Conversations with Cats

I don't know about you, but I talk to my cats, and I'm pretty sure that they understand a lot more than most folks think they do. I know for a fact that they understand "Get off the table" very well indeed, since when I say it, they immediately jump down. I'm also sure that they understand "Stay off the table" and simply choose to ignore it. Cats practice what I call Selective Listening. I think they understand a great deal of what is going on in the house, but are very selective about what they acknowledge.

Willful, that's what cats are. And Stubborn. And Contrary, sometimes. But, of course, their defining characteristic is their legendary Curiosity. They like to know what's going on, even if it's none of their business -- especially if it's none of their business. If Carol is wrapping a present for someone, the cats are right there overseeing the whole process. If I'm slicing vegetables for soup, the cats have to stop by from time to time to see how I'm doing. That must be the reason, since they certainly don't like vegetables, except for Cat Grass.

As an example of Contrary, my cats will drink water out of anything except their own water dish. Carol always keeps a plastic pitcher of water on the kitchen counter to use for watering houseplants. The cats love to drink from that pitcher. One time we bought a little fishbowl and put some of those blown-glass fish in it as a decoration for the cocktail table in the living room. That bowl soon became their favorite place to drink. So much so that ultimately we removed the little glass fish and now just keep it, there on the cocktail table, filled with fresh clean water for their convenience.

The question I most often ask the cats is: "What?" One of them will walk up to me, look up and make a little sound. "What?" I ask. The default answer to nearly every question I ask them is, "Feed me." For Quint, though, sometimes the answer is, "Play with me." For Hedge, the answer is often, "Hey, there's a cat outside the in the yard. Come over and see." Ebony, who is deaf, mostly says, "Feed me NOW," though, of late, I've occasionally had him just walk up to me to say, "Hello."

There is one thing both Carol and I always tell them as we are leaving, whether it is for a shopping trip or for a weekend get-away, and that is: "Guard the house." Laugh, if you will, but it has worked. We've not been burgled since we've had the cats policing the house. I also think it's good for the cats to have something to do when we're away, something useful and helpful. It keeps them busy and productive. The best part is that they don't have to do anything that they aren't already doing. Guarding the house, for cats, mostly consists of checking all the doors and windows regularly, and they already do that. If they're on guard duty, though, it gives their normal activities a bit more purpose which is very good for their self-esteem. However, now that I think about it, I've never really seen a cat with a self-esteem problem. Still, I like to think that giving them a job while we're away is good for them.

When we get home from wherever we've just been, we always acknowledge them for a job well done. I know it always makes me feel better to get praised for doing something well, why should cats be any different? A little, "Well done, guys!!", takes so little effort and, yet, if it makes your cats feel better about themselves it is worth it. If you add, "Are you hungry?" to that greeting, you'll likely receive a reply on the order of: "No problem, always glad to be of service. And yes, a little snack about now would go down just perfectly." So, talk to your cats, and give them a little tasks to do around the house. You'll all be much happier as a result.

Frank, the Gregarious Cat

I met Frank when Carol and I were living in Hollywood a couple of years after we moved to Los Angeles from Colorado. The house we were in at that time was in a lovely little neighborhood within walking distance of Griffith Park. There was a large avocado tree in the back yard which meant that every other year we had about as much guacamole as we could eat. I loved that house. The owners lived in San Diego and were wonderful people.

Frank found us and the next door neighbors at about the same time, and, for awhile, both families were feeding him. He was an orange and off-white cat with beautiful markings, but what really made him special was his personality. He had an ability to make friends instantly with anyone, including other cats and even most dogs. He was fearless and so full of self-confidence that he was not intimidated by anything. He was just one of those animals that assumed everyone would like him and operated on that basis. Friendly. That's what he was. Friendly.

I'm not sure why we won the battle for his affections, but eventually he moved into our house and we adopted him. He fit right into our household which already included two cats, Max and Müss. Frank and Max soon became best friends. Frank, though was a free spirit and would roam around making new friends and visiting old ones. When people would go by with their dogs, on a leash of course, Frank would walk right up to the dog and go nose-to-nose with it. The dogs never seemed to mind. Frank just wanted to say hello and the dogs were okay with it most of the time.

When we had to move from that house to where we live now, it took awhile for Max and Müss to adapt to their new environment. Not Frank, though, he immediately went around and introduced himself to the neighbors. Everybody loved him, even the people who didn't much care for Carol and I. People would stop on the sidewalk in front of our house and wait for Frank to come out and say hello to them. Some people were known to make a special trip just to say "Hi" to Frank. He made himself useful, too. He kept the birds from nesting in the eaves of one of the neighbor's houses, which the neighbor told me he appreciated. He was perfect.

