Cats, like women, usually pick the man.
Moreover, whenever a pet of the feline persuasion (wide-eyed, fluffy, and playful) saunters through the front door to take up residency, I’m hooked.
Occasionally, they literally drop out of trees.
For example, one fine morning I was exiting my apartment building in downtown Toronto, when a ball of fur bounced off a leafy green branch of a spreading oak and landed with a thud and a yowl at my feet.
Within seconds, the long-haired kitten was crouched up in a ball, in a state of shock.
What the?
I cautiously crept up close to the animal, and immediately spied blotches of blood on her matted fur coat.
Obviously the frightened kitty was still dazed from the impact of the fall - otherwise there may have been a fight when I scooped the adorable animal into my arms.
At this juncture, I dashed off to a phone booth, to search the yellow pages for the nearest Veterinarian.
A clinic on Davenport appeared to be the best bet, so I scrambled into my old gas guzzler, and headed off to get some professional help.
At the Vet’s, the staff was able to determine there weren’t any broken bones, just handful of abrasions that accounted for the blood splatters.
On the way home, I picked up a few cans of cat food and a box of kitty litter, in the event I was unable to locate the owner right away.
If fact, I pretty much made up my mind to adopt, if there weren’t any responses to notices I posted around the apartment complex.
I started to have my doubts the next day, though.
On every occasion that I tried to play with her (the vet confirmed the animal’s sex and approximate age) she’d cower a bit - and then - slink into the closet as quickly as possible.
Gosh, I thought to myself, having a pet that lacks the ability to be affectionate (and hides in the dark) isn’t going to be much fun (or very comforting).
Each day thereafter, I had to literally lift Sabrina up and set her down in the kitty litter box in the bathroom, to ensure her house training started up as quickly as possible in spite of the disorienting bump on the head.
Meanwhile, there weren’t any responses to the lost cat notice, I posted around the apartment complex.
But, one woman informed me that a few days earlier, she spotted a young child on the 19th or 20th floor of the building playing with a cat on the balcony.
Who knows, maybe the nasty kid tossed her over the side!
If that was the case, I would be reluctant to give up Sabrina (pretty name for a Calico with green eyes, eh?)
Meanwhile, there were a couple of developments on the kitty trail that looked encouraging.
One evening I was reclined on the bed watching TV when the cat stumbled out of the closet and made a shaky beeline for me.
I quickly scooped her up.
And. within moments, she was snuggled up to me purring!
After that, some of her unusual habits, fascinated me.
When I returned home and she heard the key turn in the lock - for instance - she'd dash over to the door to greet me like a dog would with their adored master.
And, she quickly got over traveling up North with me in a motor vehicle, much to the amazement of my friends.
Shortly after we were heading up the busy freeway, she would curl up in the back windshield to strecth out in the sun's lazy rays beating down from above.
Or, creep into my lap for a nap, as I maneuvered the vehicle in-and-out of traffic.
In contrast, when we arrrived at my small cottage property an hour or so later, she was inclined to scurry under the car and hug the front tire, as she stared wide-eyed at the unfamiliar terrain all around us in the country setting.
It wasn't long before she became accustomed to out-of-doors, though.
Within hours, Sabrina was chasing after birds and squirrels, and acting like she was the queen of the jungle.
At the crack of dawn one fine morning, I was pleasantly surprised to spy her making friends with a kitten born just a few weeks earlier on my neighbour's property next door.
Unfortunately, tragedy struck one day, though.
In addition to Sabrina, I was also the proud owner of a Husky.
As I toiled on the property each morning, I usually kept King at bay on a heavy-duty chain that gave him a wide birth to roam and play in without coming into contact with the cat.
In fact - over time - Sabrina pretty much fathomed on her own how close she could stroll by his territory without suffering any harm.
The clever feline!
One day, I was cleaning out the shed, when odd throaty growl rose up from the direction of the garden.
When I dashed outside to visually determine the source of the commotion, I was shocked to catch sight of the kitten trapped inside the jaws of the Husky, who was flailing her back and forth like a tiny rag doll.
As I scrambled towards the dog, I screamed out - "Stop" - at the top of my lungs.
King paid me no mind, so I was forced to grab his jaws, and try to pry the helpless kitten loose.
The powerful dog's grip was almost impossible to break.
After I succeeded in rescuing the kitty, I wrapped her in a towel, and jumped in my truck.
Within minutes, I was barrelling down the street in search of a telephone booth and phone directory.
By the time I happened across a stand-alone booth, it was obvious by the convulsions raging through the little pet's body that medical care was too late an option.
A few seconds later, the adorable kitten died in my hands, as I cradled her next to my warm body.
It may sound horrid, but - at this upsettiing juncture - I made the decision to bury the animal at a local cemetery.
And, though emotionally upsetting, I made a pact with myself not to disclose the death of the adorable pet to its owners.
Ultimately, I felt I was saving them from having to live with the horrific images, after-the-fact.
My heart just about broke when I heard the woman next door calling out from her porch later that morning:
"Kitty! Here, kitty kitty."
No, the animal would not be bounding up the steps in response to the call.
Did I do the right thing?
Meanwhile, gold and crimson leaves started to flutter down in the next week or so, as fall set in.
Ah, time to pack up, and shut down the property for the winter.
When I revved up the truck to head into town to carry out some chores, Sabrina hung back, much to my frustration.
So, I opted to go down to Main Street on my own, and return later to pick up Sabrina for the trek back home.
By the time I got back to the lot, light flurries were obscuring my visibility.
So, I hopped out of the vehicle, with the hope of quickly scooping up Sabrina.
Unfortunately, my beautiful cat was nowhere in sight.
Although, I searched high and low, I could not locate her in the usual places.
About an hour later, I was forced to consider the possibility that a driver happening by - spied Sabrina, thought she was lost or abandoned - and snatched her up for adoption.
No strings attached!
Needless to say, I was heartbroken for weeks afterward, when she failed to turn up in the neighborhood.
The unfortunate incident dredged up memories of my days at Rochdale College, for good reason.
When a student posted a notice in the elevator that their cat was "missing", an anonymous person scribbled an intriguing note on the flyer.
"The cat is not your cat. It is life's longing for itself." (Kahil Gibran)
Understandably, on that day, my ideas about pet ownership were transformed.
For good reason.
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