Luna, Luna Lou, Looney, Lunatic

I did not get my cat, Luna, from a rescue organization or shelter. I still consider her a rescue, however. She was part of a litter born to my ex-girlfriend’s feral cat. Technically, the mama was no longer feral since the ex brought her in from her previous apartment, but she displayed all the typical feral behaviors. She kept hidden and was distrustful of most humans. I was one of the humans she seemed to trust so she let me see her kittens and hold them. I’ve always been fond of cats. Except for two short spans of time in my life, I have always had a cat. When Luna came into my life, she ended the second span of several months without a cat. I had told Melissa (the ex-girlfriend) might be ready for another cat, but at the time I had a roommate with a cat allergy. I also wasn’t sure I was ready for another cat.

It wasn’t long after I first saw the little fuzzball kittens that my roommate moved out and I had another friend move in with her cat. It did not take long having a cat in the house that I felt ready to get my own cat. I had come to the acceptance stage of grief over the loss of my previous cat. I had not forgiven myself for her loss, yet, but I accepted there was nothing I could do to change the past.

The previous cat was named Turkey. She was given to me by a family who purchased a double wide mobile home from the dealership where I worked as a salesperson. Melissa and I happened to be living together at the time and she had mentioned she wanted a cat. I overheard the family telling their salesperson they needed to find a home for their one year old cat because they didn’t want to have it in their new double wide. I wanted to criticize that logic, but instead I told them I would be interested in seeing the cat. We agreed that I could stop by their current home after my shift that same day.

I called Melissa to let her know I would be running a bit late from work. When I arrived at the family’s mobile home, they were all out on the built on deck at the front side of the home. The kids were running around and being kids, laughing and screaming, and the parents were sitting in lawn chairs drinking Budweiser. Pretty standard for Southern Ohio in the 90s. I parked and got out of my car as they waved to me. The kids came running up with 1000 questions… Was I going to take their cat? Did I like cats? Did my girlfriend like cats? Will I still call the cat Spatz? I tried to answer every question. As I approached the deck, I noticed a black and white cat sunning itself.

The parents stood up and shook my hand.

“This is Spatz,” the father said. “She stays right around here on the deck. We can even leave the sliding glass door open.”

“Spatz,” I said, trying the name out loud. I did not like it.

“Yeah, she also answers to turkey because she loves turkey,” the mother said. Spatz took notice of our conversation for the first time upon hearing “turkey”.

I knelt down and Spatz came to check me out. She let me giver her some head scratches before returning to her favorite sunning spot. I knew she was going home with me. I was already certain I was going to take the cat, but seeing her and how she responded to the word turkey, but didn’t seem to care one way or another about Spatz sealed the deal. I had also made up my mind that her new name would be Turkey. Why not? Not often one sees a cat named Turkey.

“I’ll take her,” I said.

“You want to take her now?” The father asked.

“Uh, I guess I could,” I said. I hadn’t expected to take her so soon, but I liked the idea of surprising Melissa.

The father told the kids to go grab “that box”. The son ran inside and returned with a medium sized box. It was more than large enough to transport Turkey. Then, to my disgust, the father grabbed a roll of duct tape with one hand and scooped up Turkey with the other. He put her in the box and closed the flaps quickly, telling his son to hold them closed. Then he started taping the box. Turkey was meowling with terror. I felt my face get hot. I wanted to intervene, but I had to behave myself and not offend our “customers”. Personally I didn’t care, but I wanted to keep my job. I could imagine what Turkey must have felt in that dark box hearing the sound of tape being pulled from its roll as the man wrapped it around the box. I’ll just say that it was way too much tape and they didn’t bother putting in any air holes. If I didn’t live a short 10 minute drive away I would have told them to make holes. I also wanted to get away from them as quick as I could. I know they didn’t think it was scaring the cat as much as it was and they weren’t meaning any harm, but for a guy who was cat crazy, it seemed like a horrible way to give away a beloved pet.

When I got to our apartment, there was no way I could hide what was in the box. Turkey was still upset and making a lot of racket. Melissa was excited to meet the new kitty. I told her we needed to let the cat get used to the new surroundings before trying to pet her or pick her up. Of course, the first thing Melissa did when I got the box open and Turkey came running out was try to grab her. Their bond didn’t get any better from that moment on and Turkey became my cat. Turkey’s favorite game was “attack Melissa’s feet”. When Melissa and I split up, Turkey stayed.

I had Turkey for 10 years. We lived in 4 different places. She was an amazing cat. She lived with a 20 something who moved in with other 20 somethings and a German Shepherd and adjusted perfectly. When I moved from there (to get back with Melissa again) she was able to adjust to two other cats and a dog. No matter where we lived, Turkey stayed close to me most of the time. When I went to bed, she went to bed. Melissa and I split again. Then I fell apart. I hid it, but I was a mess for a few years.

