My Ariel! On Saturday, August 7, 1993, my husband (then boyfriend) brought home a little black kitten that was being badly abused with her brothers. Her mother was a blue point Siamese but the entire litter was black with white markings. Ariel was the only one solid black from the tip of her nose to the tip of her tail. She was covered in dirt, ants, fleas, and there were baby roaches all in the box he grabbed from their house to rescue her. I immediately rushed her to a sink and washed her. Since one of the methods of abuse was attempted drownings, I had to bathe with her for years before she got over her excessive fear of water.
"Ariel" wasn't the first name I chose. Due to her solid coat of black and the timing of the Disney movie, Aladdin, I named her Jasmine. A lot of people were still remembering Jasmine Guy, the actress, so they confused her as the inspiration behind the name. I chose Ariel from the Little Mermaid since it had, also, been a recent Disney princess movie. I still wanted Jasmine, so her full name was Ariella Jasmine.
I bottle fed Ariel since she was only a few weeks old when she came to be with me. I, also, weighed her using a food scale of my dad's. It had a square bucket on top that she fit into perfectly.
Ariel was not my only cat, and I gave a birthday party to her and my other two every year. After we moved for our first Duty station in San Diego, I still gave her birthday parties and had a neighbor who did the same for her cats. The second year we were there, 3 of my husband's friends from the ship came over for the birthday party and even brought her gifts. Everyone has always been drawn to her anywhere we've lived, and her passing has had an impact on people I didn't imagine cared, including my daughter's teacher, who sent a sympathy card, and her classmates who had met Ariel many times and cried when they found out.
On Saturday, February 2, 2013, I had to bring her into the Vet to put her to sleep. She was diagnosed in November of 2011 with kidney disease, and her health was deteriorating. When she reached the point of walking into walls and getting lost on her way to the litter box and her food, I knew it was time.
Her doctor, a wonderful and compassionate woman, let me hold her while she administered Valium first to slow her systems down, then an overdose of sedative used to put dogs to sleep for surgery. The Vet held a stethoscope to Ariel's heart so she would know when it was over, but I knew the instant her heart stopped. I felt a sharp, unmistakable pain go through my own heart and I knew she was gone. I spoke the words just as the doctor was getting ready to confirm she had, in fact, heard the last beat of Ariel's heart. They arranged to have her cremated for me, and I have a special place on my bookshelf for her remains. Being in the Navy and moving around a lot, I refused to leave her anywhere that I'd never see again. She was my heart, my muse, and always then and especially now, my angel cat.
For some weird reason, I felt the child needed a kitten of her own. One of those wild hairs that gets me into trouble.
I grew up around a ton of cats and though I loved them all, I felt like the stray that I personally found, Tom, was more mine because the others were part of the family before I was born. Scotty, our big black tomcat, however, was my favorite and my best friend. I discovered after having cats of every breed and shade that black cats are simply more friendly and outgoing than any other color. I think it's more due to their higher sense of curiosity and adventure than cats of other colors. White cats, for instance, are gentle and tame but far less likely than black cats to wander off or follow that strange sound in the alley. Orange ones have a temper and respond exactly the way they are treated. Love them and they will love you 10-fold. Be mean to them and they are like the spawn of a demon. Striped cats have a prima-donna attitude but are very sweet - when they want to be. And Calicos? I think calicos are just a mixture of them all. Kind of schizophrenic/bi-polar/multiple personality wrapped up into one LOL.
I wasn't planning on a certain color when we went looking for a cat. I just knew it would be a rescue, like all of the cats I grew up with and Ariel. We went to PetSmart first but it was like joining a cult and I was wondering when they would ask for a DNA sample.
The SPCA was our next stop a week later. They let us in the back, let my daughter pick out a kitten, and then let us spend time with that kitten until my daughter was in love! It was a tall grey with orange eyes. We called over to a staff member and let her know we found the perfect companion. What happened next felt like I'd been transported through a time-warp back to 1945.
First, they wanted to see a record of my other cat's medical history. I told them all of her files were in a box in the attic. They said they couldn't release any animal without the records of any existing pet. She offered to hold the cat until the next day so I could get the boxes down. Fine .. whatever. Next, she asked me where my husband was. Why wasn't he there picking out the cat with us? Hubby was on deployment, so I was informed I needed a (and I swear this is an exact quote) "permission note" from him "allowing" ME to adopt a cat.
I stared at her in stunned silence, not sure how to respond next. I knew what I WANTED to say, but my response could cause troubles in the future if we ever had to go back there. Then, I heard some mumbling behind me. I had been at the counter in the reception area this entire time, and apparently, that day was Open House for visitors to come adopt. The room had filled up pretty quickly in the moments I had been standing there with my back to the door. People seemed to now be hanging on every word spoken between me and the idiot behind the counter because at her remark about needing my husband's "permission," several people gasped and I heard a couple of crude remarks referring to such an asinine policy.
I didn't feel alone anymore dealing with this idiot, so I took my daughter's hand and said rather loudly, "I am a 33 year old mom and Navy wife. I haven't lived under my daddy's roof in over 10 years. I don't need my husband's permission to get a pet! And I want you to look right at my daughter and tell her why exactly she can't have the kitten YOU let her fall in love with! .... Tread lightly (I said in anticipation for her next words)..." She looked down at my daughter, then around the room at the small crowd now paying 100% attention to the situation. Without another word, she gathered her papers and walked into the back room, where she slammed the door tightly behind her.
