11-08-01 @ 4:04 am EST

I wanted to tell about the Humane Society when we went there. It was several days ago, but it's still fresh in my mind. It was so very SAD.

What had I expected? A big building with a LOT of rows of cages, lots of animals looking for homes. A few animals might beg for attention, a few might react with hostility due to abuse, the rest would probably just sit and stare numbly. I would look through the rows of animals and find just the right one for me.

The reality? You go to this small building way out in the country. To your left when you go inside is a big window with a door next to it, and inside you can see the cat room. (I never got to see the dogs, though I did hear them howling.) The cages on the other side of the room are maybe four by three, so that would make about twelve. There's a big huge black and white cat wandering around free, and his cage is open; he must be a mascot. He roams, he cleans, he eats, then he suddenly sees you staring in at him. He jumps up into the window and meows silently, and proceeds to pose and posture for your amusement. The rest of the cats haven't noticed you yet.

As soon as you open the door you can smell them. Cat urine, cat smell. It's not overpowering, but it's there. And IMMEDIATELY there's a reaction. Every cat, every single cat, runs to the front of their cage and meows loudly, some pacing, some scratching their papers, a few sticking their forelegs out, begging for your attention. Well, yes, there is one, a calico, who does not stand up at attention, but as soon as you walk over to her she starts letting out a croaking meow that shows she wants your attention just as much as the others. One, a large seven-year-old orange housecat, insists on grabbing your arm when you reach out for it, but it does not use its claws; it has very soft paws and doesn't even hurt you in its insistence. Above it is a cage of newborn kittens, fluffy and black. They mew and stare and reach for your finger just as much as their elders. The huge free cat lets you scratch him as well. You turn, and with surprise you notice there are cages beside the window as well. Not as many here; perhaps six or nine. These cats are begging for your attention as well. A family here--a mother and two older kittens, just brought in and dropped off, still shy but staring out at you. A large two-year-old black cat with a small head and slanted eyes near the top, letting out small nasal meows and reaching for your arm. Two six-month-old kittens vying for attention, knocking one another off the shelf. Nowhere is there a single hostile face. Every one of them wants YOU, and they want OUT of there.

It was SO HORRIBLE.

Don't get me wrong. The Humane Society, from what little I could see, was a decent place. The cats were well treated. A man came in to pet each of them. They had food and bedding and litterboxes. But they were all so desperate. My heart broke just looking at them all. I petted each one, but it didn't seem to be enough. As soon as you moved away, they would cry for you to come back! I petted the older cats, from one to seven years, and they were all so sweet. "Given up by owner." "Owner moving." "Owner has new baby." "Does not get along with other cats." This sweet seven-year-old cat with the soft paws. It's just impossible to believe someone would give it up because they're moving or it doesn't get along with the other cats or they have a new baby. So what? Can't they take it with them? Can't they keep the cats separated? Can't they just KEEP it away from the baby? Would it be so hard?

I know things are not always that easy, but seeing all the desperate faces in there, hearing the plaintive meows, seeing the paws reaching out not to claw me but to touch me and beg me to take them with me, I could never sympathize with somebody WANTING to give these poor creatures up.

I wanted to cry, looking at the adult cats. They're the ones with the least chance, IMO. The soft-pawed seven-year-old cat...I wouldn't be surprised if it ended up being given the needle. The little fluffy black kittens? They have it made; they'll be adopted, very soon, if they haven't been already. The five and six month olds? They have a good chance as well. The one and two year olds, not as good, but I cross my fingers for them. Maybe somebody will take in that big black two year old. I thought of Pepper when I saw it.

I don't feel so positive about the little gray tabby kitten though.

She was our first choice. In a cage below the croaky calico, down on the very bottom, in the corner; very easy to overlook. A tiny five-month-old stray. She greeted us at the bars with the sweetest meows, and boxed with my hand. She was the one. We had the woman take her out so we could hold her. I held her first, then Ma; she seemed frightened now, but still cute. Then the woman took her from Ma--and I didn't like the way she sharply grasped her by the nape. I know that cats are supposed to be able to take that. But she did it a bit abruptly, and I could never pick up a cat by the scruff. And what happened then?