My last week with Turkey was during a time in my life I am not proud of. I drank all my money. If I wasn’t drinking it, I was using other things. I noticed she had dropped weight quickly after having got out of the house and being gone for 24 hours. It happened in a matter of days. I was broke and knew we needed a vet visit. I decided to wait until pay day rather than borrow money from family or friends. I came home that Thursday, one day before pay day, and Turkey didn’t come to greet me. My heart sank. I went to all her usual hiding places calling for her. Nothing. Not a sound. There was one place left to look and I dreaded it… the basement.

Keep in mind that I was not in my right mind. I had tried to commit suicide the previous year, maybe the year before that. I stopped caring much about what was going on around me. The basement had flood problem. All the houses on my block had this issue. It was marshy ground and everyone had a sump pump. Mine didn’t work as well as it once had. The basement was finished on one half and had Berber carpet. It had been rainy, so the floor was damp and the carpet soaked and it stunk. I hated it. As soon as I started down the stairs calling for Turkey, I saw her. She was on her side laying just beyond the bottom of the stairs. She raised her head and let out a soft meow. Tears burst from eyes like a busted levy.

I should stop here and say that I wasn’t sure if I wanted to share this part of the story. The memory is very clear. I breaks my heart every time I think about it. After much thought, I decided it was important to share why I wasn’t sure if I wanted another cat yet. It is also why I sometimes get anxiety attacks when I think of losing Luna. It directly relates to why I treat her as I do and why losing my other cat Pepe still weighs on my heart and angers me when I remember how he passed. I’ll keep the rest of Turkey’s story short, because it is still difficult to “talk” about.

I called my mom and told her what was happening while I held Turkey in my arms. She gasped few times and died in my arms. I was destroyed. I told my mom I had to get out of the house. I couldn’t stay there. I put Turkey in a box and placed her on the kitchen table then I drove to my mom’s and spent the night there. I told her I couldn’t go back for a while and wanted to stay at her place for a time. I did return the next day and buried Turkey the backyard. I stopped by a couple of time to make sure nothing tried to dig her up, but I never returned to the house and eventually moved in with a friend. This was the roommate that moved out and led to my friend Amy moving in with her cat.

It was not long after Amy had moved in with Cat (Amy’s cat was named Cat), that Melissa called me to tell me the kittens were weaned and asked if I wanted her to bring me one. The litter had 2 gray females and my very first cat (that I considered mine) was an all gray cat named Speed. She had been my favorite cat (until Luna). I had discussed it with Amy and we had Melissa bring the two females.

When Melissa brought the kittens in we put them down on the floor and played with them for a bit. One of them was a runt and the most playful. Speed had been the runt. I always seemed to choose the runts from a litter… I felt like they needed someone. As we watched the kittens I looked at Amy and she nodded. She knew which one I wanted and she agreed. So it was that Luna came to be in my life. I named her Luna because the gray of her fur reminded me of the moon in a way.

Just like Turkey before her, Luna went to bed when I did. I was mostly concerned about leaving her to roam free at night without being sure how well Cat would take to her when they were alone. It wasn’t anything that I needed to worry about, but after my experience with Turkey I tend to be overly protective. It was better for Luna, too, to learn to sleep in my room when she was still so tiny. She learned to move if I moved in my sleep. The first time she sunk her claws in to my moving feet and woke me up, she learned not to chase them again. This impressed me because no other cat I had could avoid the temptation and I move my feet in my sleep all the time. We all know how the blanket game goes with kitties. Luna knows when I am playing and when I’m asleep and it’s just my foot doing its thing.

Luna was the smallest kitten I had ever had. She’s still small, though she’s 12 years old… 8 lbs., give or take a half. I can whistle for her. I had thought I could just whistle anything, but there are certain tones and even certain songs that I whistle she seems to prefer. Others she ignores and will give me that look of indifference cats are known for. It’s been me, her, and Pepe for the better part of the last 9 years. Amy, of course, was part of our lives, not once but twice. I also had a dog, Mia, but she bonded with Amy and we felt Mia was better with her when Amy decided to move back to our hometown.

I can be very protective of Luna. She has been my favorite from the moment I could hold her in the palm of my hand. She’s sweet, has a great personality, the softest fur of any of my cats, and very affectionate. The affection toward me has increased since we lost Pepe back in October. She noticed he didn’t come back. She used to look for him, but now we’ve moved so she doesn’t so much. She still meows when she is finished with the litter box, which I thought was her way of telling me she went to the box (that she never did before), but I’ve realized she’s letting Pepe know. He used to run to the box when she was done and do his business. I think they were watching for each other since in the wild they’d be vulnerable when they have to go.

My mental health has been much better the last few years. It helped me when we lost Pepe. It also helps me not panic anytime I think Luna is acting strange. Otherwise I know I would be running to the vet every other week. I know that some day she will have to leave me as well. I do not look forward to it, but I am prepared. I hope that she’s with me at least another 10 years. She is, after all, still my baby.