I’m not a cat person. I’m not even really a dog person. I’m a Pembroke Welsh Corgi person. Jimmy and I have been blessed to have four of these very special dogs as members of our family over the past 20+ years. I love everything about them.
I had a couple of cats earlier in my life, and I’m ashamed to admit I don’t even remember their names. Except for Moose. He was my first pet when I was a kid—a barn cat and accomplished mouser who liked to cuddle on occasion.
In this semi-rural area where we now live, there is always the feral cat of the moment. They come and go. When they start stalking our feeders, I hiss them away.
In late February of this year, I began noticing a black cat prowling around the woods on the east side of the house. It was little—way smaller than the typical feral who shows up here.
One morning I saw it ambush a starling—an unwelcome guest under one of our feeders. The cat pounced, tried dragging off this bird that was easily half its size, lost control of it, then pounced again, succeeding this time. As much as I didn't like this little thing killing birds, I was okay with one less non-native, invasive starling in the world.
I didn’t give the inexperienced hunter much more thought until March 9, when I saw it drinking out of one of the heated water bowls we put out for the birds. I got a photo of it through the kitchen window.
It looked up and saw me as I was taking the photo, and I felt sad for this little thing.
A couple of days later, we began hearing little meows coming from underneath Jimmy’s pile of pallets next to his woodworking shed. The pallets were covered by a huge tarp.
Oh boy, we’ve got a cat staying under here.
It didn’t sound like a mean-as-a-snake feral, and it wasn’t. It was the little black cat. It came out from under the pallets and started rubbing against Jimmy’s legs.
Oh geez. It’s not just a cat; it’s a tame, hungry cat. If it’s female and we don’t do something, we’ll soon have kittens under these pallets.
From that moment, this little thing wouldn’t leave us alone. Every time I took Duncan out, the cat came out from under the tarp. Having never seen a cat, Duncan went nuts. Not mean and snarly. Just hyper.
It wasn’t long until we caved and put out food. I’ve never seen an animal be so grateful.
This was no feral. Feral cats don't roll around on the ground in front of you and show you their belly.
This was a very friendly stray.. Was it lost or dumped here? It couldn’t have been on its own for long.
Oh God, I don’t want a cat. Litter boxes. Cat urine. Biting and scratching. Jumping on everything. And Duncan. He’ll never tolerate this. No, no and no. We have to find it a good home.
Our neighbors Linda and Stacey both agreed this little thing would make someone a nice pet, but they already had cats. And we couldn’t even figure out if it was male or female. Yes, I had to Google it. And yes, it was a female, which made me even more anxious.
We had to get her inside so we didn’t end up with kittens. So we lured her into the basement with a smelly can of cat food from the dollar store. I picked up a disposable aluminum roasting pan and made a litter box out of it, and provided food and water. We set up Duncan’s mobile dog crate with an old towel and propped the door open. Kitty would stay in the basement until I could get a rescue to take her.
I called the local Humane Society, and they were full. It was “kitten season” and, as a no-kill shelter, they couldn’t take in any more cats. They gave me the names of eight cat rescues, between here and Harrisburg. I called four that were within reasonable driving distance, and none of them returned our calls. I’m not dissing them. They’re just overwhelmed. So was I.
I went downstairs to check on the cat after making the calls and texting friends and family for ideas on how to find a home. As soon as I opened the basement door, she ran up the steps to me. I had a seat on an old patio chair and looked at her.
Where did you come from, little one? Why are you here? Why us?
I bent over and decided to pick her up. That’s when it happened.
A soft rush of warmth spread throughout my body as I put her next to my chest and I heard her purring for the first time.
I fell in love with her.
I woke up the next morning with clarity, and talked to Jimmy about changing the plan. We’d keep her and move quickly on getting her shots and getting her spayed. We’d figure it out with Duncan. He doesn’t have a mean bone in his body, so we’d make it work. Jimmy agreed.
And he decided we’d name her Macie—the name we’d reserved for our next corgi.
We moved Macie upstairs to our new laundry room, made her very comfortable and kept her there, away from Duncan. I removed four engorged deer ticks from her and wiped her down with flea treatment.
We decided they couldn’t meet until she had her first shots. Duncan’s veterinary hospital recommended a place in Clearfield, about 45 miles away, that specializes in strays. They take walk-ins for vaccines.
We drove to Clearfield, with Macie sitting on my shoulders for most of the ride. She wasn’t freaked out in the least. All she wanted to do was be with us. The technician administered her rabies and distemper shots and checked her for a microchip. There was none. Macie was officially ours.
I nicknamed her Huggles because this cat literally hugs you. In the morning, she jumps up on the counter in the laundry room and sticks out her right paw toward my shoulder. I pick her up, and we hug each other.
Macie did the same thing to Courtney, the vet tech who handled her at her first local appointment. The young lady opened the cat carrier, and Macie put out her paw and crawled up onto her chest. “Oh my gosh, look! She’s hugging me,” Courtney laughed. Yep. That’s Huggles.
Introducing Sir Duncan to Macie took some work. He was out of his mind with hyper-curiosity at first. So we kept him on a leash in the house with her and took it slow. We did obedience training with him, using treats and with Macie in the room. It started working; he quickly focused on earning rewards and seeing Macie as less and less exciting.
Brother and sister training was delayed when Macie went into heat twice, and then for three weeks after she was spayed and recovering.
On her first night after the surgery, I slept with her on a cushion and blankets on the floor of the laundry room to be sure she wouldn’t slip out of the e-collar and bite her sutures. She curled up next to me and slept, only stirring twice the whole night.
Macie and Duncan are now indeed brother and sister. She torments him and he falls for it, every time. They also ignore each other and lie down together. When I see them nose to nose or just chilling, my heart swells. I think Duncan needed her.
At least twice a week, we still wonder why this little girl ended up here. My stepdaughter Nikki and our neighbor Andrew both say that my mom sent her to us.
At first I thought, no way. Mom really, really didn’t like dogs and cats. She used to roll her eyes at me when I’d go on about the corgis.
But, curiously, she was always the one who comforted me and let me sob my guts out when one of our beloved corgis went over the rainbow bridge.
I really do believe that Macie was sent to us. Maybe Nikki and Andrew are right. Maybe Mom did send a little stray cat to us who wants nothing but to be with us and to be loved.
Macie has taught me that our hearts have an endless capacity for love. That’s a lesson I am more than happy to learn right now.
She is asleep in my lap right now as I finish writing this post, just as she is every night at this time.
Sleepy little girl, I want you to know this: just as we will with your big brother Duncan, we will love you all the days of your life and beyond. And there is nothing we won’t do for you.
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