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UPDATE: I am overjoyed to report that, 39 days later, we got our sweet Harlequin back! Thanks to everyone who helped look for her.
I sit here on a sunny afternoon, listening to John Coltrane’s A Love Supreme, shelling peas from my garden and thinking on love and loss, renewal and the courage to continue.
Both of my most recent personal tragedies have come in springtime, and both have involved my cats. (And yes, I am well aware that in the pantheon of personal tragedies, I am extraordinarily lucky that the loss of pets is chief among them. It could be far, far worse.) Paka, my One True Pet, died unexpectedly in March of 2010, and now my sweet Harlequin is gone. She escaped from her carrier at the veterinarian’s office a little more than week ago and has not been seen since. We’ve done everything to try to find her, and since the vet is just 2 1/2 miles from our home Holly and I are still holding out hope.
It is the not-knowing that cuts so deep, leaving me in limbo. When Paka died I was inconsolable. She was that pet, the one we all have who utterly crushes us when she or he dies. For most people that trauma happens in our teen years. I dodged it until I was 40. But a pet going missing is something else entirely. I now find myself gray, slightly dead inside.
Harlequin was no pampered princess. She was a quasi-feral cat for her first three years; we did not give her full indoor privileges until Paka died. In the five years since, however, she has been my constant companion. Our bond was iron. We were, well, like two peas in a pod. All this gives me a glimmer of hope that she is still alive, can fend for herself — and is somehow making her way home.
Until that day, or until I give up that glimmer of hope, I endure.
Food, turkey season, fishing, mushrooming — all the things I love about this time of year — all have become pale and meaningless to me. I ate a single handful of Fritos the day Harlequin escaped, and little more in the ensuing days. (I did learn that slugging down whiskey on a two-day-old empty stomach is not an ideal situation, one I do not recommend.) Three days after she disappeared, I ate a strawberry, one of my favorite fruits. It tasted like ashes.
Cooking was out of the question. We ate out, and I specifically avoided all my favorite foods for fear of permanently associating them with my grief. I did slip and order a Ballast Point Sculpin IPA on the second night of our search, and it tasted like skunked Miller to me. I have no idea when I’ll be able to drink it again. Hopefully soon.
Holly and I spent four days searching from predawn to late at night, posting signs, talking to people — my town of Orangevale has been overwhelmingly nice, I’d like to say — staking out known cat spots, setting traps and trail cameras, visiting every shelter, SPCA and animal hospital in a 25-mile radius. And then I collapsed.
I slept a great many hours. When I awoke, I immediately checked our back door, where Harlequin normally waits for us to let her in. She was of course not there. I knew this before even leaving bed, but I had to check. After a strong cup of coffee and a search of the area shelter websites, I walked out into my garden.
My garden is where Harlequin and I first met, among the peas.
I don’t grow peas every year, but I did in 2007 when a little kitty a few weeks old started showing up under the vines. I’d never seen a cat like this. Long, regal face, tuxedo front. White boots, a white, vertical line on her nose and a “catler” mustache. It was love at first sight, even though she would not let me touch her for a month.
For several years, Harlequin was my outdoor friend, killer of garden voles, rats and the occasional warbler. We fed her when she looked skinny and let her do her thing when she looked plush. She loved to lurk under tomatoes and squash, within my rambling patch of cardoons and deep in the long grass at the back of our yard like a tiny panther. But it was the peas where we first met.
As it happened, I grew peas this year. I plant them in November and let them overwinter, so they’re all ready before the heat of our May and June. Harlequin, as was her custom, used the vines as a lair. Now she is gone, but the peas remain. As I shell wave after wave of them, I can’t stop myself from staring out the kitchen window looking for her. Still, the simple act of shelling peas, rhythmically cracking open the pods, running my finger down the center to send the little peas pattering into my bowl, gives me some solace.
Each day is a little better. I feel color and life returning to my soul, slowly, although I can still see the abyss when I stare into it, when the house is quiet. I look for Harlequin each day. I try to remain positive, or at least stoic, about her loss. I even cooked a little yesterday, fresh peas with some bits of cured meat and rice. It was good.
I will, of course, endure. And I will laugh again, enjoy my favorite beer and food again, and yes, even love another kitty again. Life renews, and after each sorrow I find myself savoring the next sweetness all the more because I know it will end too soon. The shadow frames the light.
After Paka died, Harlequin took care of me. But even as she did, I understood that one day she too would break my heart. So every day, after she woke up at the foot of the bed, came over and licked my forehead to say good morning, ate a little and stood at the back door to be let out, I would pick her up, hold her close and hear her purr. A minute or two later she’d stir, letting me know it was time for her to start her day. I’d let her down and open the door, wishing her luck — knowing that each day could be my last with her.
And then, just like that. It was.
But Harlequin is not dead. I feel it in my bones. She is out there, somewhere, probably chasing rodents and hiding from people and cars. All I can hope is that someone sees her, or, better yet, that she finds her way home. And if she does, her garden will be there for her.
People make the mistake of thinking that they take care of their pets. In some cases that may be true.
However the cat was feral when you encountered her. She was your guide – and she cared for you and taught you, maybe more than you taught her …
Instead of thinking about what you have lost, consider what you have learned from her presence in your life. And “lost” is really not appropriate.
