For Father’s Day
in 2011, our youngest daughter who was a student at UC Davis, and roommate with
several Veterinary school students, adopted a Bengal from the campus research
colony as a gift for her dad, who has been a “big cat lover” most of his life.
When I met my
husband, he’d wallpapered the study of his house with lion wallpaper, and we
made a special trip to pet baby lion cubs at Game Park in Bandon Oregon on our
honeymoon.
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| My husband cuddling a baby lion on our honeymoon |
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| Cuddling twin lion cubs on our honeymoon |
“Dad, this is
the closest you’re ever going to get to having a lion or tiger for a pet!” our
gleeful daughter announced.
A Bengal is a
cross between a striped domestic cat and an Asian wildcat. Their offspring
are known by F numbers. In most states it’s illegal to own a wild-domestic
cross that is an F1, 2, or 3. Our cat, a female, is an F4, meaning she is the
fourth generation descendent of the cross between domestic and wild.
Researchers
at the UC Davis vet school breed and study these colonies of cats. Bengals have
a tendency toward deafness, and when that occurs, those particular cats become
objects of continuing observation. A healthy hearing cat, on the other hand, is
adopted out from the campus, free of charge, and evidently to anyone who’ll
take them.
Our female
Bengal, who is a 7 pound runt (this breed is usually large 13-14 pounds and
very powerful jumpers) arrived with unsuitable name of “Tigger,” which did no
justice to her exotic origins or markings. We changed her name to the Persian,
“Malika” meaning Princess, because she is sleek and regal. She also has all the
instincts of a wild animal—to hide from anything she perceives as a predator, not
just the vacuum cleaner like most cats, but humans as well.
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| Malika, playing in wrapping paper Christmas 2011 |
Malika hid under
the quilt on our daughter’s empty bed her first month with us, then discovered
a rip in the fabric below the box-springs and hid up inside them for another
month. Since she never let us see her, I was often worried she’d somehow
sneaked out of the house and had disappeared into one of many hiding places in
our two acres of fenced-in yard. When we sealed the hole under the box-springs,
she climbed inside the back of our couch for another month, and I could rest
easy, seeing a small lump in the leather, knowing she was safe.
When she finally
came out from hiding, she came straight for Theo, a rescue we’d had 7 or so
years by then, a feral, who’d been much more easily tamed, since he was a
domestic cat way down the gene pool. Malika shadowed Theo everywhere; she pawed
on his belly and nuzzled her mouth against his fur as if she were nursing,
soothing herself to sleep. Or she grabbed his head and kicked him. Whatever her
action, snuggle or wrestle, he responded in kind: it was his nature to adapt.
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| Theo and Malika grooming each other |
When we moved to
Washington and built an enclosed cat yard our first spring here and installed a
cat door we thought Theo, who’d had years of experience, might teach Malika how
to nudge through headfirst. Instead, he mimicked her ineffectual pawing at the
flap while balancing on hind legs, an arduous process that didn’t always
produce results.
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| Theo and Malika sharing a cat perch |
Because Theo
loved us and cuddled in our laps, Malika would sometimes sit by our feet on the
couch or bed, but always out of arm’s reach, and if we leaned too far forward
to stroke her, she’d rocket away. It wasn’t until this January, when Theo died,
that Malika, after four and half years of living with us, came voluntarily to
my lap and allowed me to pet her.
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| Malik sitting just out of reach |
Not only did she
come to me for affection, she spoke to me all day long, loud, plaintive. She
missed the love of her life, and I was a poor substitute. Even though I was
laid up from injury and sitting much more than usual, I wasn’t what she needed.
Her cries told me so.
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| January 2016, the first time she came to my lap voluntarily. The zebra pjs probably helped disguise me! |
I thought we
might try being a one cat family for a spell; it’d certainly be easier to
remodel our house with one cat than with the 3 to 5 we’d had since moving to
Washington (two of those are “grand-kittens” who live with us for months at a
time). But Malika, rubbing against my wobbly legs, nearly tripping me while I
crutched around our house, needed a cat, a young malleable cat who’d look to
her, as she had to Theo for companionship.
And so I set to
looking at cat rescue websites and Facebook pages. I knew the second I laid
eyes on Theo’s online photo that he was meant to be our family’s cat; and was
waiting for the same zinging feeling. There was a little darling named Velcro I
thought was the one. My husband helped me into the car along with my crutches
and we drove to a pet adoption fair to find out Velcro was promised to a couple
who’d been looking for a kitten for a year.
But less than a
week later, I found a rescue near Tacoma that posted this photo along with the
message: “Hi, my name is Tux. I am looking for a forever home that has other
kitties. I am a little shy around people, but I love other kitties. Looking for
someone that will take me in as a buddy for their kitty, but won't care that
I'm not very much of a people kitty.”
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| Tux's Facebook ad |
And I knew Tux
needed Malika as much as she needed him. We brought him home two weeks ago
today, and call him Tuxedo because the extra vowels and syllables are easier on
the tongue, and I hope on the ear, as our new feline family member learns his name.
Tuxedo was a
feral rescued at three months and fostered for another three months in a home
with two cats. His foster family said he’d hide for a few days, which he did,
and so Malika was shocked to find another cat in the house with her when he
came out from hiding. After two days of half-hearted hissing and chasing, their
friendship began, and Malika quickly became the object of Tuxedo’s affection and
adoration.
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| Tuxedo enjoying a sunspot and computer cords |
At six months,
he is almost Malika’s size, and he walks alongside her, rubbing against across
rooms, down hallways, as though they’re one creature. Their camaraderie and
resemblance harkens to mind Dan Fogelberg and Tim Weisberg’s 1978 album Twin Sons of Different Mothers. Like
those musicians, these cats belong together.
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| New best friends |
Though feral,
Tuxedo is not wild; he has all the makings of a domestic housecat, lounging in
plain sight, looking at me as I call to him by name waving. He even allows me
to come within a foot or two before scuttling away. If I weren’t still hobbled,
he’d find me reaching under beds, sliding him into my warm lap, pressing him
beyond his comfort as part of my acclimation efforts. But with my immobility
comes forced restraint, and I suppose that works in Tuxedo’s favor, the relationship
developing on his terms not mine.
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| In sight, but out of reach |
In this
transition, Malika has decided, to my great delight, that I still must pet her,
and this is a conundrum for Tuxedo. He must be near her, even if it means
standing on my legs while I’m pinned under a bed quilt, carefully keeping his
body just beyond reach of my fingertips, leaping down when I squirm, his weight
is too much for my sore muscles. Most often, Malika jumps down to join him, and
they slink way linked like the Siamese cats in Disney’s Lady and the Tramp, without the bad attitude.
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Walking in step
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The voids in
their lives have been filled by the presence of another. Love wears a Tuxedo
and has come home to us.
