Callie-Cat

Bad news yesterday. My sweet, adorable, wonderful little friend, Callie (so named because she was a calico--I am not very creative with names) died. I adored this little cat. I first met her about 5 years ago out at the barn where I board my horses. She was a kitten--in the awkward stage, probably around 8-9 months old--and she was skinny and dying and looked awful. Found out later she'd been spayed at some point, so my guess is she was a housecat, supposed to be a pet, that just got dumped at the barn. Obviously, she didn't know how to feed or take care of herself. She wouldn't let me get anywhere near her, but I happened to have some cat food in my car for my own cats, so I opened a can and left it for her, thinking she couldn't possibly survive, but at least she could have one last good meal before she died. I didn't stay to watch her eat--partially because she wouldn't go near the food with me standing there, and mostly because I couldn't stand getting attached to her, believing she would die. But she didn't. Callie was a scrappy little cat with a strong will to live.

I kept catfood in my car every day after that, and I saw her regularly. She waited for me to bring her the food, but wouldn't let me get close to her. She got stronger and stronger. I spent pretty much every evening out at the barn--often by myself--and little Callie started letting me get closer to her. Over the course of about six months, I was able to sit next to her while eating. Later, she let me touch her just a little bit while she was eating. I don't exactly remember how the breakthrough happened, but it wasn't many months before I she started rubbing on my legs, allowing me to pet her, and even pick her up. Soon, she was jumping on my lap and would sit as long as I would let her, purring contentedly.

Callie was a tiny little cat--the opposite of my rather large cats at home, my wonderful Persian and Himalayan boys. But she was a tough little girl--quite a fighter. Plus, she was one of the best hunting cats I've ever seen and kept the barn as mouse-free as she could. Unfortunately, I'm fairly sure she killed birds, too, although I never witnessed it. Callie almost always had mouse-breath, but I didn't mind--she was a great little cat, my shadow at the barn, and I adored her. I planned taking her with me to my new place, hopefully to be built in the next year.

About a month ago (some time before Christmas), I noticed that she wasn't using one leg. I waited for a week or two hoping she'd get better, but she didn't. So the week after Christmas, I took her to the vet. She had an abscess from a cat bite--not surprising, considering how territorial she was (although she did have a best friend named Bruiser... for good reason... he is a huge Bubba of a cat, and he is ALWAYS getting in fights... he's another story, but he is a feral cat I also somehow befriended, and now I can't walk for tripping when he's around).

The treatment? Antibiotics twice a day, of course. So for the next 7 days, I went to the barn and medicated her twice a day. I bought her a cat bed and some other items, because the vet recommended I put her in a room and keep her at least for a few days. She HATED it. She didn't like confinement at all and wanted to roam the 17-acre barn as the free cat she'd been for years. I kept her in there for three days until she could walk normally and figured it was time to let her go. I had second thoughts--I know the odds are that outdoor cats won't live long, and I worried about her because more and more boarders were bringing their dogs with them to the barn (something entirely against the rules), and the dogs had been harassing her. Plus, she was just so tiny and so vulnerable and I wanted to protect her. But she was unhappy being kept safe and confined, so I opened the door and let her go.

I moved Callie's bed over to the barn with my horses where I left food for her and Bruiser and a few other feral barn cats, and she stayed there, sometimes sleeping in the little "cat cave" bed to keep warm. I kept giving her the antibiotics and she completely recovered. But she still limped around like she was 3-legged lame when she saw me coming, presumably because she knew I'd pick her up and make a big deal about her. I thought it was adorable. She was adorable.

Yesterday, the barn manager, who speaks very little English, came out and said to me, "Your little cat died." I had no idea what he was talking about. I'd been there for around 45 minutes turning horses out and had noticed she wasn't around, but that wasn't completely unusual. I tried to ask him how, but he just said that somebody had told him and that she had "died in her little bed." I tried not to cry in front of him, because is one supposed to get attached to a darling little barn cat that is not really even yours? I don't know. But I cried, anyway, and have been crying now for two days. Thankfully, Tomas had taken care of her remains, but the bed was still there. I picked it up and looked at it, and there was blood everywhere. She must have been attacked by something--dogs (which aren't supposed to be let loose at the stable, anyway, but the boarders have turned it into their own personal dog park), coyote, racoon, fox? I don't know. But it both warms my heart and breaks it at the same time that she dragged herself back to her little bed that she'd only had for a few weeks. I didn't know when I bought it that it would be the place she died, but it was a place that gave her comfort and that I believe she associated with me helping her. I think she thought I would help her. And I would have, but I didn't go out that night. I hardly ever miss a night, but it was my mother's birthday and we took her out to dinner, so I didn't know that my sweet, wonderful little Callie was lying in her bed dying. I can't even stand thinking about it. I hope she died as quickly and peacefully as possible--I'm guessing from loss of blood, but I don't know. Never will. But I loved that little cat as much as I love my own dear housecats that I've had for 12 years now. I can't believe I didn't ever get a picture of her. She was a beautiful, dainty, sweet little soul and I loved her.

RIP my dear, sweet one. I know that technically you weren't mine, and I don't know if any animal belongs to any of us, but I still hope to see you at the Rainbow Bridge.