Meet the Chef

Petey’s Story

Our life together began when he appeared at my White Oak townhome in 2007, around the time my black Labrador “Miss Walker” passed. I would see Petey out in the woods through the picture window of my office, so striking in pattern. Most likely born at the resort’s Housekeeping Dept, where cats matching his appearance lived, he probably migrated across Wintergreen Drive to stake out his own territory. Of course I started setting food out for him, though he kept his distance and waited until I closed the front door before coming to eat on the landing.

My Jackie cat had shown up just a few months earlier, on a cold rainy night, crying, hungry, with an upper respiratory infection. Jackie was somewhat domesticated and quickly settled in for what would be Miss Walker’s final months. I hadn’t had a cat in 30 years but Jackie was such a blessing during that time so it seemed meant to be. But how could it be that a second cat appeared so soon?

I had no idea if Petey and Jackie had met nor what would happen if they did, since they might not want to share White Oak. I tried to only let Jackie out when the coast was clear and I could accompany him but after several weeks of this cat and mouse game, or “cat and cat” in this case, I decided it was time to find out if these two could co-exist. With Petey sitting on the bank in full view and knowing I could intervene if needed, I opened the door to let Jackie out. As I held my breath, Jackie walked directly and nonchalantly towards Petey, they started scratching a log together and rubbed up against each other…they were already friends!

I was, unsurprisingly, even more determined to give Petey a home too. I had a cat door installed in a floor level window and soon started training Petey to use it by setting food just outside the opening, then on the ledge of it, then just inside it with the flap door clipped open, and finally to push through the closed flap. Regular meals are a great training tool and it was winter so I hoped he would start sleeping inside. Petey would wait until Jackie and I had retreated to the bedroom and closed the bedroom door before he would come in the condo, then he made sure to dash out as soon as we were up and moving. This suited us all pretty well while Petey slowly learned that a domesticated life might have it’s benefits. He’d come closer and closer but not quite close enough to reach, then eventually tolerated a bare whisp of a touch. This process required a level of patience I rarely muster in other areas of life, but gaining the trust of an animal is my greatest joy so it inspired me to dig deep. When I had Petey’s attention I’d pretend to pet him by making the motions with my hands in the air, talking softly to him and blinking my eyes, which in cat language means you’re not a threat.

Yet by the time I sold the townhome and bought a house in 2008 Petey was far from ready to be relocated. I was essentially an inexperienced cat person at this point, I hadn’t embarked on my cat trapping “career” nor learned about shy/feral cat behavior. I just hoped it would work out. Yikes. I couldn’t pick Petey up or really handle him so I cornered the poor guy in my office and wrangled him into a carrier. I kept him in my bedroom that first night in the new house and it was dreadful. He cried all night and scratched the wall under the window. Those scratches are still there and I’ll treasure them as long as I possibly can.

Many un-socialized cats that have mostly lived outside are miserable being locked in. Petey was so distressed being stuck in the house I had to eventually let him out. He didn’t stick around long. As I now know, cats like him are bonded to place more than person and I was not fully his person yet. He would go on “walk about” for days before I’d find him in White Oak, where he was the master of his domain. He knew the drainage/culvert system there like the back of his paw. He could travel from the lower level all the way to the turn at White Oak Dr. And so started an almost 10 year cycle of Petey going back to White Oak, 1 ½ miles away, and me searching for him. Over and over and over, more times than I could possibly keep track of. More so in warmer weather than winter, as if he was taking himself to “summer camp.” Sometimes I swear he’d look at me as if to say “just bring my food here… and maybe pitch a tent for us.”

