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How often when performing a rescue are we, in fact, rescued ourselves? So was the case, for me, over the course of this last week.
It was a Royal Flush of beautiful days, the first one equally as brilliant and sparkly as the day prior. Nearly impossible to stay inside for nary a second longer than to transfer the wet laundry into the dryer. Engaging enough to power wash the deck until the well went dry or cut the grass with scissors. Tempting enough to drag a mattress and sleeping bag outside as day turned to night. Anything to spend more time outside was easily approved, including Kola's frolicking eyes that begged for some together time on the Appalachian Trail.
Out we skipped with wings on our heels and magic in the air. This day felt extra special. A day that you wouldn't bat an eyelash if you got caught for playing hooky. It was day three, the queen of hearts, in this string of days. No through hikers, no slack packers, no day hikers. Just me, my dog and this effervescent day pregnant with momentum of burgeoning leaves and early spring flowers. The bird songs transported us through the Hundred Acre Wood of Camelot. Faster and faster we progressed like a hungry whale gathering krill soaking up nature's essence. The beauty as crisp as an apple fresh off the tree. Each dappled patch of filtered sunlight enticing our hearts to stop, look and listen.
Capturing this clip of majesty in a sensory bite of elation, my feet planted themselves on the forest floor. Kola scampered on ahead. The pierce of the blue bird, the caw of the crow, the song of the finch, the meow of the mocking bird. Daaaamn, I thought. That mocking bird has the cat call dooowwwwwnn. My head swung to the north to get a good look at the Elvis impersonator of the skies. From which tree was that white jump suit and full head of hair singing? Again, another meow. Scanning and scanning I wrapped my eyes around each arm and branch in the emerald glen.
There Elvis was,dressed in apricot fur and looking suspiciously like...a kitty. Forty feet high and 80 degrees slanted, kitty ran up this tree like it was a racetrack to safety. That's all well and good for the first two days which is precisely how long it had been since my previous visit through this corridor. I added approximately 357 pictures to my camera roll afterwards which we sat and chatted as Kola waited patiently for me by the stream. Kola knew that kitty needed some private coaching.
Our session went a little like this:
Meow. Meow. Meoooooow.
I know kitty. I can't be frightened or sad enough for you to make you come down. So, the deal I am going to strike with you today is that I am going to stay happy, centered and playful. With these thoughts comes the courage and support you need to make it down on your own.
Meow. Meoowwww. Meow. Meeeeeeeooooooooowwwwwwwww.
Yes, kitty. I know. But now you need to get your game on and back your stupid ass down the tree. I have faith in your will to survive!
In the past I may have considered a midnight vigil or hiring a tree climber or even going as far as cutting down the tree. But sometimes love means letting go. And with that I flashed a carefree, nonchalant grin, hugged the tree and joined up with Kola.
I posted kitty's pathetic mug on Facebook and texted kitty's picture to my friends who speak fluent cat. Upon returning home I baited my hook. Kitty's plight was gently jigged before my husband and twelve year old son. I let them decide for themselves how entwined they would permit their hearts to become. Bites of compassion were received as far away as Germany - everyone rooting for kitty! Yet where the rubber met the road was the adventure that my husband and I took as a team.
For the first day I took solace in the advice of other friends in high places, "When kitty gets hungry or bored or both, he'll come down." I tried to coax him down with an excruciatingly dramatic and noisy lid peel of Friskee's buffet. If I had a battery operated can opener I would have brought that too. Yet this 7 month old cat wouldn't have had an clue of this former cat magnet just as my children don't understand the allure of a book. The draw of the Friskies Buffet was my surefire Ace. Atop a mossy rock I sat the open can of food. I left with hopes of a vacant tree come morning.
For the second day, kitty still aloft, all hope was lost as busted myths filtered their way through the internet that, "Yes. In fact, cats DO die in trees." The reason you don't ever see a kitty carcass in trees is because their claws are only meant for climbing up. And unlike squirrels they cannot decend. They die, fall out or not and their carrion is consumed by flying or earth bound scavengers of the animal kingdom.
The third day, my king of hearts husband and I struck a deal. I took him to the emerald glen and within .002 seconds past the first meow he said, "I'll help you but we are NOT adopting another cat." Deal. We returned with the kitty rescue kit comprised of:
A square laundry basket lined with a towel, 100 feet of line, two 4ft. lengths of line, fishing rod with 70# fishing filament, 3 oz. lead weight, water, bowl, can of food and kitty crack - catnip stuffed Greenies.
