Cat Daddy

Baby, Truffle, and Reishi

Sept 2022

I am not a cat person. At least that’s the story I told myself before I became a parent. It’s not that I was averse to felines, I just viewed them the same way they seemed to see me, ranging between tolerance and indifference. So, here I am on the verge of an identity crisis, standing in the parking lot of the Napa Humane Society. I arrived just as dawn began to carefully lift the veil of darkness, eagerly waiting for the doors to open.  I look and feel extremely suspicious, with a beanie and a black hoodie draped over my head, arms folded tightly across my chest, and my legs shaking rhythmically to shake off the chill of the morning air.  I feel as though I am about to enter into a sketchy drug deal or sell human organs on the black market. 

Once I am welcomed inside the intimate lobby, my eyes retreat behind their lids and my body contracts under the offensive glow of fluorescent lighting. I am joined by two bonafide cat ladies, who both waste no time diving into elaborate stories about the dozens of cats they have rescued and provided sanctuary for in their homes.  They are each perched on the edge of their seats above several plastic crates, meticulously cleaned, and labeled with the name of each cat.  They are entirely too perky and sociable for this hour of the day.  I am slouched nervously in my chair, beside my crate that looks like it got swallowed by a tornado of dirt, dust and feces, containing all three of the baby kittens we recently adopted.  There is no name tag to identify Baby, Reishi and Truffle, who sit cramped in a pot of fur stew, unknowingly awaiting their forced sterilization.  When we asked Taishan what he wanted to name the cats, he replied “Baby, Baby, and Baby.” We compromised by naming one cat Baby (short for Baby Shitake), and the siblings became Reshi and Truffle to form a trio of mushroom kittens.

With the telling of each cat lady story I attempt to subtly slide my crate a little further under my seat and out of their view to avoid the judgment and condemnation that I’m sure will meet the crusty condition of my feline transportation system.  I do my best to demonstrate that I am fully engrossed in each cat rescue tale and to convey the depth of my gratitude for the service these women have performed for the animal kingdom.  I wait my turn to be called into the back room, where the cats will be “altered,” aka spayed and neutered, so they may not reproduce.  

I have mixed feelings about this process, as I don’t sense the kittens giving their consent for this procedure. However, as someone who is still attempting to not identify as a cat person, I am already 2 cats over the limit of what I ever imagined joining my family.  A fun fact I learned about cats is that they will willingly reproduce with their siblings as soon as they are developmentally capable of doing so. With one male and 2 female kittens who are nearly at reproductive age, I cannot risk having our cat population multiply exponentially, which would certainly propel me into the category of legitimate cat daddy.  

We adopted the cats from a neighbor who had rescued the pregnant mama cat from a local construction site. We went with the intention of adopting 2 of them and then were pressured into taking the third one so as to not break up the siblings.  There are various, legitimate motivations for adopting the cats. 1) We live on land where rats can run rampant without enough predators to control their population.  2)There is an equally prolific community of gophers who destroy any attempts we make at planting food in the soil.  3) Cats can be cute in the right lighting and seen from the correct angle.  All of these pale in comparison to the real reason we are getting the cats. Taishan loves cats.  Every time he sees one he points emphatically, shouts “meow” and then giggles uncontrollably. His joy is contagious, and we want to experience it more often, so when we inevitably arrive at the challenging moments of the future, we can look back and remember why we intentionally destroyed our lives to become parents.  

After being under the care of the veterinarian for several hours, all three cats have been successfully altered, although if you ask them, they might say it was a complete disaster.  I loaded them delicately back in their putrid carrying crate and brought them home safely, where they lay lethargically on their recycled doggy bed until the painkillers wore off.  They went through a recovery phase for 10 days where we kept them contained in our tool shed to avoid the risk of being attacked by other animals or tearing open their stitches from their usual wrestling and tree climbing activities.  

The day arrived to release the cats back into the wild, and I ceremoniously took Taishan to the door of the tool shed. As soon as we opened the door, they bolted towards the nearest tree and climbed up to the highest branch. Taishan wants nothing more than to pet his trio of cats, and instantly expresses his frustration about them being out of reach.  He demonstrates the early signs of being a cat whisperer as he says “meow, down!” and miraculously the cats climb down the tree and return to the ground.  Now Taishan is channeling all of his energy to his tiny legs, which he is urgently propelling in the direction of the nearest cat.  It seems to be futile effort, as his aggressive advances understandably frighten the cats who sprint into the distance.  Perhaps through further cat whispering, the cats do eventually meander into his vicinity, opening up the opportunity for him to make physical contact.  

Every time he gets within arms reach he is either kicking them (while laughing maniacally) or pulling their tail with all his might.  I have also felt the wrath of his little feet of fury and know that he has a surprisingly powerful kick.  Competing with my concern for the cats’ well being is my fear for Taishan’s safety.  Despite watching numerous videos on Youtube about trimming cat nails (another activity I could never have imagined being part of my life experience before becoming a parent) I have not been able to accomplish this task.  While the Youtube cats sit calmly in the laps of their humans and seem to enjoy their mani/pedi treatment, every time I bring out our cat nail clippers, they run for their lives and only reemerge hours later when they correctly assume that I have given up on my task.  Their nails are viciously sharp.  They can climb straight up a ten foot wooden beam with their talons digging into the post like extreme mountain climbers securing their crampons into a vertical face of ice.  I’ve already seen them have their way with a gopher, of which they left nothing behind but a portion of the skull.  I dread the day when the cats lose their patience with Taishan, and he learns about their dangerous daggers the hard way.

Every single day since their adoption, I have tried in vain to patiently demonstrate how to properly pet the cats. “Be gentle. Be soft. Like this.  See how the cats don’t run away from me because I'm being gentle?”  Nothing gets through.  Taishan delivers another brutal strike to Truffle’s rib cage, and she flees to a higher elevation, finding sanctuary in the canopy of an oak tree. This time there is no amount of cat whispering that will coax her back to ground level. Now Taishan is running around in a belligerent stupor and screaming hysterically. “Tai tai wan hoe mao!” (Tai tai wants to hold the meow).  The urgency of his communication makes me feel like his inability to touch a cat is jeopardizing his survival. We descend into a downward spiral with a triangular form; Taishan is feeling fanatically frustrated, the cats are feeling rightfully terrified, and I am feeling increasingly angry about the absurdity of this whole situation. I am completely triggered and fully in my panic zone, without any ability to sense humor in my predicament. After about 30 minutes of this hellish dance I. LOSE. MY. SHIT.  I shout “They don’t want to be near you! They are afraid of you! And they should be!”  I quickly hop 5 paces into the garage and give a swift strike to the kickboxing bag to release some of my steam, which is now boiling over. (Thank you to my past self for recognizing a need for acquiring this anger release valve). “This is so fucking ridiculous.” I curse to myself under my breath.  I recognize that I am once again beyond my capacity for being present or patient and carry a screaming Taishan into the house so Maya can take over and give me a moment to step back off the ledge. 

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For a musical experience on the topic of doing things my younger self would have never imagined, check out the song “Journey” by clicking the image below.

“This journey has taken me places

I never anticipated.

Don’t worry about situations 

I’m practicing liberation.”