

There’s also a new flyer posted with info about myths concerning black cats. The powers that be here generally don’t gear towards middle aged eye sight, so I can barely read it, but presumably the word is black cats make fine pets. Agreed!

I visit Simon and Nicki, both mostly black, who have the flyer posted on their door. They’re both timid and have been housed together with the hopes of being good company, but so far they appear to have divided the room in half and taken sides to prevent interacting. More like two thirds, one third, actually, with Simon taking up more space. He’s a sweetie, young, thin and leggy, a mixture of friendly and shy. He rubs vigorously, purring and even drooling a bit, but his eyes stay dilated, just on the edge of fearful even as he laps up my company.

An older woman in a motorized wheelchair wants to meet Gigi, who’s across the hall. Good test of the facility’s access. (It’s designed to accommodate wheelchairs with wide doors and low handles and everything, but reality can be different from design.) Not a problem – she maneuvers in and the cats back away at the sight and sound of the chair, allowing me to reach around and shut the door.

She tells me, in a pronounced Russian accent, about her calico cat that died at 16. She likes the calicos and orange tabbies, and we check out several. The cats split about evenly between being fascinated and frightened by the moving chair. I don’t think she’s actually planning to adopt (she notes that even the sale cost is too expensive), but she's relishing the physical contact. One cat tries, but nobody escapes into the hallway.

It’s not till my last ten minutes that I help a serious customer, a woman around my age who’s brought along another cat person friend. They’ve already met Mack and Mabel, and ask to see Trigger and Fluff, a pair of five year old brothers who are newly arrived. One’s a tabby, the other a lynx point, but it’s pretty clear they’re related. They rub and purr, make eye contact, almost dance around between us. They’re great cats, they have that intangible something that makes me wonder how they could possibly have ended up here in the first place.

The woman still has a roommate to consult, but she’s smitten. We all are. She says these are the ones, and hurries out to the front counter, not wanting to see any others. "Don’t be cute for other people," she tells them as she leaves.

I glance back in at Simon before I take off. He’s sitting up, alert, paws crossed under his chin, kind of emphasizing the little white spot on his nose. He can go ahead and be cute and be on sale.

It Had to be a Dog Called Booger - Mabel & Mack

People who knew of my devotion to my late cat Muppy have asked if I would have wanted her cloned. Like the dog in question, sure, it was hard to let her go. http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2008/08/06/MNM7125HBD.DTL

But when you spend time at the shelter, the answer is a resounding NO. There are so many unique and wonderful pets needing homes already.

I understand wanting to renew a cherished relationship. (And I loved that the departed Booger’s clone-sponsor named the puppies Booger Lee, Booger Ra, etc. in honor of the docs… um, thanks.) But I think everyone, people and animals, are more than their basic DNA. Environment and growth and relationships, serendipitous coincidences and chance encounters have a huge impact on how someone turns out. Sometimes it’s just luck, and I wonder if that really can – or should – be recreated.

I’m missing lucky 8-8-08 at Maddie’s; work interfering with life again. But there are a few customers looking around the day before. A couple with 2 cats at home are searching for the right personality match for a third. They’ve narrowed it to three. I’m always interested in how people make these choices. Often people choose between very similar cats. But in this case, the candidates vary widely: a 3 month old kitten, big super friendly long hair Mercedes, and tiny skittish tabby girl Libra. They head off to consult with a cat behaviorist.

I visit Mabel and Mack, a bonded pair of seven year olds, siblings, all gray, soft and sweet. (Just an aside – it’s been several years since my mother died, but sometimes I still have a little flash, an impulse of thinking I should call and tell her about this. She especially liked soft gray kitties, and would have adored these two.)

Anyway, visually, I can barely tell them apart without their handy blue and pink collars. But they’re quite different in person, despite being siblings raised together since birth. Mack is bolder, rubbing and rolling around hopping on and off my lap. Mabel is cautious, wary at first. She moves slowly, but winning her gentle affection is more gratifying.

And I value that uniqueness.

Find a friend... http://www.sfspca.org/adoption/adoption_cat.html

Low Care Diet - Storm

I suppose I should mention the 44 pound cat. (I’m not even going to bother with a url; you’re here, so you’ve heard about him.) But really, what does it say about our irresponsible society that someone didn’t read the fine print and had a house in foreclosure, and then abandoned her cat? Having first let him balloon to such excess weight (and named him Powder)? Save us from ourselves, President Obama!

A small upside is it makes the rest of us with overweight cats look better. Some animals (including people) certainly pack on the pounds easier than others, yes, but everybody needs limits. My boy came home a chunky 17 pounds, and he’s not lost weight. But I feed him reasonable amounts of adult weight loss kibble, and play with him at least twice a day, trotting up and down the hall with toys for him to chase.

You could almost see the gears turning in his little walnut sized brain though, and after a couple passes he’s going "enough of this already" and flops on his side, willing only to bat at what he can reach from his back. And I tell myself he’s at least a happy boy, very comfortable in his relatively new home; at Maddie’s he cowered and barely ate.

The shelter is busy again, with a low cat shopper to volunteer ratio, and I spend the bulk of my time there showing cats. First a young couple with all the paperwork want to check out a variety of cats and kittens. The guy is fairly cat savvy, but the young woman seems a bit tentative around the friskier kitties, and asked dog-type questions (ex. how often do they need a bath). Those two wander around during my whole shift, indecisive or just undertaking a very thorough search.

A tall and cheerful single woman asks to see Hendry, a striking 10 year old lynx mix with a partly shaved back and stubby curled tail. She’s met him before and he greets us with what I swear is the loudest meow I’ve ever heard. They’re delighted with each other, and so perfect together that Meg Ryan would play her in their romance movie. She says she can’t adopt today but she’ll be back.

Next a pair of youngish guys are looking for a companion for a shy cat at home. They’re both cute in a Central Valley baseball fan kind of way, and I take them to be straight buddies, but maybe my gaydar’s off; later they joke about a cat having a trannie name. Anyway, we check out several and they choose LeBron, a lovely sweet gray girl who would be good company for just about anyone.

At last I can spend some quiet time with some quiet kitties. We have several who are very scared, not even well adjusted enough to fully enjoy human companionship.

Storm is one of these – she’s small and gray, only a year old and very pretty, but too scared yet to even rise from her safe spot and come out for pets. I reach back to stroke her gently, keeping my voice soft. Then I try playing, and she offers some cautious bats at the toy but she’s really not into it. She’s not eating much either – she’s quite thin. It’s a different kind of problem than Powder the 44 pounder, but somebody’s not treated her right either. C’mon, people!