Sandpaper Kisses

Written in Honor of Kit-Kat

I didn’t always have a penchant for all things feline. I recall, now shamefully, how I once shut a cat in the bathroom of a home where I was babysitting while a college student in Milwaukee. It had frightened me by jumping onto my homework book while I was studying. It was released from solitary confinement only when I heard the owner’s car returning.

I lived most of my life without particular regard for cats, dogs or any other non-human life. Interestingly, my choice of a nursing career was borne of a caring nature and a sincere desire to help people. But animals were barely a blip on my radar screen. I avoided them whenever possible and feared many of them. I considered them too dirty to touch unless a thorough disinfection was to follow.

I viewed with disdain those who considered pets to be members of the family and was aghast to learn that my boyfriend had sometimes kissed his dog before kissing me! Poop patrols and litter quality were foreign concepts in my world.

But all that was changed by small, longhaired calico cat. I’d been blithely coasting on the downward slope of life, my entire adulthood spent in a relatively comfortable solitude. Then one cool fall day, I stood by my patio door and observed a small skittish cat on the back wall of my property, surveying with interest the mini-habitat that was my backyard. There were trees, shrubs and flowers as well as birds feasting at the feeders and splashing in the birdbath. I could sense her desire to enter but also her trepidation.

After seeing her come back time after time, though always at a safe distance,
I decided she was in serious need of nourishment. I bought some canned cat food and set it out on my patio as she watched intently. When I returned to the house, I’d watch her sprint over to partake of a free and much-needed meal. As long as she was alone, she would gratefully accept my offerings. But if she saw me watching her, she’d quickly leave and not return that day.

Over the next few months, we gradually became accustomed to one another. I was finally allowed, and privileged, to stroke her silky fur and I fell under the spell of a purr for the very first time. Soon she was waiting by the patio door when I returned from work, no matter what the time. I would feed her and then sometimes bring her in for a half-hour of petting on my lap. It was relaxing for both of us at the end of a stressful day.

When the winter rains of Southern California rolled in, I worried about her being outside all night. I tried to fix her a comfortable, protected refuge under my patio table, but she often wouldn’t stay there. Finally, I put aside my fear of litterbox messes and odors and brought her inside. I read several books about cat care, determined to provide her with a better life. She was patient as I learned and we cautiously bonded. She was obviously frightened at first but eventually made herself at home. There was some scratching of my pristine sofa but she soon chose the scratching post instead for the praise it earned her. We both had to make adjustments in our lifestyles to share our home compatibly.

Eventually, I learned she had been abused as a tiny kitten and even fled from her rescuer. She’d been on her own for at least a year. She had strong self-preservation instincts and was an excellent hunter. But she’s still afraid of nearly everyone except me. Sometimes when I pick her up, her eyes will still go wide with fear. However, the passage of time (and the absence of harm) has built up her trust in me. She often spent most of the day outdoors but faithfully returned shortly after dark. And she usually came when I called her, which I understand is pretty unusual for an independent feline.

Initially, she slept by the window in my office/sewing room but after a few more months she decided she preferred my bed. She would start purring as soon as she settled down on the satin cushion I’d placed there. She loves a good bedtime scratch and sleeps better than I do. I thought my frequent awakenings would disturb her but she’s learned to sleep through them. And being a considerate roommate, she no longer awakens me; she seems to realize that sleep is difficult for me and will patiently wait for whatever she wants. She’s a nearly silent cat; she never vocalizes her desires, only extreme fear. But she speaks volumes with her eyes…

I knew that life with me would be more comfortable and less dangerous for her but I’d had no expectation of what it would mean to me. I grew to love and cherish her at a time in my life when I was very much alone. I brushed, massaged and scratched her and I talked to her all day long as though she understood my every word. I frequently kissed her on the forehead and told her that I loved her. She was my responsibility and I took that very seriously. I spoiled her with the best foods, took her to the vet, bathed her and, yes, treated her like a member of my family. But it was all worth it when I received that first lick on my hand. Since cats have rough surfaces on their tongues, I refer to their licks as “sandpaper kisses”. That’s when I felt sure that our affection was mutual.

I recently began volunteering to help socialize cats at the Riverside Humane Society. Those cats are very friendly and they lick me after just a few minutes on my lap. My cat is still pretty stingy with her kisses but when I get one, I know I’ve really earned it. And she’s neverscratched or bitten me, even during the dreaded bath. Last month, I got a kiss after a bath; even though she dislikedit, she must have appreciated the clean feeling afterwards.

This little cat had survived against incredible odds and was still willing, though understandably wary, to trust in someone and find her way to a better life. There’s a lesson to be learned in that. She’s given me a new appreciation of all living things and aroused in me a compassion for them that I’d been lacking. My cat and I are now inseparable and she brings much-needed comfort and love to my life. I hope she feels that I do the same for her….

By Susan Bourgeois