It was never my intention that he would have any career at all other than lap warmer or purr emitter. I envisioned a mellow, content house cat. Besides, even in our cloistered neighborhood taxi drivers careened through the streets with impunity. I did not want my cat ending up suburban road kill. But Miao Mao could not fight his nature. In his first escape attempt he dove off our third floor balcony. My husband found him stunned but otherwise fine in the neighbor’s back yard. We thought the experience had chastened him. We thought wrong. The second time he leapt, again from the third floor, we could not locate him for a week. Just when we had started to lose hope, a neighbor called and told me she had found him. He was meowing loudly in the bushes of our neighborhood park; scared, weak, and hungry.
That was when we installed the cat door in the kitchen. We assumed, again incorrectly, that our modest but capacious garden would hold his interest. It did, for about twenty minutes. Then, Miao Mao effortlessly scaled the six-foot wall surrounding our back yard and began staking out his territory. We got him as a kitten and we did not teach him any of this. No, this ability was hard-wired; and territory establishment was not the only basic instinct emerging.
Episodes of Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom come to mind when I recall Miao Mao’s early experiences in the wilds of Shanghai. I recall Marlin Perkins narrating as Jim introduced an animal, bred in captivity, to the wild: Jim teaching the Cheetah to hunt; Jim demonstrating how to tear flesh off a fresh kill with bare hands and teeth; Jim fashioning a hide into a loin cloth. Miao Mao did not need Jim.
Not long after gaining his freedom Miao Mao began parading his kills before us. Other people’s cats bring gifts, but Miao Mao was not the sharing type. He was sending messages like, “I can fend for myself, thank you very much;” or possibly “Thanks, but I’ll pass on the Whiskas tonight;” but most probably, “If our sizes were reversed you would be a tasty little morsel.”
Evidence for Miao Mao’s formidable hunting skills was showcased in the diversity of his kills: birds, moths, dragonflies, bats, moles, mice, and fish. All of this in a suburban tract-housing neighborhood. Watching my cat consume a bird, feathers, bones and all, made me question whether the comparatively delicate human digestive tract was an evolutionary malingerer.
Miao Mao was definitely a bad ass, and we were not the only ones he sought to convince. There is no furry, four-legged brotherhood. Missing tufts of fur, lacerations, and punctures were the badges of honor Miao Mao displayed from his numerous altercations with other neighborhood felines, and the occasional canine. He seemed to espouse the “walk it off” philosophy and usually shrugged off these minor injuries. If he was seriously injured we would find him, subdued and curled up on his favorite chair. We learned to check him immediately, as on many of those occasions we would discover severe injuries requiring prompt medical attention. The staff at Shanghai PAWS veterinary clinic knew him well, as their best and oldest patient.
The vet was usually thrilled to see Miao Mao as he was the fittest cat at the practice. He was no paunchy house cat. He was in top form to confront whatever adventure, either hunting or fighting, came his way. It was just this joie de vivre that would eventually catch up to Miao Mao. Because the same vet who praised his muscular physique also warned me that Miao Mao was engaging in a risky lifestyle, and not just from wound infections. Close physical contact with other felines resulting in the exchange of body fluids, which in Miao Mao’s case meant blood, put him at risk for contracting feline AIDS. A long, boring life or a potentially shorter, but exciting life. I did not have to ponder long what Miao Mao’s choice would be.
I last saw Miao Mao in the Fall of 2006. My son’s educational needs required our relocation to Hong Kong. My husband remained in Shanghai for work. Because our immediate future was uncertain, it was decided that Mark and the cats, Miao Mao and his brother Hei Mao, would shack up in a bachelor pad until things became more certain. This process would take an unexpected three years.
The bachelor pad was approximately a mile from our former house. My husband had taken a first floor apartment so as not to impinge on the cat’s lifestyle. What we did not count on was how put out the cats would be with the move. Turns out the concept of territory is vitally important and taken very seriously by our feline friends. Miao Mao never accepted the new residence because it was not in his territory. In the beginning he would stick around for a few days before heading back to the old neighborhood. Evidently that was hard won territory he was reluctant to cede. Eventually he would mosey back to the crash pad for food and rest. But he never stayed long. Soon he would brave the major roads, six lanes wide of unforgiving Shanghai traffic, and other obstacles that lay between the new apartment and the old house.
Then, he stopped returning voluntarily. That is when I began to get suspicious. Even though I was thousands of miles away I knew, there was someone else. The shocking truth would finally emerge, there was not just someone, but some families; plural.
All of this came out when my husband’s relocation to Hong Kong was confirmed. Immediately we began researching pet relocation procedures. Despite being current on vaccinations our cats, as mainlanders, were required to complete a minimum of four months in quarantine upon arrival in Hong Kong. Miao Mao would be furious. But what was worse, he would be moved from his beloved territory to a high-rise apartment. He would lose his freedom to roam and hunt. We considered our options.
We decided to approach the other families and determine their level of commitment. If either could offer him an environment more to his liking, we would propose they adopt him. Mark set out, accompanied by our housekeeper, for the old neighborhood. Armed with photos of Miao Mao, he and Xiao Ying began knocking on doors seeking information as to the whereabout of Miao Mao. That is when he discovered that Miao Mao, or should I say, Sugar, or perhaps Muffin, had taken up with two other families. Seems as though after his wild, impetuous youth, Miao Mao was developing new, amorous interests. Completely platonic, of course, as he was sans testicles.
Mark met with representatives of the other families. Both were surprised to learn of Miao Mao’s other liaisons. He explained that he was departing for Hong Kong and had intended to take Miao Mao with him. However, as we were living in a high-rise apartment we doubted Miao Mao would ever be happy there. It was then that one of the other moms mentioned that Miao Mao had been diagnosed by her vet with feline AIDS. That meant we could not bring him to Hong Kong--he would never make it out of quarantine. The other, other mom quickly declined to take him. That left the kind woman, who bestowed the improbable name of Muffin on our hunter and scrapper, as the adoptive parent of our first addition to the family. She was thrilled.
My husband left our contact information should they change their minds or become incapable of caring for him. He said his last good-bye and gave Miao Mao one last scratch on the head. We recently received an email from Miao Mao’s new mom. She included pictures showing him playing in the large cat habitat she constructed for him. He looked happy, and still healthy. Muffin is indeed, a wonderful cat.
No comments:
Post a Comment