The little kitten turned HOSTILE. She started hissing and growling and swatting. The woman, in an attempt to calm her down, just held her by the scruff even more tightly. Whenever Pepper got biting mad at me, I'd put my hand over her scruff and hold her in place, but I would never grasp the skin. This woman did, and she wouldn't let go; she was afraid of being bitten. I don't blame her for that. But I do blame her for grabbing the poor thing so harshly in the first place. That was probably what sealed it for the little creature.

The kitten never regained her friendliness, and the woman, without waiting for either of us to agree, put her back in her cage and suggested we try another one. The man who would pet the cats informed us that the kitten was "moody," but when the woman tried to offer her own excuse, the two didn't jibe. I sensed she was trying to cover for herself. She made an attempt to blame dog smell on it, as she'd just been handling the dogs. Or maybe the kitten was afraid of the other cats. Or something. I didn't believe any of it.

And the kitten? She was back in her tiny cage, HOWLING. CRYING! So loudly. When I went to look at her again, she stood up and stretched out her arms, just about sobbing to be let out again. I could literally sense her thinking, "Oh God, I made a BIG mistake! PLEASE give me another chance!!"

She was still hostile and on edge, though; no more sweet meowing and gentle boxing. I stared at her with sorrow. I really did feel that she felt she'd made a horrible mistake, and she knew what it could mean, if the woman told others how unfriendly she was. Would ANYONE ever adopt her? Probably not. Who wants a mean cat? I started praying for her immediately. Please God, let somebody find this kitten to be the right one for them. Let somebody take her away from this place.

This is horrible, my eyes are getting wet as I think about it...

So we had to turn our backs on her. The other cats still cried for our attention. We focused now on the other side of the room, on the small family and on the two siblings housed just above them. Ma was interested in the family, but I insisted they were too shy; who was to say they wouldn't STAY that way? I wanted an active cat. I examined the warring siblings. One a shorthair, black and white; one a longhair, orange and white. The black and white would jump up on the shelf to face us, and then the orange and white would knock him off and take his place. They were eager, but not in a pathetic way as most of the others were. (But then again, as soon as you faced them, the others turned from pathetic to friendly and happy...that is, until you turned away from them again.) These two were young and active. We didn't want a longhair, and at this point it looked as if the B&W was it. I hated separating them though, being littermates and all.

"You know, though," the woman said, "when people see an animal in a cage all by itself, they tend to feel sorry for it and adopt it more readily."

That true? I have no idea. I just know I thought of the forlorn gray stray again. Most of the cats in here were in cages by themselves, but I doubted many would be adopted before it was too late.

Still, I thought of the newspapers plastered in the front room, with rows of pictures of animals wanting homes, and beneath almost every one of them, especially with the kittens, was the hand-printed word of hope, ADOPTED...

We finally selected the B&W male, six months old. He was incredibly happy to be out; I just realized I never got the see the reaction of his poor sibling. We put him in a box, which he didn't like, but he didn't grow hostile. What of the other cats? By now, they had all fallen quiet. They stared at us as we prepared the kitten to depart, and they KNEW. They knew that they had not been chosen, yet again, and they had to wait for the next time. If there was a next time.

I took a last look at the stray. She sat far back in her cage, out of view from the main part of the room, staring silently at me. She no longer cried or begged for attention. She knew she had made a mistake, and her payment was being left behind by the people who could have saved her.

I know...we couldn't deal with a mean cat. But I felt, feel, so sorry for her...and for the rest...

We got home and I opened the box and a little black and white head poked out. Within minutes he, Cosmas, was walking around the house, rubbing things as if he owned them. That first morning after I went to bed he tore the place apart. He's a jumper, too; every other minute here I am, fetching him down from something and scolding him. But so far--fingers crossed--he's one of the lucky ones.

...I'm still praying for all of those other cats I saw, ALL of them, to end up saved, in their own safe havens, where they don't have to beg for attention as if their lives depend on it...which they do.

((not proofread))