Catatonic Bliss

The felines were not fish out of water, but on more than one occasion, it was the opposite. Our story of Thanksgiving begins in the rapidly cooling water of November. After the first of the cold fronts begin to rock and roll the Gulf into a maelstrom of breaking waves, a plethora of seashells, driftwood, and spindrift will always arrive on the beach; but other gifts of the winter season can bring much more unusual surprises.

The fishing charter was no more than a mile offshore when the captain and the passengers saw a disturbance in the water. The water was calm on the third day after the latest cold front, and although the Gulf was still on the move with a stubborn groundswell, the sight of a small splashing figure was something no one could ignore. Rising on the swell in the early morning light was a creature so out of place that everyone forgot about fishing.

Upon sighting the boat and the humans that were clearly agog and gawking, an approaching bobcat was determined to have a rescue. The swimming cat was heading straight for the charter boat and was clearly hoping to find a refuge from the cold offshore water.

The nearest land was Keewaydin Island and the shore was several hundred yards away, but after everyone did the silent calculations, it was obvious the soaking cat with the stripes and the spots had been in trouble and swimming for quite some time.

When the wild cat reached the boat, the captain hung a towel over the side and the drenched and clearly exhausted feline reached out and grasped the offered lifeline with long black claws that dug in tight. The waterlogged cat immediately offered a hiss and a display of very white, sharp teeth for his rescuers as he clung tightly to the rescue towel. Before any further wildcat profanity or behavior could clamber aboard, the captain dropped another towel over the clinging kitty and promptly, but slowly, drove the excited passengers and the rescued bobcat to the shore on Keewaydin. After the boat touched the sand and the covering towel came away, the cat, with occasional growling and hissing, scampered onto the beach and rapidly disappeared in the mangroves.

This narrative became even more compelling when the same scenario unfolded just offshore of Kice Island during another episode of November and Thanksgiving. On this wildcat rescue, the sodden bobcat tried to climb aboard until a quick-thinking member of the fisher folk decided a ring-bound net could have no better function than to contain the snarling, snapping, and hissing feline until she could splash ashore and disappear on dry land.

The peculiars and the circumstances surrounding the offshore wildcats remain a mystery, but the charm cast by any cat will always prevail when a feline is in peril. Kittens never fail to cast a charm, but when kittens in a loving home grow into the wisdom that only nine lives can provide, household humans can never fully contemplate the feline mind and the passion for comfort, thanks, and survival.

Cats in a loving home will sleep most of the day and most of the night, but most cats will be up and calculating during sunrise and sunset. The ability in which cats have to understand scent and smells goes to the molecular level, and when the sun begins to travel south and slant toward winter season, the exciting scents of Thanksgiving and the holidays will bring any kitty out of a nap.

Just as with the offshore wildcats who were determined to survive and to seek out humans for a waterlogged rescue, the intelligence of any cat can cast new borders on the realm of extraordinary.

Atticus came into the world on the week of Thanksgiving. He was born with his five siblings in the bedroom of a particular Beach Boy and Girl. Everyone knew Atticus was special because he was the only kitten with stripes. The stripes were not ordinary, but so tightly bound on the little wiggler with the flat ears and closed eyes that everyone who saw him reacted immediately: “Look at those stripes!”

Because he was clearly different and gifted with the art of sharing and negotiating his mother’s nursing stations, he was to become Atticus after the famous litigator in the classic novel To Kill a Mockingbird. When Atticus began to grow and observe his siblings depart and go to other homes, he did not seem to be troubled at all. In fact, he seemed pleased. Pleased that he could focus on training the two humans who were his new caregivers.

Over the seasons of open house and closed house and cold weather and stifling poolside jungle and thunderstorms that would make anyone squint with wonder, Atticus slowly but surely became more aware and much more intelligent than his human servants.

The male human was clearly not as clever, bright, or forthcoming as the female of the species. Therefore, Atticus focused on training the male first. The human male would become the provider of the essential duties and learn to provide five-star service with food, water, and kitty litter. The human female could then become a subject to be hypnotized into providing the creative aspects of bonding and cuddling.

In time and with cultivation, the humans would learn to share all of their food, love, and protection. The humans would submit, without question, to every desire and need—despite their poor understanding of a superior species. They would continue to learn and adapt to the changing feline desires, and they would share the very special seasonal turkey smells to prevent caterwauling and to promote the after-meal euphoria of Catatonic Bliss. The most important mission, however, for all cats everywhere—in a waterlogged emergency or not—is to continue teaching humans what to do next.