One Such Story: A Reclamation of Petey: July 2008

Petey had not been seen for two full weeks…until last night. Driving down from Devils Knob just after 10pm, I spotted him sitting beside the road right below the Wintergreen Overlook. I immediately turned around, parked at the overlook and started calling. As always, he started “talking” back but also as always, was reluctant to come too close right away. Apparently the feral side of his brain takes over from time to time, he’s compelled to go on long walkabouts for hunting/exploring and as long as he’s still outside, he acts with a great deal of caution. There was a fairly steady flow of traffic, including passersby who stopped to see if the lady standing at the edge of woods (me) needed help. It became obvious that I was going to have to wait til later in hopes that the busy stretch of road would quiet down. I raced home, changed clothes, grabbed a can of tuna, Laughing Cow cheese, the box trap, the crate, Jackie cat (outfitted in his harness with leash) who works wonders in attracting Petey to come closer, a blanket, tarp, water, etc and headed back to the overlook to set up camp. I was going to stay as long as it took. The almost full moon provided great light but also attracted visitors to the overlook, so I bided my time, constantly talking with Petey to make sure he stayed nearby til we had the place to ourselves. I put food in the trap and set Jackie up in his crate butted up to it. I covered both with a tarp, hoping Petey would venture into the dark tunnel to see his brother and the trap door would shut behind him. I think he’d gotten too familiar with the trap so he didn’t fall for that. A police officer drove by and turned his spotlight on to investigate my abandoned vehicle. Of course he pulled in so I headed him off at the far side of the parking area and explained what I was there to do. I told him he should just go ahead and tell the other officers on duty that the “crazy cat lady” might be at the overlook for several hours. Next I decided to try just lying on the ground to see if, over time, Petey would come close enough that I could pinch the scruff of his neck and pick him up. He would come within about 4 feet and roll around, or knead the ground, as if he was kneading on me the way he likes to. He would rub against my feet, just out of reach. At one point he let me pet him but as I started scratching his neck in preparation for picking him up, I managed to pop off his breakaway collar by mistake (the one he’d managed to keep on for 2 weeks in the wild) so he scampered away in alarm. I decided to try setting treats on my legs so he would be drawn to the perfect position for me to pick him up with my free hands. As I lay there “baited” with tuna and cheese, relaxing and contemplating taking a nap, it occurred to me that bears might also be attracted to my body buffet. So much for napping. Staying alert, with my elbows bent close to my head, I enjoyed a small section of the bright sky filled with stars and pondered how this latest expedition to retrieve Petey was going to go. All of a sudden, I saw a shooting star, start to finish, centered in the narrow window between my elbows. I decided it was a sign that all would be well. Not long after, Petey crawled up on my lap, I calmly petted him then picked him up. He relaxed and let me lower him
nto the crate without a peep. I loaded up both cats, all my supplies and happily headed home at 12:45a.m.

Jackie was such a good sport about it and bless his heart, just as I was backing into the garage, he started heaving as he usually does from car sickness. I managed to pull him onto me just in time to receive a huge warm pile of his supper on my lap. Oh well, better me than the car seat?! Petey was very happy to be home, running from one feeding area to the other to devour their contents and following me like a puppy, weaving around my legs. When I finally made it to the bedroom what a sight I was in the bathroom mirror: hair poking out in all directions with mulch stuck in it from lying on the ground, bug bites on my head and neck, tuna + cheese + regurgitated cat food on my clothes and a big smile of relief on my face.

Petey is not skinny from his adventure so he was apparently finding food somewhere, but he has luxuriated in the comforts of home today and the company of his brother. The writing of this email has been interrupted 3 or 4 times by his jumping in my lap and wanting to be held like a baby, kneading my chest with his paws. And just now, another first, he curled around the back of my neck and perched there for a bit, grooming my hair.

Another Homecoming: June 2011

Petey cat had been gone for a full month. A record breaking walk about I was not happy for him to achieve. With my intense schedule the past several weeks I’d had precious little time nor energy to look for him, or “envision” him coming home on his own. It was midnight as I returned to Wintergreen, after a 2 day visit to see my mom, with a bad cold, exhausted mentally and physically but somehow with a feeling of hope that I might find Petey. I said to myself “that would be the grandest homecoming for me after such a draining trip.” I checked out White Oak where we used to live and with no sign of him I almost gave up, but felt compelled to drive up towards the Wintergreen Overlook. I drove slowly, looking carefully along the shoulders of the road, right and left. As I turned around to head home, I still had an open mind that I might come across him as I retraced my route. And just at that moment….there he sat, in the middle of the service road for the water tower, “Water Works” road, as if it was a pre-arranged pick up.

But with Petey it’s not a matter of going over and picking him up. When he’s been away that long he partly reverts to the feral cat he used to be. He would not answer my calls at first and I realized, he had not “talked” in a month and had to find his voice. After a few minutes he started responding but it took over an hour of talking with him, while sitting on the asphalt in my capris and short sleeved t-shirt in the cool mountain air, with my runny nose, but a heart full of hope. “Sweetie Petey,” “Petey Petey Kit Kat,” “suppertime,” filled the air over and over and over with various cries of reply. He started his routine of circling around me but keeping his distance. I took mini breaks by enjoying the spectacular night sky and when I saw a shooting star I knew all would be well. After seemingly endless rounds of talking and throwing treats I still could not get close enough to pick him up. I decided to go home and get a “drop trap” and warmer clothes but as I walked down the road towards my car Petey ran in front of me, blocked my path and rolled over and over, as if to say “Mommy don’t leave me!” We went through this routine 4-5 times, each time I headed back up the service road to keep him away from the main road, and tried the food and sweet talk over and over. And each time I tried to go to my car to leave he would race in front of me, throw himself down on the ground and roll back and forth, blocking my way. Finally….. he rubbed up against me, let me pick him up and he collapsed in my arms. An hour and 15 min after I first spotted him. I held him closely as I carefully walked back down to my car, somehow getting the door open and climbing in without losing him. And somehow driving home with him climbing higher and higher around my neck until I could barely see.

