Sister Agnes
16 years ago my sister surprised me with a “barn kitten”, a feral cat from a long line of felines who survived w/o human intervention. The cat population on the farm, however, had exceeded the rodents and the new generation had to find a home or suffer the alternative.
This medium haired female tuxedo cat had no intention of living w/me. She was scared to death of the indoors and took weeks to come out of hiding [while i was home]. The only proof I had of her existence was an empty food bowl and the fact that she would attack my feet in the middle of the night (I suppose I moved my feet under the covers while sleeping and she thought they might be her siblings).
Ever so slowly, we became friends and since she looked like a little nun, I named her Sister Mary Agnes Claire. Sr. Agnes adjusted, began to trust me and grew to be a beautiful adult with a saintly personality. She has no bad habits, she does nothing wrong. She loves going outside, but never leaves the yard. If I go out of town for the weekend, I can implicitly trust Sr. Agnes’ behavior, as she would never accidentally knock over a vase or cause a moments trouble. Sr. Agnes is pure manners; she does not jump on the table, steal food or bother company. She is a purrfect cat and most loyal friend and companion. She is also a cancer survivor [but that is another story].
One day last month I let her out, as usual, when I came home from work. It was a warm night and I thought nothing of it when she didn’t want to come back in, I could trust that Sr. Agnes would just sit on the deck all night and watch the stars. But the next morning, she was gone. I knew instantly, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she had fallen into some trouble. This was not Sister’s style; Sister would never stay out all night and not be waiting at the kitchen door in the morning. Immediate heartache ensued.
For days I searched, searched the neighborhood, talked to folks, posted “lost cat” signs with a color photo scan of my poor little Sister. I visited the animal shelters, humane society and pet refuge. I filled out all the lost cat paperwork I could get my hands on – to no avail. I thought about her all the time, trying to accept her death. But I could not accept the mystery - what happened, did she suffer? I wanted to bury her in the garden... her absence created a huge hole in my heart and home.
Thirteen days later, on the full harvest moon, I awoke at 4 am and looked outside, I opened the door, and saw Sister, at least the shadow of something that resembled Sister, trying to crawl up the two deck steps to reach me. Never have I been so speechless. I scooped her up into my arms and she started purring. Every bone in her body stuck out, her tail was bent like the dorsal fin of a dying whale, her paddy paws were bleeding and she was oh so very sick, tired and frail. Nursing Sister back to health took a couple weeks. I carried her to water and fed her raw eggs and tuna, she slept for days and had a very bad cold. Luckily, she has fully recovered physically and even has a little “catitude”.
Her whereabouts? I have two theories...she was either locked in a garage/building, or, and this seems more likely – someone trapped her while hunting for the occasional city raccoon in our neighborhood and dumped her far out the country, from which she found her way home. The only way to ever know what possible adventure Sister endured is if she was wearing a little “kitty cam” on her head that night, and alas . . . she was not.
Now Sister “preens” me. Every morning and every night I pet her and she, in turn, cleans the back of my hand. She follows me everywhere and tells me every day how happy she is to be home ~ nine lives indeed, Sister Agnes!
Nikki Rector