He took to roaming a bit too far, though, and that proved to be his downfall. When he took up visiting the neighbors on the other side on the street, his fate was sealed. One evening I heard screaming coming from the side of the house. It was Frank. He had been hit by a car and every time he tried to move his back legs he would scream. We rushed him to the emergency veterinary hospital since our regular veterinarian was closed at that hour, but all they could do was make him comfortable. When we moved him over to Highland Park Animal Hospital the next day, we learned that his hip was broken and was pinching his sciatic nerve when he tried to move causing him extreme pain. Every time I heard him scream, the sound went right through my heart. The wonderful people at Highland Park referred us to the Animal Specialty Group. We took him there to see if they could help us. If they couldn't, it was likely that no one could.

I was working as a sort of paralegal at the time and had to run around during the day getting signatures on contracts and legal documents for a case I was helping with. All the while my attention was on how Frank was doing. I kept hearing that scream and my heart would ache and the tears would well up in my eyes. It was one of the worst days I've ever had. I got the signature I needed, knocked off for the day and went to visit Frank. The vets at the Animal Specialty Group had decided that they would try to fix his hip. I talked to him before he went into surgery. He tried to crawl towards me and there was that scream again. I told him to hang in there, that the surgeon was going to try to fix him.

He didn't make it. As soon as they put him under the anesthetic, he gave up his little body. They spent a consider amount of time and effort trying to revive him, but he'd already gone by then. I'm sure he just wanted to be free of that pain. I wanted that for him, too. Still, it broke my heart when I got the news. It breaks my heart still today. It is very difficult for me to even tell this story. The people at the Animal Specialty Group were angels. They went to extraordinary efforts to save Frank and I am grateful to them for their efforts. After all they did, they never even sent me a bill, only a lovely, heartfelt card to express their sympathy.

Time has helped to heal the heartache I can still feel from the loss of Frank, but I have Quint now, and he has all of the best characteristics of Frank and more. And I have Hedge, who has grown up into a sweet, handsome fellow who makes me smile with his antics. Finally, for contrast, I have old, grouchy Ebony who loudly informs me that he's hungry several times a day. Life goes on, so the saying goes, and time does help to heal those old wounds, but I still miss Frank. Next to Quint, he was my favorite.

Help!! Vampires are Eating My Cats!!

After I brush Quint's teeth each evening, I then brush his fur. That's what I was doing last week when I noticed a whole lot of little black spots on his face. I wondered what he had gotten into and proceeded to brush his face to remove them. That's when one of them moved. Yikes!! He had fleas on his face. He's an indoor cat, how did that happen?

After I considered this quandary for a moment I figured that the fleas must have arrived with Ebony. The person who had been taking care of Ebony before he arrived at our house apparently hadn't been dealing with his fleas. When Hedge and Quint first arrived, I immediately had the vet give them all their immunization shots and dose them with a flea killer that also handled ear mites and intestinal worms. Since both of them had come to us from being wild outdoor cats, I suspected that they might be infested with any number of parasites. Ebony, on the other hand, had come from a household, and I wrongly assumed that any potential flea problem would have been taken care at his previous home.

For some reason, fleas don't bite me, but they do bite Carol. She had complained, a few days before my discovery, that she was getting bitten by something and suspected it might be fleas. This is California and there are fleas everywhere so I thought that her bites had, perhaps, come from fleas in the grass out in our yard. I just couldn't imagine that my indoor cats would be infested with bugs. They were.

This called for drastic action. I needed to get some flea killer immediately. The next morning I was scheduled to meet with a hair stylist who was working on fitting me with a wig for a TV role for which I had been hired. Since I had to drive to the San Fernando Valley to do the wig fitting, I also had planned to visit the final resting place of Room 8. I added a trip to the veterinary hospital to my schedule for that day, and picked up the flea killer before I drove back home. As soon as I walked in the door and put down my camera bag, I went looking for cats. I quickly found and dosed each one.

By the next morning, I saw a complete change in all three cat's behavior. I hadn't really noticed it before, but all the cats had been increasingly restless and rather frantic over the past few days. Now they were more relaxed. They were quite relieved to be rid of the vicious, six-legged vampires that had been feeding on them for the past couple of weeks. Quint and Hedge resumed their normal pattern, playing chase all morning, napping all afternoon. Ebony seemed a bit more relaxed, though still grouchy toward the other cats and very demanding of Carol and I. I gathered up all the towels and pillow cases that we use to cover the furniture to keep the cat hair at a minimum and ran them through the washing machine.