Since he’s been home he’s been even more affectionate than before, wanting to be held longer than he normally does, even napping in my arms. Kneading me and needing me. Our family is complete again and boy oh boy does that feel great. I attended a lecture Tues night at UVA by a cat whisperer of sorts. She spent quite a bit of time explaining coat colors. I’d never figured out what Petey’s coloring was called and now I know: a Piebald Harlequin Saddleback, Saddleback due to the saddle shaped black patch on his back. Plus he has a peace symbol of sorts on the top of his head. Now if he will just stay home and give me some peace of mind.

For all those who question why I didn’t force him to become an inside cat, I say “you try it.” Simply keeping Petey locked in the house was not an option. He made it painfully clear that he needed fresh air and some freedom to survive, even though his survival was endangered by that freedom. Of the many strategies I employed to keep him home, taking Petey for supervised walks did help. Since he almost exclusively took off after dark, I figured if I could get him exercise and fresh air at night he’d be more likely to stick around. And for me immersion in nature was a gift. The fresh night air, time to enjoy the moon and stars and the quiet detachment from electronics was intoxicating. We had some ground rules: no walking under 20°, only if a rain was “soft” and if it wasn’t too windy. The cats always seem to distrust high wind as it most surely affects their ability to hear potential predators and the leaves and branches that fall down must seem like an enemy attack. But otherwise, we’d go many nights a week, whether it was 11pm with snow on the ground or 1 am on a deathly silent summer night punctuated by hooting owls or distant trains. Except for Petey, this merry band of cats (at one point numbering 7) somehow knew the boundaries of our yard and rarely strayed. Yet on walks they seemed emboldened by my leadership, sensing I would protect them like a mother bear, so they were willing to expand their territory for these brief expeditions. Except for Piglet, who would steadfastly stay on the porch and cry because we’d all left him.

One night I needed to return a pitchfork I’d borrowed from a neighbor. I’d almost forgotten he needed it the next morning, now it was almost midnight and I was already in my PJ’s. “What the hell, who’s gonna see me?” I thought. So I put on my blue barn coat, balanced the pitchfork on my shoulder and said to the cats “let’s go!” We made it to the end of Timber Ridge without encountering a car or late-night dog walker and made the turn on Pedlars Edge. Determined to set the pitchfork by the neighbor’s garage before taking the backwoods path to my house, a favorite route with sections blanketed by moss, we were just 20 yards from turning off the road when a car came uphill. A Wintergreen police vehicle on patrol, oh dear. He slowed down for what must have been such a bizarre sight, a lady in PJ’s carrying a pitchfork and surrounded by 4-5 cats, walking down the middle of the road at midnight. I just waved with my free hand and slightly shook my head in embarrassment. I can only imagine what the conversation was back at the gatehouse.

Invariably I’d get in a busy stretch of work and be unable to walk Petey so he’d run off yet again. He rarely came home on his own, I’d have to go “Petey hunting.” But one morning after he’d been gone a day or two I discovered him in his carrier in the bathroom closet. He liked to sleep in the dark quiet cubby with the door propped open, perhaps it mimicked a culvert hiding spot in White Oak. But he wouldn’t come out and I sensed something was wrong. I moved the carrier to get a better look and could see some blood. I closed the door and whisked him off to the vet. He had 2 puncture wounds that matched up with a bite. He’d been attacked by something “large” the vet said but made it home and put himself in his carrier, as if he knew that was his portal to getting help. In his teens Petey injured a tendon in one of his legs, but after the recommended restricted activity he continued to be slightly lame which, from then on, curtailed his wanderings. A blessing in disguise.

For those who question why I’d bother going after a cat all those years who so clearly wanted his freedom I ask you to consider: once your children graduate and go on to make a life for themselves, why bother to keep in touch with them? Maybe check on them once a year to make sure they’re alive but otherwise just let them be. Of course that’s impossible for any good parent, and so it was for me. His need for freedom was strong but our bond was also strong, it was not an “either/or” it was an “and,” his need for freedom and the presence of our bond, co-existing in the perilous, stressful and beautiful way that it did. Sometimes the more ups and downs you go through with a loved one the stronger your bond becomes, as if those peaks and valleys forge unbreakable links that bind you even closer to each other. His running away made me work harder to keep him happy at home. His homecomings made him appreciate me more.