The lead weight tied to the filament made it over the cat sitting on the arm of the tree. Kitty bit feverishly at the filament to fight for her balance. In addition, the circuitous route of the lead weight, careened through several other branches and obscured an easy path up which the basket could travel. Redo. I cut the weight free with my teeth. My husband pulled the line and filament back towards him. Again, he threw the weight up and over a somewhat lower branch where kitty had been sitting the day before. It was a perfect net shot, hitting the branch with just enough momentum to bloop right over the side and straight down. I traipsed through the pricker bushes and retrieved the lead weight to sister the filament and the heavier gauge line together in a fail proof knot. At the end of this line was the basket. Up, up, up it went filled with all the goodies. We waited for ten minutes. Yawn. So, home we went.
That afternoon on day 10 of hearts, I returned alone. I was not greeted with a plea for help. Kitty was fiercely dehydrated and dying a sleepy death. All of it's systems were shutting down. The sun shone on this beautiful animal and I was so sad. How could I reconcile this experience in my conscience? Allowing every soul their rightful path did not leave room to fall a tree on behalf of this foolish cat. And if we had played the chain saw card what would have prevented kitty's embarkation into similar conundrums? Yet how would I be able to pass by this tree on future walks without passing this site in deep remorse?
I asked for help. The memory of this story eased my sadness.
Only a week prior I was told The Story of Jumping Mouse. The deeply condensed version, in which I will not reveal how mouse got its name, goes something like this... The mouse wanted to leave her home to pursue her curiosity of a sound she heard far off in the distance. At first she was lead by raccoon to a great rushing river. This answered her question of the noise she had heard. Yet a greater question then formulated. What is the source of this river. Through the course of her journey she met many different creatures. Each of them taught her and brought her as far as they could. Some of them gave her advice, some of them gave her a ride, some of them asked for her help. To help soothe their woes, she helped both Buffalo and Wolf by giving each of them one of her eyes. She reached her destination blind but content. At the water's edge of the deep blue lake she transcended higher than she ever thought possible, she was eaten by, and could now see, through the eyes of Eagle.
Jumping Mouse translating into Stupid Kitty brought me relief. Jumping mouse got it's wish in a way that was even better than had stayed in the form of a mouse. Similarly, Stupid Kitty, may have been on a likeminded journey? Who's to know. Yet, what I do know is that I could not want more for kitty than it wanted for itself. I went to sleep with a heavy heart, doubting whether what I had done for kitty was enough to keep my regret at bay. If she needed to transcend into Eagle that would have to be okay. Confounded, my husband and I pondered why a cat wouldn't opt save it's own life and choose to die in the crux of a tree. Just before we drifted off to sleep our collective exasperation surfaced through his remark, "This is why cats don't rule the world."
The Jack of Hearts was Day Four. We saw the kids off on the morning bus and dreaded our obligation. As much as we wanted to turn away from the misery of the inevitable and walk the manicured lawns of Crawford Lane we hung a left and walked up and over the saddle of Smoke Ridge. Entering the trail head, lost in sadness, my mind fast forwarded to solutions as to how to set my Facebook post to rest. Entering into the opening of the glen, Kola was by my side. My husband, eager to see whether high doses of catnip had the desired affect, scurried up ahead. If dehydration didn't kill him the overdose of kitty crack very well may have.
Kitty was gone.
No. Correction. Kitty was in the basket, Houston! In silence, my husband held an ecstatic thumbs up high in the air. Neil Armstrong was coming in for his lunar landing. I squelched my inner paparazzi and hung back in the command module to steer the ship. Had I raced forward or let Kola out of my sight our mission would have been sure to fail. Slowly, so as not to rattle kitty back into the tree with a quiver of the basket, my husband nimbly loosened the line. The first three foot rapid decent gave enough margin for kitty to surrender to freedom. The remaining 37' was without commotion or turbulence. Lofting back to earth she made her smooth landing, leaped from the basket and scampered away. My relief expressed itself in heaving shoulders and silent tears of JOY. Minutes went by before I could take a breath as meows of thanks sailed off into the distance.
The Royal Flush of weather came to an end just as the basket lowered down to terra firma. Right there and then the rains came. How wrapped up I had gotten in demise and lack of faith. Regardless of the pictures of successful rescue I had transmitted to kitty, I had abandon my trust of a successful outcome. I had assuaged my sadness through legend of spiritual override. I had given up hope and settled for disappointment. As the forecasts of rain ranted heavy the dreaded outcome seemed to loom in the clouds.
All the fingers crossed on Facebook, texts of encouragement and calls for local assistance and suggestions increased the bandwidth of kitty's courage. Where I succumbed to doubt everyone else stayed strong. It was momentum of hope that brought this outcome around. Not only was kitty rescued, but also my understanding of faith, hope and trust as well.