We're still seeing a few little jumping vampires around, but, as time goes by and they don't have any host to feed upon, they will die off. Next time we adopt a cat, I will not fail to make sure that any flea problems are handled right from the first day. Lesson learned.

Room 8, The Cat With Purpose, Chapter 3

As I continued my research into Room 8's history and legacy, I discovered a few unexpected and quite delightful treasures. One these was Roger Vargo. On one of my internet searches I came across Roger's website, Explore Historic California. There, I found a first-hand account of Room 8 from someone who actually knew him as a child. His story is filled with quotes from Room 8's surviving friends and a litany of extra-curricular activities whereby Room 8 reached out into the community and the world as an example of the best of human-animal relationships. I also found the Room 8 Memorial Cat Foundation, a no-kill shelter and adoption agency for special-needs cats in Riverside, California. The Historic Echo Park website has a short article on Room 8 which features a lovely photo of one of the students and the cat being entertained by one of his guitar-playing neighbors. He even has his very own Wikipedia entry. All this for a cat who passed on over 40 years ago.

Why does a little elementary school, hidden away in Elysian Heights, still celebrate the life and the accomplishments of a simple alley cat? How did such an unassuming little animal come to be so beloved, not just in his community, but around the world? What was there about this cat that endeared him to everyone who met him or even knew about him? Perhaps it's not just a quality in Room 8 that created this phenomenon, but a quality that all of us humans possess. Certainly, Room 8 had qualities which we humans admire -- loyalty and independence, certainly, but aloofness, too, and an ability to wordlessly express affection, distain, satisfaction and love. But what human quality caused the staff of the school to break the rules and adopt a cat? What need in all of us is fulfilled by such relationship? Do we have an inherent desire to nurture the helpless, to give shelter to the homeless, to adopt the stray animal, to return the baby bird to its nest, to rescue the cat in the tree. Perhaps we do.

Perhaps humans at their best are kind, generous, helpful, happy and loving by nature. If that is the case, then someone, or some cat, who needs help would appeal to the best in human-kind. Room 8, it would seem then, became the focus of this impulse to help and, thus, brought together a school and a community, the effects of which spread across the world via the print and electronic media. Room 8 got just what he needed, a very large, loving, extended family. His worldwide family in turn received the satisfaction of seeing the object of their help and affection go on to thrive and live a long, rich life as a result of their efforts.

It is a perfect example of what can happen when people get together with a common goal to do something good, good for themselves, good for Room 8, good for their city and good for their world. When your goals move you toward survival, toward a better life for yourself, your family, and your friends, it is very easy to get lots of other people to help you. That impulse to help, to do something good, is what Room 8 brought to Elysian Park Elementary School. That impulse lives on in the memorial etched in the concrete around the school, in the classroom where Room 8's story is read to students each year, in the Room 8 Memorial Cat Foundation, in Roger Vargo's Room 8 story on his website, and in every mention of Room 8 in articles and guidebooks. That is Room 8's legacy, that is why he came to Elysian Heights Elementary School. He brought out the best in his human companions, he enriched their lives, lightened their hearts, made them laugh and, then, left them to carry on his work.

The last thing I found in my quest for the history of this extraordinary cat was his gravesite. Room 8 was buried in Los Angeles Pet Memorial Park in 1968 after he passed away at age 22. I drove out there the other day to see for myself the final resting place of this remarkable creature. His monument stands in the middle of the well-tended cemetery, under some beautiful trees in Calabasas, California. It's a bit off the beaten path, but it was well worth the trip to find the ending place of the main character in this story. As I approached the stone, a sparrow, who had perched there, flew off into one of the surrounding trees. I stood in front of the stone and thought about all that I knew of this cat and was struck by how much joy and purpose this one animal had brought into the lives of so many people. I thanked him then, turned and walked back to my car. May the memory of Room 8, and the legacy he left, never die. The world is greatly in need of you, Room 8, now more than ever. So, thank you, Room 8, you've gained another fan. Keep up the good work.

Room 8, The Cat with Purpose, Chapter 2

I figured that my next step in my quest for more information about Room 8 was to find a copy of his biography, A Cat Called Room 8. I looked for it on the internet, but found only a listing with no copy for sale anywhere at any price. That was unusual. Very often, even a rare book is available for sale, though likely at a price I would be unwilling to pay. There didn't appear to be anyone willing to part with their copy at the moment, so I'd have to look elsewhere.