Teachers or instructors move or “shuttle” us to different stages or positions in our existence or reality. Any animal that lived out its first few years alone and was then brought into a domestic environment will never lose its bush-savvy.
If the cat identified with just you or your wife, but was standoffish with strangers, then she has reverted to her feral nature. If the act of incorporating her into your family made her more domestic than feral, then she may have used that penetrating stare with an abundance of knowledge to gain leverage into the house of her next student.
IMHO – Your feline family member is still alive – either enjoying an environment similar to what she grew up in (alone) or she has a new student in her charge.
If she were born into a domestic environment, her survival would be questionable – but she was a mage of her own environment before you met her.
I feel for your loss of her presence in your life and hope she returns – but sometimes G0D’s furry creatures have more than one mission to attend to whilst they spend their time earthbound.
Shalom
Hank,
I had a cat when I was a boy who ran away for 8 weeks on two different occasions.
Both times she showed up looking healthy and happy, walked to her food bowl and gave us filthy looks because we had put it away!
Hank, just a quick note about your situation. I’ve been a veterinarian for 25 years and I’ve been working in veterinary practices for over 35 years. During that time, I’ve seen more than my share of cats escape from their carrier and take off.
Keep the faith. More than half of these “escapees” eventually found their way home. In one case, although it took more than a month, one cat found its way back home more than eight miles (as the crow flies) away. My point is, be patient. Many animals have excellent homing instincts.
Good luck and I hope she shows up soon…
Regards,
George
There’s nothing a person could say or do to make you feel whole at this moment..I know the feeling since the same thing happened to us while we were on a trip to CA a few years back…if it was a feral cat to begin with there’s good chance she’s out there doing her thing…keep your chin up, Hank…love your work, btw…thanks for all you do
So sorry to hear of the loss of your friend. As solace all I can say is that your writing just keeps getting better and better. Accessible, honest and just damn good. Also, there are morels flushing at 5400′.
Found 25 today the size of golf balls. Happy Hunting!
Hank, I feel for you, brother. I grew up on a ranch and have seen my share of loss. The loss is easier since there is a finality about it. In the area I grew up there are coyotes everywhere (boondocks near Phoenix). My grandparents and their chihuahua came to visit while I was in high school, and the dog ran away. We were sure that as the sun went down the dog was a goner. But, about 8pm that night, against the odds, the dog came trotting up the driveway. Smelled a bit like it had pulled the move from Star Wars where Luke hops inside his Tantan for the night.
Hang on and hopefully answers will come.
Best to you and Holly.
So sorry Hank; I know what losing a pet does to you. It’s been over three years since I lost my last one and I still miss him.
I hope very much that you will get your pet back alive and well, and closer to you for her adventure.
I am soooo sorry about your fur family I pray Halequin returns home to you
Kathy
Oh Hank, I’ll put you and Holly on my list! I had a kitten almost 6 months old take a ride to town one day and it took her about 2 weeks to make her way home from about 3 miles away. It can happen. My Tuxedo cat was named Jade. She looked a lot like your cat and she left me due to cancer. She too slept on my end of the bed. I buried her in her pink blanket and wept like a small child. She resides under the redbud tree. Please let us know WHEN she comes home.
RobbieAnn
I’m so sorry to hear about your lost kitty. Cats have a way of finding their way into our hearts and staying there, burrowing down. I think you are right about her being alive. And I also think she’s going to find her way back to you. In the meantime, a nice pot of fresh pea soup might help.
I’m so sorry to hear about this! I hope Harlequin finds her way home soon.
Oh Hank, my heart goes out to you. We lost our cat in February and are still feeling the pain. I had tears reading your post. I know the pain. I pray Harlequin returns.
We understand! Harlequin is quite a striking looking animal. Hope she finds her way home soon. Enjoy your blog. Thank you.
Hank,
You really can take solace in the fact that Harlequin has a feral past. She knows how to take care of herself on her own. Take heart, as a child I had a similar situation and believe it or not “Tommycat” ( hey, I was only 8 yrs old when I named him ???? ) also an adopted feral cat came back after over a “year on the road”. Best of luck to both you and Harlequin.
Please post on Facebook – with a picture of Harlequin – sometimes social media is amazing – meanwhile I will pray, wish and hope that you cat rejoins you and your wife very soon.
Dear Hank,
I am so very sorry. My heart breaks for you. My favorite soulmate kitty nebulous disappeared for nine days once and then returned stinking of fish and very talkative. I do hope your sweet girl will return to you soon.
Thank you for all your wonderful recipes we have tried many.
Lori
so, so sorry. Know the pain, but have faith. My most favorite barn cat in the world left for a couple of months once. He looked awful when he came back, but he came back! My vet told me it is more common than people realize cats go on wanders. So have faith. I’ll send out positive vibes for her to return.
Such a beautiful love letter to your friend and companion. My heart breaks with yours, knowing the love we share with our furry family members. Hoping Harlequin returns to you, and wishing you peace, Hank.
Aiii I do so feel your pain. My first cat — also black, no white like yours — disappeared when I was traveling, the painter who was to let him in/out, didn’t and after that, I’m not sure what happened. The “not knowing” was the very worst: let’s hope your fine friend makes her way home soon. She’s much missed.
Oh Hank, you make me cry. Everyday I check my feed hoping for good news about Harlequin. I know what this feels like and it sucks. I hope that soon you and Holly will be reunited with Harlequin, really soon.