Becky started crying and as I walked out the door, I was followed by a procession of people who decided they wouldn't be talked down to, either - men and women. One guy there with his family passed me as I got to my truck, patted me on the back and said, "You did great!"
The elation I felt over telling that twit off and being literally patted on the back for it only lasted a moment before my daughter's tears and sobs brought me back to the reality of the situation. No kitten. I pulled out of the parking lot and as she said tearfully, "Does this mean I'm not getting a baby cat for my own?" I turned in the direction of Animal Control. I had vowed never to go there again when they attempted to stick me with what they claimed was a husky but turned out to be half coyote - and wild, at that. Long story but it was 2 hours of our first dog ownership that I'll never forget. Still, I was out of choices and I was furious.
As we stepped into the room of caged stray cats, the Sheriff's deputy on call indicated where the cats could be found and which ones were being held for other families. Only 2 kittens were there that day.
The very first cage held a black male kitten. "No!" I said quickly as she indicated he was new. "Not that there's anything wrong with black cats," I explained, "but I already have one. We're Pagan and I don't want people thinking something stereotypical and silly."
She laughed and brought us around to the adjoining room, where a little orange kitten was all by himself. She took him out for us to hold, but he was having none of it. He just wasn't interested in being around us and only wanted to curl up in his cage. At that moment, a staff worker came in with a note card to put on his cage. "Adopted" was written on the back. I looked at the deputy. She looked at me. We both looked at Becky. I sighed and said, "Okay, let's go see him."
We returned to the first cage and she opened the door before hesitating. She looked at him carefully, then at me before remembering this was the one that had been very cantankerous with the staff. He liked to scratch and hiss and growl when they attempted to feed him or take him out. "No one can hold him," she said.
We looked down at Becky, who quietly walked over to a large (dog-sized) cage against the wall, opened it, and climbed in. "Ready!" she called out.
"It's fine with me if it's fine with you," I told the deputy. She laughed and reached in slowly.
He already started a low growl but she carefully pulled him out, anyway. She didn't hold him close. She just quickly stepped over to the dog cage and let him jump in. He only stood still for a moment before jumping onto my daughter's lap. Before the deputy or I could say anything, he was rolling around on her lap and eating up the cuddles and kisses. His purring echoed against the metallic walls and made the deputy gasp in awe.
She called in a couple of other helpers and they couldn't believe their eyes. She looked at me and said, "So I guess you'll be having two black cats?" I laughed and said, "Yeah .. just call me a witch!"
She pulled out the card to write our names on the back, and that's when it happened. The end of the world. At least it was about to happen for my daughter. On the back of the card, someone had written that very same morning that he would be put down within the week for being a vicious animal. She read it to me and we both looked back at the open cage where the "vicious animal" was licking Becky's face. She wrote down my name and information, anyway, and told me that her supervisor, the Deputy in charge of the facility, would be coming in later that afternoon. She said she would talk to him. We left without the kitten, which I explained to Becky was because of a waiting period to be sure he was healthy.
The next morning I received a phone call from the supervising Deputy. I had been told I would hear back in about 3-5 days due to some kind of scheduling. Instead, he called me as soon as he could let me know we could have the cat. After hearing what transpired between the cat and my daughter, he researched the claims made by the man who brought him in.
Supposedly, it was a vicious stray that attacked his kids. Truth? It was his kids' kitten, he was an abusive husband and father, and he brought the cat to the pound to have it killed because he was a mean SOB.
He wanted us to pick up the cat as soon as possible to be sure the environment didn't traumatize him anymore than he already was coming from an abusive home. We picked him up that day and brought him straight to the Army Vet for his shots, where we learned that he was around 6 months old, placing his birthday in August of 2006. Becky chose August 1 as the official birthday in association with Lughnasadh, the first of the 3 pagan harvests (second would be the Autumn equinox around September 22, third is Samhain on October 31).
I had wanted to name the boy Koda for the little bear cub in Brother Bear. His face looked so much like a bear cub (still does). My daughter, however, had become a huge fan of Edgar Alan Poe and the Raven poem. She and her dad had taken me the previous year to the EAPoe museum in Richmond for Mother's Day, and she got a raven hand puppet. So, "Raven" it was.
After hubby came home from deployment, it took Raven a long while to get used to him. He was terrified of men. Even to this day, he doesn't like strange men coming over and won't even put up with hubby making a loud noise. If you're holding Raven and Rodney is walking near, you better put him down because he'll claw his way to freedom to run and hide until he sees it's only "daddy."
That is, unless he's on his horse.
The white horse he's always on was a gift from an artist and master craftsman I had helped back in Virginia. I created his websites for his work and helped him set up his art show. In return, he gave me the horse, valued at $600. Raven immediately claimed the horse and will even try to bite someone while he's on it if they mess with the horse's mane without his consent. This is the only place he feels as though he has all the power in the world. Regardless of who comes over, he will let them pet him as long as he's on the horse.
He's, also, attracted to a black horse statue I have on my dresser. I don't know. He has a thing for horses like he has for rain. He adores the rain and will howl at the door until I let him go play in it.
All said and done, February 14, 2007 gave us the best Valentine's Day present ever.