It was a Royal Flush of beautiful days, the first one equally as brilliant and sparkly as the day prior. Nearly impossible to stay inside for nary a second longer than to transfer the wet laundry into the dryer. Engaging enough to power wash the deck until the well went dry or cut the grass with scissors. Tempting enough to drag a mattress and sleeping bag outside as day turned to night. Anything to spend more time outside was easily approved, including Kola's frolicking eyes that begged for some together time on the Appalachian Trail.
Out we skipped with wings on our heels and magic in the air. This day felt extra special. A day that you wouldn't bat an eyelash if you got caught for playing hooky. It was day three, the queen of hearts, in this string of days. No through hikers, no slack packers, no day hikers. Just me, my dog and this effervescent day pregnant with momentum of burgeoning leaves and early spring flowers. The bird songs transported us through the Hundred Acre Wood of Camelot. Faster and faster we progressed like a hungry whale gathering krill soaking up nature's essence. The beauty as crisp as an apple fresh off the tree. Each dappled patch of filtered sunlight enticing our hearts to stop, look and listen.
Capturing this clip of majesty in a sensory bite of elation, my feet planted themselves on the forest floor. Kola scampered on ahead. The pierce of the blue bird, the caw of the crow, the song of the finch, the meow of the mocking bird. Daaaamn, I thought. That mocking bird has the cat call dooowwwwwnn. My head swung to the north to get a good look at the Elvis impersonator of the skies. From which tree was that white jump suit and full head of hair singing? Again, another meow. Scanning and scanning I wrapped my eyes around each arm and branch in the emerald glen.
There Elvis was,dressed in apricot fur and looking suspiciously like...a kitty. Forty feet high and 80 degrees slanted, kitty ran up this tree like it was a racetrack to safety. That's all well and good for the first two days which is precisely how long it had been since my previous visit through this corridor. I added approximately 357 pictures to my camera roll afterwards which we sat and chatted as Kola waited patiently for me by the stream. Kola knew that kitty needed some private coaching.
Our session went a little like this:
Meow. Meow. Meoooooow.
I know kitty. I can't be frightened or sad enough for you to make you come down. So, the deal I am going to strike with you today is that I am going to stay happy, centered and playful. With these thoughts comes the courage and support you need to make it down on your own.
Meow. Meoowwww. Meow. Meeeeeeeooooooooowwwwwwwww.
Yes, kitty. I know. But now you need to get your game on and back your stupid ass down the tree. I have faith in your will to survive!
In the past I may have considered a midnight vigil or hiring a tree climber or even going as far as cutting down the tree. But sometimes love means letting go. And with that I flashed a carefree, nonchalant grin, hugged the tree and joined up with Kola.
I posted kitty's pathetic mug on Facebook and texted kitty's picture to my friends who speak fluent cat. Upon returning home I baited my hook. Kitty's plight was gently jigged before my husband and twelve year old son. I let them decide for themselves how entwined they would permit their hearts to become. Bites of compassion were received as far away as Germany - everyone rooting for kitty! Yet where the rubber met the road was the adventure that my husband and I took as a team.
For the first day I took solace in the advice of other friends in high places, "When kitty gets hungry or bored or both, he'll come down." I tried to coax him down with an excruciatingly dramatic and noisy lid peel of Friskee's buffet. If I had a battery operated can opener I would have brought that too. Yet this 7 month old cat wouldn't have had an clue of this former cat magnet just as my children don't understand the allure of a book. The draw of the Friskies Buffet was my surefire Ace. Atop a mossy rock I sat the open can of food. I left with hopes of a vacant tree come morning.
For the second day, kitty still aloft, all hope was lost as busted myths filtered their way through the internet that, "Yes. In fact, cats DO die in trees." The reason you don't ever see a kitty carcass in trees is because their claws are only meant for climbing up. And unlike squirrels they cannot decend. They die, fall out or not and their carrion is consumed by flying or earth bound scavengers of the animal kingdom.
The third day, my king of hearts husband and I struck a deal. I took him to the emerald glen and within .002 seconds past the first meow he said, "I'll help you but we are NOT adopting another cat." Deal. We returned with the kitty rescue kit comprised of:
A square laundry basket lined with a towel, 100 feet of line, two 4ft. lengths of line, fishing rod with 70# fishing filament, 3 oz. lead weight, water, bowl, can of food and kitty crack - catnip stuffed Greenies.