Los Angeles recently built a new library just a couple of blocks from my house. I had visited this new library on it's opening weekend and one of the most remarkable things about it was how few books there were. I was so disappointed that I didn't even bother to apply for a library card, seeing no reason to do so at that time. Now, I thought it might prove to be a source for the Room 8 biography. Again, I used the internet and searched the Los Angeles Library for the book. They appeared to be copies available, though the ones that were nearest were in the reference section of the main library in downtown Los Angeles. There also appeared to be a couple of copies available for lone from a branch library in the San Fernando Valley. I thought I'd try the library "hold" system and attempt to get the book delivered to my nearby branch. To do that, I'd need a library card, so I walked down to the new library, applied for and received my card. I took the card home, and using the number thereon, put in a request for the Room 8 book.

Over the next week or so, I'd check the status of the book through the library's website to see if and when it might arrive. The status never changed from "pending." I decided that I would now have to drive out to the San Fernando branch and get the book myself since the hold system didn't seem to be working. I got back onto the library website to make sure the book was still at that library. It had disappeared from that library and was now back to being listed at only the downtown location. Okay, I thought, maybe the Glendale Library has a copy. I found their website and, yes, they did, indeed, have a copy. There, too, the book was only available as a reference book. Well, I'd just have to go to Glendale and read the book right there in the library.

With a pocket full of quarters to pay for parking, I drove over the Glendale. I asked at the Reference Desk for the Room 8 biography. Yes, they had one in their Special Collection. The Special Collection areas weren't open that day, but the gentleman at the Reference Desk told me that he would go get the book for me and showed me where I could sit and read it. He also told me where the copy machine was and that I could make copies from the book if I need to do so. A few minute later, he came back downstairs with the book. I recognized the illustration on the cover as he was approaching the desk. At last, I had in my hands A Cat Called Room 8.

I took the book over to a nearby table and sat down to read. What I found was a beautifully illustrated and well-written children's book about the first fourteen years that the cat had lived at and near the Elysian Heights Elementary School. The book was only sixty-one pages long and it had a illustration on every page, so it took only a few minutes to read it. When I came to the end of the story, I was quite touched by how much this big, gray and white alley-cat had come to mean to the staff and students of the school. One of the great honors for students at the school was to be chosen to be Cat Feeder. Interestingly, the cat spent his nights somewhere other than in the school building. When everyone left school for the day, so did Room 8. In the morning, when school started, Room 8 was there in attendance just like everyone else. He would spend the day roaming the halls and taking cat-naps on various desks, sometimes having to be removed from a student's desk when he was preventing that student from working. There was even a designated Cat Mover that would be called in when needed. What a delightful relationship they had, this group of people and this cat.

It was rare enough for an entire school to adopt a cat that Room 8 became rather famous, world-famous in fact. In 1962, LOOK magazine ran a three page spread on Room 8. There was an article about him in the Weekly Reader, and he even appeared on Art Linkletter's "House Party" television program. This was quite an accomplishment for a formerly homeless cat who, some years before, had wandered into the school looking for something to eat and safe place to take a nap. It's no wonder there is a concrete memorial in the sidewalk outside the school. This was a remarkable cat, but the staff and students at the Elysian Heights school are no less remarkable for sharing their lives with Room 8, taking him into their hearts and, occasionally, their homes, and giving him a long, rich life he wouldn't have had as a homeless street cat. Not surprisingly, Room 8's memory lives on in the hearts of those who knew him. I discovered one of his old friends on another round of internet research. We'll explore that in the next chapter.

Room 8, The Cat with Purpose, Chapter 1

In a recent trip to one of my favorite used bookstores, I found a book called Stairway Walks in Los Angeles by Adah Bakalinsky and Larry Gordon. Carol and I like to take walks around the neighborhood and this book described several in our immediate area, so I bought it. One of the walks in the book is in Elysian Heights, which is just over the hill from our house. In reading the narrative that goes with the route instructions, there was mention of a famous cat that once lived at the Elysian Heights Elementary School where this walk begins. The book went on to describe a memorial inscribed in the concrete sidewalk surrounding the school. I was, of course, intrigued. Earlier this year, I had read Dewey, the Small Town Library Cat Who Touched the World by Vicky Myron and I thought this cat might have a similar story, so I decided to find out more about this famous Los Angeles cat.

