Missy

Simply put, she came with the house. It was our first house and during our numerous visits prior to the purchase, there were glimpses of a skinny, gray stray. I was much too overwhelmed with the financial and uprooting challenges rapidly guiding our lives to give an animal (banned already due to my husband’s allergies) much thought. Persistence changed that as we were moving in.

It was summertime and the doors were open wide for furniture and other belongings making their way into our new home. The cat strutted in and out; entitlement in her sway. She was constantly underfoot and the balancing of boxes while shooing her out of the way became exasperating. To bend over and pick her up though was an affront and she would scurry right back outside to await her next victim.

After the move was complete and the doors kept shut, our confident stray would lie on the back porch or sit on the high brick out front as if to guard the entrances to our home. This was all very precious until meows and hisses screeched through the night as she courted and battled with other cats that dared cross her path.

Brian and I were still settling in when Barb, from across the street, came to welcome us to the neighborhood. She was such a nice lady and had loads of scoop to share! We already knew that the house had only one previous owner and we were aware that the purchase we made was part of an estate settlement. Barb filled us in with more detail.

She cleaned house for Margaret, a lone widow, and held their friendship dear. So dear that Margaret had shown Barb all of her secret money stashes. Just one year previously, Barb noticed an unusual quiet about this house from across the road. She meandered over and peered into the front window only to find poor Margaret dead on the living room floor.

Barb then proceeded to walk through the house showing us Margaret’s secret banking spots. Left with the impression that it may not have all been found, Brian and I (unbeknownst to each other) kept an eye open for any missed treasure over the duration of the next 10 years.

I inquired of Barb if she knew anything about the gray cat that’s been about; wondering now if it might have had a relationship with Margaret. Barb had not noticed the cat at all.

Ruth Hill from next door said “yes,” a gray stray had been visiting her house. Ruth would let her in, want to keep her, but to her dismay kitty could not be contained. She would eat Ruth’s food, then cry until she was let out.

Ruth was 67 years old. She had thinned black hair and beautiful black eyes. She was slender and had obviously been quite a ‘knock-out’ in her youth. She never had children. The love of her life, Arthur, passed away early in their marriage and no one could ever replace him.

I would see Ruth sun bathing out back through the rickety white picket fence. My neighbor would flaunt herself in halter tops and short shorts. I admired this woman’s grace and dignity uninhibited by a body pulling ever downward. This was uncannily similar to her abode with its missing shingles, peeling paint, and crumbling chimney.

Even in this condition though, beauty shined through. Roses - all varieties and colors hedged wildly around the perimeter allowing the house the same kind of aging charm as its owner.

Each night I pulled in the drive from work to find Ruth sunning or fussing over her yard. It quickly became a happy ritual to chat over the fence about each other’s day.

As the cooler weather approached, I could see that the cat was noticeably thinner than when we first arrived. She still wasn’t particularly friendly; more so, her cry was demanding as her big, yellow eyes dared me to ignore her.

Imploringly I began, “I can’t take it, Brian! I will not let this cat starve to death on our back porch! She won’t be allowed in the house…I promise! Just let me feed her and keep her outside.” I felt Brian’s eyes roll as I scampered to review the cupboards. I found a can of tuna fish and watched the famished animal devour it.

That done, happy days were filled with exploring all the nooks and crannies of the new house. I arranged and rearranged furniture and pictures until they suited our style. I loved our bedroom in the loft upstairs. What a luxury to have such a spacious room after living in an apartment with a bedroom barely a fit for a bed.

Though still aloof, kitty would now allow a few strokes to her back and to be held for the briefest of moments. I kept feeding her (but with the less expensive canned cat food). It wasn’t long before her hair took on a silky, healthy shine. She was put out every night and would still occasionally wander for 2 to 3 days without a sign.

The leaves were changing and a brisk wind was whipping outside as the daylight became more and more precious. We were pleased with the little white house and its awnings that helped to keep us cozy and warm regardless of the weather outside.

The cat had been gone several days again and the assumption was that she had decided to settle someplace more accommodating since we were still very strict about her evening shut out.

It was Brian who heard her; the softest, weakest “meow” at the door. As it opened, he called to me. Poor little kitty! She had been in a fight – maybe even hit by a car. She was mangy, dirty, glassy eyed and unable to use her front right paw. Thankfully, the vet was still open. We wrapped her in a towel and took her right in. Once cleaned up, the real damage was the broken leg. A splint was applied and she was returned to us with instructions to keep her inside. They would see her back in two weeks. $150 please.

We weren’t at all prepared with litter or a box but certainly relieved to see she was familiar with using them. With our pampering care, one might think she would warm up to us. Instead, she was just plain work; not appreciating a bit of it!

Each day though our now permanent stray grew stronger and moved about more daringly. We were happy to see that even though she could barely use it, she was trying not to drag her paw under which had been a concern. Progress was slow yet sure and within a few weeks, she regained full use of all fours.

Of course, we couldn’t just call her cat or kitty through all of this. We named her “Missy”. In addition, it didn’t seem right to force her back out into the dangerous night and Brian’s allergies seemed at bay, so she became ours; out during the day; safe and warm through the night.

She remained a cat with an edge; never too chummy, but we didn’t expect much else. We respected and enjoyed Missy just as she was for many happy years.

Written By Teri Lee
Events of 1988
Winter 2005