Kitty Condolences

Today I got a phone call from an old friend, Connie. She is an older woman (early 70s now?) that I befriended when I was working for a law firm in Manhattan. She and I got to talking one day when we were waiting for the subway train to show up. She shared that she was agoraphobic (fear of open spaces) and once the train started for Queens we realized we lived only a few short blocks from each other in Kew Gardens.

A few days later I saw her at the same train stop on a horribly rainy day. It rained so hard that the trains were delayed on our line. She wanted to stay and wait for the next train, but I asked her to come with me and we’d share a cab instead. I knew it was out of her comfort zone to do that (given her phobia), but she came with me anyway.

We became unlikely friends that day. She lived a solitary life with a cat, and invited me to her apartment that day we shared a cab ride. She lived in a charming one bedroom apartment that was meticulously clean despite the kitty. A few months after that visit, I saw her again at the train platform. She informed me with great sadness that her cat had passed away.

Not one to let that get her down, she said she was in the market for another cat. A few days later she called me at home. “You have to help me,” she cried. “I’ve adopted a cat and it’s just HORRIBLE but this cat won’t let me get near him enough to catch him and give him back.” I walked over to her apartment building and found the most feral cat alive trapped in her small tv room. It took me over 30 minutes in that closed off room to get that cat in the carrier Connie had ready. She was grateful for my assistance and doubtful she would ever adopt a cat again.

Several months later, as I mentioned just last week, our apartment neighbors found some stray kittens living in a hole in the side of our building. One look at Mini and she was mine. There were two siblings – a boy and a girl. They were PRECIOUS cats. Tara and Rob already had two cats and couldn’t take them (although we shared custodial duties with them while we looked for homes for the kitties).

On a hunch, I called Connie.

“I have two kittens, Connie, and they are sweet and cuddly and young and perfect for you.” She was doubtful, but I was insistent. “Just let me bring them by – if you don’t like them, I’ll find another home for them.”

From the minute I walked in her apartment with those cats, Connie was smitten. She immediately named the boy Beau and the girl Gigi.

That was about seven years ago (I thought it was more like nine years, but in my phone call with Connie today she informed me her cats were seven years old). Soon after she took in the cats, she was diagnosed with cancer. Her agoraphobia also got so bad she had to quit working once she was done with radiation treatments. So she spent her days in the apartment, with her kitties, forming a bond with those cats just as close as any mother to her children.

Connie and I lost touch once we moved to New Jersey in 2001. I would send her little cards every few months, just kind of checking in with her, as well as our year-end Christmas letter. Once we moved to South Carolina I figured that I’d never hear from her again, but I did send her a Christmas letter anyway.

And today she called. Sadly, she reported that Beau died back in July, of a urinary tract infection gone awry. She was also sad to report that GiGi is now sick, and Connie dreads taking her to the vet but knows it needs to be done. She began to cry on the phone talking about Beau – he was her joy. He was a cuddle cat who shadowed her every move in the apartment, but barely made a noise. GiGi is the performer – meowing constantly and preening whenever Connie has visitors. Also, Connie’s cancer came back last year.

She told me she loved our year-end letters and that our kids look darling. She said she hopes Mini is doing well (since she comes from the same litter as Beau and Gigi). I told her that the next time my family comes to New York City I *promise* I will set aside some time to go visit her.

It was a touching phone call, and my mission in 2008 is to send her a little note once a month just to let her know I’m thinking about her. She’s a sweet woman, and it’s the least I could do.