The first thing I did was to pull up a map on the internet to see how to get to the school. It seemed quite simple. All I had to do was get on Alessandro, turn onto Baxter and in a few short blocks I'd be there. One thing I didn't take into account is that road maps are flat; they don't show the terrain. I soon discovered that the section of Baxter Street that I was driving has some of the steepest paved hills I've ever driven up and down. That day I was driving our 1965 Volkswagen Beetle, a car which has a history of strange and dangerous mechanical problems, so navigating the nearly vertical hills made me a bit nervous. The car and I made it, though, and I breathed a sigh of relief as I parked on the street near the school.

I got out of the car and began my explorations. I walked around the school looking for the memorial that I had read about. I found a mural on the side of the school building and then another. I took photos of the artwork through the tall chain-link fence surrounding the school property. I still hadn't seen any memorial, though, until I looked down at the sidewalk at my feet. There in the concrete, barely visible under a layer of dust and leaf debris from the trees above, was inscribed a series of short poems and drawings in tribute to a cat named Room 8. The poems were simple and heartfelt expressions of the love that the students and faculty of the school had felt for this cat. The poems and drawings all appeared to be dated 1968, the year that Room 8 had passed away. I stopped at each well-worn slab of cement and snapped a photo. It was a touching shrine to this obviously beloved cat. I had to learn more. I got back in the car, consulted my map and found a way to return home without driving up and down Baxter Street. I figured I'd pushed my luck with that car enough for one day.

Over the next couple of days, I did a bit of hunting around on the internet to see what I could find out about this cat which they had named Room 8. I discovered that there was a book, published in 1966, about this remarkable animal. It was entitled A Cat Called Room 8 and had been written by Beverly Mason and Virginia Finley and illustrated by Valerie Martin. I put it on my list of books to look for on my next trip to the book store or library.

Three days later, I was back at Elysian Park Elementary School, this time with my wife, Carol. I wanted to show her the Room 8 Memorial and she wanted to take on the stairway hike as described in the book. I shared with her the forty-two year old poems and drawings which weather and foot traffic were gradually wearing away. She admired the mural on the side of the building, a much more recent work, and remarked that after all the years, this cat was still a very prominent figure in this school's history. I snapped a few more photos, hoping for a better shot of some of the sidewalk drawings. We went on with our hike up and down the stairways of Elysian Heights and along the edges of Elysian Park, and as we walked, I kept thinking about Room 8 and the effect he had upon the students and faculty of that school. I wasn't done with this cat, yet. I knew there was much more to learn from him and I was determined to find out as much as I could about him and his life.

The Hand-Me-Down Cat Settles In . . . Sort of

The newest member of our household is starting to settle in. It hasn't been an easy transition for him. Ebony's a bit of a grouchy old man and moving in with the ever playful and active Quint and Hedge is sometimes a bit too much for the old guy. He'll occasionally hiss and growl when one of the youngsters gets too enthusiastic about encouraging him to participate in the day's activities, but, for the most part, he's doing okay, and is slowly starting to establish himself in the group.

Part of the reason he's a bit growly is probably due to his hyperthyroidism and his bad teeth. I'm working on getting his thyroid under control with medication, but I got a bit too enthusiastic at the onset and started feeding him pills before he got over the stress of moving into his new surroundings. I think he was a bit overwhelmed for the first couple of weeks. At this point, though, he's explored the house, found a few good napping spots, a hiding place or two, and is pretty sure about what time breakfast and dinner are usually served. Now that he's feeling a bit more secure, I started him back on his thyroid meds. I'm doing it gradually with just one pill a day for a few days. After we see how that works, then we'll try getting him up to the two per day he's supposed to be taking.

I tried brushing his teeth during his first few days with us, but his gums are quite sensitive and bleed very easily so I'm going to have to approach his dental problems a bit more gently at first. In the next week or two, I'm going to take him back to the vet and see if we can get his teeth cleaned. Once we get that done, I'll be able start rubbing his teeth and gums with a bit of gauze to handle the plaque and apply a bit of antibiotic gel to help with the gum problems. He's not very difficult to handle and doesn't try to bite me when I open his mouth, so with a little practice we should be able to establish a daily tooth cleaning routine just like I have with Quint.

I noticed today that Ebony is starting to mimic some of Quint's behaviors. He's begun hanging out in some of Quint's favorite places, and was even playing with Quint's favorite purple toy mouse this morning. I think Ebony has made excellent progress in settling into his new home and I have every hope that in the near future he'll be a healthier and happier cat. If he isn't, it won't be because we didn't all try to make him feel at home.