Doug knew a cat lady when he saw one. At that juncture, several cats resided in the back yard of our several units. There was Bud, and Bert, former ferals who all the neighbors circa 1983 had adopted. I was the only neighbor left of that original group and so Bud and Bert were mine, effectively. Black and sleek and married to the concrete and small grass patches which they roamed. Inside, there was Hollywood, my first California cat. I got him before I got much furniture, a Maine Coon like furry beast, who loved to have his upper nose rubbed. And Trouble, another hairy tabby, who could manage to catapult herself to the narrow edge of my french door like windows, book end poised. So, Doug, in the entertainment industry (what else?) would ask me to babysit Elwood when he was out of town. He'd always tell me that Elwood was a little odd. You really had to convince Elwood to approach and when he did, he'd stop just short of you. Elwood changed his mind a lot. He never committed. He'd meow to be let out, and then when Doug opened the door, he'd stand at the threshhold, tail twitching in decision. Doug would close the door. Elwood would indicate readiness to leave, and Doug would open the door and the same sequence occurred. Tail switch, but otherwise immobile neither in, nor out. Meanwhile Bud, in those days, would wander straight into Doug's apartment. That was the other thing. There was never another cat that Elwood was not afraid of. He never challenged any other cat. Big dogs, yes, but never any other cat. And so it was for many years into the early 2000s. Then suddenly, Elwood was running out of the apartment and under the house. Doug would get him and then, he'd run out again. And go under the house.
Not so parenthetically, I now recall that when Elwood originally arrived, Doug had a roommate. A girl roommate. They did not get along. But she did love Elwood and Elwood loved her. So maybe, if I think about it, the desire for Elwood to leave coincided with Doug not having a woman roommate or girlfriend at the time. Elwood has just always preferred us gals. He runs from all guys. So he no longer liked it inside. And left.
After a while Doug conceded to Elwood's desire to become an outdoor cat exclusively. By that time, there were other cats in the backyard, Dreyfus and Parker, who like Bud and Bert before them (Bud had come to live inside with me and died at age 21; Bert, died some years earlier at 19 of natural causes), were black, but only Parker was sleek. Dreyfus liked to eat and was pudgy, looking more like a walrus than a cat. And then there was Diablo, the cat across the way, who liked it better on our side of things than his own. Elwood conceded all things to them, relegating himself to low cat on the catpole, last to eat but always close enough for the companionship. He was I suppose no idiot. He never got hurt. The neurotic is after all quite cautious. When a bruiser cat with chipped ears, I called "Suspicious" would come by from time to time to see what's what, all of them would concede.
Diablo left us- the victim of jaw cancer. Parker and Dreyfus' people moved. And except for the still occasional spitting visits of Suspicious, Elwood was alone in the backyard. The year 2010. We figure Elwood for somewhere between 17 and 18.
He hasn't many teeth any longer. He can only see shadows. And his hearing is eclectic. His haunches are bony. And after many years outside, dirty would be an understatement. If some infection developed, I'd take him to the vet. There were days he looked to be at death's door and then, back he'd come, looking for attention and food with a yowl that sounded like he was being murdered. "Please, please COME!". I would, and he'd meow pitifully and withdraw to a bush just out of reach.
I introduced him to my newest cycle of cats, Tuxedo, Tipper and inherited from my late father who got him from me, Bleu, all white and yes, blue eyes. Hissing ensued, on all sides, but after a while, my coming in and out with their respective scents brought co-existence at my threshhold, which by the way, is next door to where it all began in 1994.
About six months ago, I cajoled the Elwood cat to consider coming inside, particularly on rainy nights. At first, he'd come in and sit on my couch and then go pee somewhere when I forgot to watch him (he was now fully an outdoor cat in that regard where he could pee freely anywhere in the kingdom of the backyard), and then walk to the porch door. My cats would try to approach him. Hiss. They must appear to be giant shadows, all big boys, against his frail aged body. After a time, he'd stay longer until one really rainy night he CALLED to come in, soaked and pathetic. And stayed four days straight without showing signs of leaving.
Now, he is inside during the night and outside during the day. And as to the peeing, while he declines to use the cat box, I have convinced him that the doggy pads in one corner of my bedroom are the only acceptable place. Not to say there haven't been accidents, like on my bed. I am doing laundry now from last night's hair ball episode. I know, you non-cat lovers are going "YUCCCKY" right now. He still is last cat on the catpole for breakfast, and dinner, as he eats after everyone else has had his fill. But I have noticed he is venturing to the kitchen more and cowering a little less under my bureau. He sleeps next to my head every night. Alas, he also has gas, like I suppose every old person. (This one day will be all of us). When it is time to come in at night again, he pretends that we are starting all over again. Tail twitch. Do I trust her? In? Out? Not in, not out as I stand with the open door trying to keep my other guys from running out to an adventure I do not want to retrieve them from.
If you get points in heaven for taking care of cats, with Elwood, as with Bud, Hollywood, Trouble, Bert before him, all who lived to a great age, then I should be able to by pass purgatory. If only it were that easy! I'd be a cinch!
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