The Tale of Four Cats

In which I explain how I came to own four cats and where I shall try to upload some photos.

Stray cats are a problem everywhere. And where you find stray cats you will find animal friends who are eager to unload some product on you. When we first arrived on our compound in Saudi, in the Spring of '93, there was a fresh kitten crop awaiting. I had never owned a pet of my own before and was reluctant to take in a cat because I grew up in a dog family. Cats were not allowed by my father because he claimed they peed in secret places around the house. (So we bought a beagle named "Catherine" and put her in a jeweled poodle collar.)

My husband is definitely a cat person so after doing some reading (my answer to everything) and with his encouragement I brought home "Lawrence" who cried the entire way like he was heading to his execution. The cats here are a mixture of english, american, and asian and are incredibly beautiful. On a compound like ours though, they can be inbred as well and incredibly weird. So while Lawrence was a great big beautiful grey tabby he was also a bit nuts. Like if there was even a speck of anything nasty in his litter box he would go on the floor right next to it. But he liked to play hide-and-seek and loved to play fetch with twisties. He got a kidney infection right off the bat from the poor quality of cat food available so on the advice of a french friend I fed him tuna and canned green beans. He loved it. And not having any children at the time I began to cook for him: chicken livers, quail, rice. I know it sounds way OTT but he was very appreciative.

So next spring, more kittens. I always say Ali adopted me. I walked past him crying to get in someone's door and stopped to ask him what his problem was. He ran up to me, leapt into my arms and immediately began to purr and nurse on my fingers. I didn't really feel I had any choice in the matter.

After a short adjustment period during which Lawrence finally figured out that Ali was like a toy that would happily chase him back, they became like brothers. Ali is a big beautiful marmelade tabby. He's like a witch's familiar and follows me everywhere and sleeps with me everynight. He used to be incredibly friendly but now he's a bit old and cranky and takes some time to warm up to folks. I don't think he'll ever get used to my son but after all I had the cats first.

We were all a happy family and the cats travelled to Abu Dhabi, Houston, Pennsylvania, and Georgia. Unfortunately, the summer before last, Lawrence succumbed to symptoms of hyperthyroid and congestive heart failure and crossed over the Rainbow Bridge at the age of 13.

Robert was despondent. When I realised we would be moving overseas again, part of my bribe to him was that he could get a cat of his very own in Abu Dhabi. I knew there would be plenty. Of course, the instant the plane landed he wanted to know when he would get his cat. I explained that the right cat would choose him as Ali had chosen me. Be patient young padawan I told him.

Practically the first week we were in the villa, I came home from the store to find Robert and ... a cat! To be exact, an unusually bright-eyed bushy-tailed tabby with lots of eye liner and stripes on his belly. He looked like something from the desert. It was nearly 5 o'clock so we rushed to the vet to get him checked out and ascertain that he was about 8 or 10 weeks old, and yes indeed he was covered in ringworm. He got some meds and some shots and otherwise a clean bill of health. We named him Kirby on the way home. He had chosen Robert and we were all delighted with him.

Well a few days later I came home to find a pipe had been leaking somewhere and flooded the breaker box which was crackling and popping and smoking. Of course Connie was at work. I had no way to turn off the electicity because the box outside was locked. My landlords who don't speak great English were not answering. Because the land line wasn't switched on yet and my cell battery was dying, I had to go sit in the car to charge it (no electricity).

It turned out both the landlords were out of the country on vacation. They finally sent their construction forman who is from India and speaks virtually no English but he speaks Arabic which didn't help me much. They switched off the electricity and began work to replace the breaker box.

A little side bar. The houses here are called villas. They are built by pouring concrete into forms. The pipes are PVC and the concrete is poured right on top of them. There was no pipe leading directly into my breaker box. The leak was somewhere in the walls of the house and had been going on so long the floor and wall above the breaker box were saturated. There was nowhere else for the water to go but we all know it will find a way. What a mess.

Well this swarm of worker bees was in and out of my house and they never closed the door behind them. (To be fair, it was dark and hot inside). They are thinking they can replace the box and go on about their business without searching for, locating, and repairing the leak. It took all my efforts and those of my husband and an arabic speaking co-worker to convince the foreman and the landlord otherwise. But we did and they began digging out my walls.

Meanwhile, despite my efforts to contain him, Kirby had escaped and it was of course all my fault. We spent the night at a hotel and I consoled Robert by telling him his cat would be back in the morning. He was not.

Next I said, cats do this all the time and he'll come back. After all, Lawrence was gone several times, once for an entire month. (Until the people whose cat food he was eating read his id tag and called to see if I wanted him back). But as the days stretched into weeks I began running out of positive things to say. "These things happen", I told him, "we miss him too". I think probably he has been taken in because he is so friendly. Thank God he had some shots but he's due for more. We started to accept that he was gone, an unfortunate side effect of our domestic disaster. (They finally found the leak in our shower wall. They fixed it but part of the ceiling is still weeping.)

Well, happy ending, Kirby showed up while Robert was out playing at night with his friends. Miraculously, the ringworm was gone. (Though the rest of us, including Ali were now battling it). All was well.

The cat down the street had kittens and the kids all went to observe. One day the cat and her kits were gone with the exception of one tiny little black and white thing whose eyes were barely open and could hardly peep. The local neighbor kids fetched Robert and together they all brought the kitten to me. I had just watched the Bourne Ultimatum the night before, and thoroughly sick of my long hair in this heat I had attempted to chop it off myself but wisely also booked a hair appointment. I was on my way out the door when this rag tag band of kids, led by my own dear son barged in with this tiny bundle of mewing helplessness. I wrapped her in a handtowel and took her with. She too was pronounced healthy by the vet, minus the ringworm. Only she weighed about a pound and needed to be fed from a bottle. Off we went to the hairdressers where she charmed everyone while I got my hair cut into a version of the "Posh Bob". The kitten I named "Daisy".

If you are counting, we are up to three cats now. The next month, similar scenario, Robert walked in with a handfull of jet black kitten, his eyes stuck together, and looking just like a bat. When I called the vet they were ready to close for the day but I told them hold on, I'm coming in. I can't keep another cat! But Robert said he came running up to him crying in the street. I knew no one else would take him so I had misgivings about even taking him to the vet. To me he looked to be on death's door.

Well apparently not, he's perfect. He's named Toby. Cat number 4. Really stunning, and rarely makes a sound above a tiny squeak now and then. He's a week or so younger than Daisy and they are best buddies. He needed bottle feeding too but didn't care for it so started in right away on dry food. Ali is absolutely disgusted with me. He has nothing nice to say about the whole situation.

Obviously I could go on, ad nauseum. Having all these kittens is hilarious. You can't take a step without coming upon some cute furry purring lump that needs to be petted and attended to. It's become even more difficult to get anything done around here!

I will stop blithering for now and try to add some photos. Love!