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©Shell 2003
This story is not only for "cat-lovers." It's the story of how one person can make a difference, no matter how small the deed. I hope it inspires you to do something -- anything -- to help better the world for both humans & nonhumans.
The block I grew up on in New York consisted of several houses, a small animal shelter, a colony of stray and feral cats, and an official "cat lady." Looking back, I realize my fate was sealed.
I was 9-years old when I first noticed the cat lady. Every evening, she would push a creaky, old wagon filled with cans of cat food, a jug of water, and paper plates. One by one, cats would appear and begin to follow her. Faces slowly forming behind glowing eyes, they'd crawl out from under cars and sneak through backyards, following the wagon and its owner.
At the end of the block, in front of the small animal shelter, the parade of cats led by the cat lady would come to a stop. Peering from my stoop, I watched as each cat was presented with a plate of food. Patiently, the cat lady would wait as the cats licked their plates clean. When they were finished, she would pick up the plates, pour the jug of water over the street to wash away food remnants, and disappear around the corner with her old, creaky wagon. On cue, the cats would disappear too.
My friends thought the cat lady was weird; I wanted to meet her.
One evening, I tried to join the parade, but I was quickly ordered to go away. Stubbornly, I tried again and again, but the response was always the same.
A few days later, I had an idea. I took a few cans of my cat's food and went outside to wait. That evening, I not only followed the cat lady, but I offered her the cans of food. She smiled. I was finally allowed to join her and the cats as they marched down the block.
For several weeks, I assisted with the evening ritual. I'd help scoop cat food into plates and clean up when the cats finished eating. The cat lady and I never really spoke; she would grunt orders at me and I'd obediently follow.
My mother was very happy to see me keeping out of trouble; armed with a few cans of cat food, she'd eagerly scoot me out the door after dinner to wait for the cat lady. Times were different then, and a child could sit on her front stoop without fear of danger. I thought the world was safe and perfect.
Eventually, the cat lady and I graduated from grunts and nods to complete sentences. She explained that all the cats were "fixed" and that they each had a name and history. After a while, I no longer viewed them as just a group of cats. They were individual, wonderful creatures who I looked forward to seeing. My family and friends endured my endless cat stories. My allowance money went toward cat food instead of records or new earrings. While the kids were sitting on their porches listening to music, I was picking up paper plates on the corner.
My friends thought I was crazy; I didn't care.
I began asking the cat lady questions about the shelter that stood on the corner. I thought the shelter was similar to an orphanage for children and homeless animals would live there until a family adopted them. I found out I was wrong. The cat lady told me that animals who were not adopted from the shelter were killed.
I ran home and explained to my mother that all the animals in the shelter would be killed and we had to immediately adopt them. To my surprise, she replied, "No."
The cats and dogs I grew up with were loved and pampered. They had their own Christmas stockings and slept on my bed. To think there were similar creatures killed right down the block because no one wanted them was too much for me to bear.
I was angry with the cat lady for telling me animals were killed. I was angry at the shelter for killing animals. I was angry with my mother for not adopting them all. And I was angry with my friends for not understanding why I was angry. My perfect world had been shattered. It wasn't all happy endings and I wanted no part of it.
I began to spend all of my spare time hidden in my room. I'd peek out the window when I heard the creaky, old wagon pass by, but I never followed.
After about two weeks of hiding, the cat lady knocked on my front door. I heard my mother explain that she didn't know what happened, but she thought I was upset because she wouldn't adopt all the animals from the shelter. The cat lady asked to speak with me, and I reluctantly walked down the hallway toward her.
What she said to me at that moment molded me into the person I have become. She told me that while it was sad all animals did not have a happy ending, hiding in my house wouldn't help. And then she placed her hand on my shoulder and said, "You are special because you care. You can't give up."
I stepped out of my house and joined the parade of cats, never to falter again.
Together, the cat lady and I nursed orphaned babies, trapped cats who needed to be "fixed," and tended to the sick. We relished our success stories and mourned those we lost.
Several years later, I moved away from New York. The night before I left, the cat lady hugged me good-bye and told me again, "Don't give up." And I haven't.
I continue to feed, spay/neuter and adopt feral and stray cats. I sponsor shelter animals. I'm vegan. When I'm tired and my heart breaks because of the atrocities inflicted upon animals, I remember the cat lady's words. When I feel as if my small contribution can't possibly make a difference, I remember the face of each cat I met on that New York street so long ago; their tails held high in the air as they proudly marched to the end of the block. For those cats, and for myself, one person made all the difference in the world. The small contribution of an ordinary woman with long, tangled hair and a creaky, old wagon still reverberates within me after decades.
I visited my childhood neighborhood recently; the shelter is now a supermarket and the creaky, old wagon is a thing of the past. But the lessons I learned on that block have stayed with me -- lessons of compassion, acceptance, solidarity, and perseverance. And when the neighborhood children call me "cat lady," I can't help but smile.
From: Shell FeralPlace@aol.com
http://www.theanimalspirit.com/catlady.html