In his senior years he was steadfastly there for me and managed our household. He enforced a strict morning routine: wet food first, followed by fresh dry food in 2 locations, fresh water in all locations, and the litter boxes had best be scooped quickly too or I’d hear about it. He naturally expected to not only be fed first but would often leave his unfinished dish to partake of another cat’s before the most choice morsels were gobbled up. Like me, Petey loved cold water. He’d make a beeline for the water dish on the front porch on cold mornings, relishing that refreshing routine.

Vets and vet techs adored him. He was so sweet and compliant. Purring for anyone who attended to him, no matter what procedure, poke or prod came his way. So shy in most ways but he somehow learned to trust that humans were doing their best to care for him.

Several times a year, he’d ride in my arms up to Devils Knob to check mail, delighted for some adventure in his by now sedentary life, looking all around as I drove, passing his old stomping grounds. During the Pandemic, as all our worlds shrank, the space I’d created across the street “Acorn Park” was a treasured expansion of our space. I’d carry him across the road, set him down on the path to explore, then let him walk home for exercise.

During relationship challenges and breakups I’d often find perspective and peace by asking myself “if so and so (some guy) and Petey were hanging off the edge of a cliff and I could only save one of them, which would it be?!?” The answer was always Petey. When I returned home from running errands or working, Petey was always in the bed closest to the door by the garage, making sure he was the first to greet me. No matter how hard my day was or what stresses life brought, I knew once I held Petey in my arms all would be well.

As Petey lost his hearing and his eyesight diminished, we developed our own sign language. Open arms meant come, a wave of hand in one direction meant go that way, a single finger up meant “wait, I’ll be back in a minute.” He tuned into the movement of shadows and the feel of vibrations to discern those moving around him. As his world became smaller he clung closer to me. Sometimes he’d suddenly appear at my feet, startling me, but I reminded myself I’d miss that one day. It’s a cruel irony that as our furry family members age and their world becomes smaller, they depend on us more, strengthening our bond, just before it’s torn by their passing.

His epilepsy, ear infections and hyperthyroidism had been managed by meds. His interest in hanging on the front porch and back deck had continued, as did watching some TV, elephants were a favorite. His coat was still beautiful and smelled sweet, pure. And his appetite had remained robust, so when he barely ate that last weekend I knew something was up. A vet check revealed fluid buildup in his chest and then a veterinary cardiologist determined it was not heart related but very likely cancer. It was making it hard for him to breathe. They could remove more fluid but it would come back.

It’s not a tragedy when an 18-19 year old cat passes but it was traumatic to try and process the gravity of his situation and to make that monumental decision in the middle of major grocery shopping during an 80 hour week. But we’d had a nice day at home between those vet appts and I didn’t want to put him through any more procedures. It was a peaceful passing, with one of his sweet cheeks in one hand and a paw in my other hand. I explained that Jackie and Angus would greet him on the Rainbow Bridge, that he would surely see Miss Walker the black Lab, plus Bertha and Frenchie the horses, and could expect to see all my animal loving relatives who’ve passed and will look after him.

When an animal child passes, the grieving process can be quite lonely. Rarely do flowers or cards of condolence arrive at the door, much less casseroles of comfort. There’s seldom a service or celebration of life. And with a cat who by nature avoids strangers, there aren’t stories and experiences for friends to share and compare. A type of disenfranchised grief. The magnitude of the loss is lost on most who know you. Even when it’s your child of 17 years, the longest day-today close relationship of my life.

Yet I was blessed to have a friend show up at the vet’s office just after his passing, another who brought me flowers, several sent sympathy cards and messages, others made a donation to the SPCA in Petey’s memory and suggested the creation of a non-profit founded in Petey’s memory: Furry Friends Fund. Even though this grief feels more solitary than with Miss Walker, the dog who had as many or more human friends than I, it has been quite meaningful to have friends’ support.

It is surprising how painful it is to cancel the auto delivery of his favorite canned foods, to delete his picture and notes from the house sitting instructions, to see his stack of special bowls that he’ll never use again. Even finishing his story has taken months because it felt unbearable for “Petey” to no longer be on my to-do list. It all still seems impossible. Yet I know how very lucky I was to have my fine feline fellow for so many years, long past any notion of just 9 lives.