We're on the List

Figuring that we'd really like to make a difference in the relief effort down south, D and I contacted our local Red Cross Saturday night, offering our "guest suite" (a bedroom, a sewing room that can be compressed so that it's a kids' room, and a bathroom) upstairs to a displaced family. I was pleasantly surprised to receive an email response first thing yesterday morning.

It was thought-provoking to answer the basic questions that the Red Cross asked about our home and our preferences; this as a first step in assigning a family to us. Besides the predictable stuff about number of people that we can accommodate, handicap accessibility, etc., there was one section that amused me. See the questions and my responses below:

Q: Do you have pets?
A: We have a cat who has a history of not sharing his turf with other animals. He's a Maine Coon Cat and if a family dislikes or is allergic to cats, we are definitely not the home to send them to.

Q: Can the people bring pets?
A: We regret that we can't welcome another animal.

I'm particularly sorry that we can't offer a family with pets a home, as I understand how a pet becomes a family member. My daughter asked me recently why we keep Peanut, our aggressive cat, when he has the obnoxious tendency to nip one's feet/ankles while one is on the phone. He does have his redeeming qualities, I replied, although sometimes it seems that the negatives outweigh the positives. It's certain that he's good for lots of entertainment, although he's such a wimp that when Johan visits, Pea spends more than his usual amount of time in the basement, out of range of 3-year-old hands.

We took him in more than 3 years ago when D surprised me by saying that he thought we should get a cat. I've always had a fascination for big cats and when I saw the ad in the clinic newsletter about a Maine Coon Cat needing a new home, we bit the bait. Peanut lived with his owner in a little 2-room apartment in Rantoul, which is where we went to pick him up. The guy, a blue collar type, was miserable about having to give him up. He explained that he was moving in with his girlfriend soon and that Peanut was an ungracious guest when they introduced him to her cat. We figured that it must be true love if the guy was giving up his cat for a woman.

He cried as he held Peanut and told him goodbye. He turned over all of Peanut's toys, special food dishes, litter house, travel box and bags of food, as though he was trying to erase all evidence of Pea in his life. We asked why such a big cat (he weighs about 11 1/2 pounds) was named such so incongruously, and he explained that Pea had been the runt in his litter the year before. When we took the last piece of Peanut Paraphernalia out to the car, the man's apartment looked deserted.

Pea spent the first 2-3 days in our basement. I almost thought that he'd died down there, but eventually he made sneak explorations upstairs. He had never been an outside cat, so it was heaven for him to have three floors to explore. Several days after we picked him up, the guy called and asked if he could come see Peanut in his new home. We were thrilled to hear from him and gave them private time out on the back porch. The man was crying again when he left and we've not heard from him since.I grew up with cats in the house: one of my most memorable moments as a teen involved a 6-week-old kitten. I was dressed for school, with the requisite (this was the early 60's) hose and skirt outfit, when I was headed toward the kitchen. The kitten pulled a sneak attack right up my leg, using my hose as the ideal tree substitute. I let fly with several choice invectives, shocking my mother, who apparently thought that I didn't know any swear words. Little did she know.

But back to the preparations. I'm going to celebrate Labor Day by shoveling out the sewing room, in preparation for our almost certain guests. I'll take before and after pictures, so you can appreciate the extent of my labors.