The lead weight tied to the filament made it over the cat sitting on the arm of the tree. Kitty bit feverishly at the filament to fight for her balance. In addition, the circuitous route of the lead weight, careened through several other branches and obscured an easy path up which the basket could travel. Redo. I cut the weight free with my teeth. My husband pulled the line and filament back towards him. Again, he threw the weight up and over a somewhat lower branch where kitty had been sitting the day before. It was a perfect net shot, hitting the branch with just enough momentum to bloop right over the side and straight down. I traipsed through the pricker bushes and retrieved the lead weight to sister the filament and the heavier gauge line together in a fail proof knot. At the end of this line was the basket. Up, up, up it went filled with all the goodies. We waited for ten minutes. Yawn. So, home we went.
That afternoon on day 10 of hearts, I returned alone. I was not greeted with a plea for help. Kitty was fiercely dehydrated and dying a sleepy death. All of it's systems were shutting down. The sun shone on this beautiful animal and I was so sad. How could I reconcile this experience in my conscience? Allowing every soul their rightful path did not leave room to fall a tree on behalf of this foolish cat. And if we had played the chain saw card what would have prevented kitty's embarkation into similar conundrums? Yet how would I be able to pass by this tree on future walks without passing this site in deep remorse?
I asked for help. The memory of this story eased my sadness.
Only a week prior I was told The Story of Jumping Mouse. The deeply condensed version, in which I will not reveal how mouse got its name, goes something like this... The mouse wanted to leave her home to pursue her curiosity of a sound she heard far off in the distance. At first she was lead by raccoon to a great rushing river. This answered her question of the noise she had heard. Yet a greater question then formulated. What is the source of this river. Through the course of her journey she met many different creatures. Each of them taught her and brought her as far as they could. Some of them gave her advice, some of them gave her a ride, some of them asked for her help. To help soothe their woes, she helped both Buffalo and Wolf by giving each of them one of her eyes. She reached her destination blind but content. At the water's edge of the deep blue lake she transcended higher than she ever thought possible, she was eaten by, and could now see, through the eyes of Eagle.
Jumping Mouse translating into Stupid Kitty brought me relief. Jumping mouse got it's wish in a way that was even better than had stayed in the form of a mouse. Similarly, Stupid Kitty, may have been on a likeminded journey? Who's to know. Yet, what I do know is that I could not want more for kitty than it wanted for itself. I went to sleep with a heavy heart, doubting whether what I had done for kitty was enough to keep my regret at bay. If she needed to transcend into Eagle that would have to be okay. Confounded, my husband and I pondered why a cat wouldn't opt save it's own life and choose to die in the crux of a tree. Just before we drifted off to sleep our collective exasperation surfaced through his remark, "This is why cats don't rule the world."
The Jack of Hearts was Day Four. We saw the kids off on the morning bus and dreaded our obligation. As much as we wanted to turn away from the misery of the inevitable and walk the manicured lawns of Crawford Lane we hung a left and walked up and over the saddle of Smoke Ridge. Entering the trail head, lost in sadness, my mind fast forwarded to solutions as to how to set my Facebook post to rest. Entering into the opening of the glen, Kola was by my side. My husband, eager to see whether high doses of catnip had the desired affect, scurried up ahead. If dehydration didn't kill him the overdose of kitty crack very well may have.
Kitty was gone.
No. Correction. Kitty was in the basket, Houston! In silence, my husband held an ecstatic thumbs up high in the air. Neil Armstrong was coming in for his lunar landing. I squelched my inner paparazzi and hung back in the command module to steer the ship. Had I raced forward or let Kola out of my sight our mission would have been sure to fail. Slowly, so as not to rattle kitty back into the tree with a quiver of the basket, my husband nimbly loosened the line. The first three foot rapid decent gave enough margin for kitty to surrender to freedom. The remaining 37' was without commotion or turbulence. Lofting back to earth she made her smooth landing, leaped from the basket and scampered away. My relief expressed itself in heaving shoulders and silent tears of JOY. Minutes went by before I could take a breath as meows of thanks sailed off into the distance.
The Royal Flush of weather came to an end just as the basket lowered down to terra firma. Right there and then the rains came. How wrapped up I had gotten in demise and lack of faith. Regardless of the pictures of successful rescue I had transmitted to kitty, I had abandon my trust of a successful outcome. I had assuaged my sadness through legend of spiritual override. I had given up hope and settled for disappointment. As the forecasts of rain ranted heavy the dreaded outcome seemed to loom in the clouds.
All the fingers crossed on Facebook, texts of encouragement and calls for local assistance and suggestions increased the bandwidth of kitty's courage. Where I succumbed to doubt everyone else stayed strong. It was momentum of hope that brought this outcome around. Not only was kitty rescued, but also my understanding of faith, hope and trust as well.
Ask Yourself:
What needs rescuing?
