Eight Years Later - Kincaid

Off to the shelter on 9-11. The weather here feels like the weather there then; I was back east on vacation that day eight years ago (Worst Vacation Ever). Stood on the beach talking to people from the DC area worried about friends.

At Maddie’s, I’m happy to see that three long time kitties, Sharyn, Ernie and Applesauce, have found homes. A lot more where they came from, though.

I hang out with mellow Kincaid, a handsome, dark, long limbed 9 year old tabby. He’s affectionate with people but uncomfortable around other animals, and needs to be an only pet. He rubs around while I pet him, then sits in front of me, staring up while I coo at him, before sinking to a comfortable lounging spot. He seems a bit listless, like he doesn’t want to get too close, knowing I’ll soon leave, poor sweet guy.

Next up, Scooter, a precious soft all black 13 year old, with a bossy, squawky meow. She’s a young 13, small and delicate on her feet, and pleased to have company. She purrs and rubs too. But she hasn’t been eating – there are four full food dishes in her condo, three of them different types of wet food. She’ll deign to eat if I fish out tiny fingerfulls for her to lick, so we proceed like that for awhile. I’m sure she just needs a normal routine to get comfortable eating. Finally, she steps across my lap and settles slowly onto my left leg, glancing back as if to say that I’ll do, I’ve passed her inspection.

I’m across the hall when a young couple pause outside Scooter’s window. They’re a cute contrast, like Burning Man now meets Valencia Street 1980s. I offer to show her, talking up her attributes. But they explain that they’re still debating – the long haired woman wants an older cat, but the short haired one wants a kitten. I have a feeling the kitten will win out – after all, time passes and the kitten will (hopefully) become an older cat but it doesn’t work the other way.

Towards the end of my shift I explain the shelter’s layout and procedures to a middle aged woman who’s teary eyed just contemplating all the homeless kitties. Stories spill out of her fast, as if she’s not used to being listened to, about how she misses her cat that was stolen, what he was like, how therapeutic he could be.

She is so different from me/my world that I have to beat back the impulse to pass judgment. She tours the hallways, and settles on a sweet young gray kitty who’s recently arrived from Lake County. The woman has kind of a dog person mannerism toward the cat, but they seem pleased with each other. The kitty is bouncy and playful, and at least tolerant of being scooped up and kissed.

She says need to take this girl home even though she still desperately misses the other cat. But we both know that time can help heal.