Rascal and Pearl are the cats who reside in my home with me. To call them “my” cats would be stretching the truth. The reality is, I am their human. I am here, at their beck and call. I feed them, give them water, and provide a lap when needed. Pearl and Rascal balance each other well. You would never guess they are sister and brother. They don’t look anything like each other and their personalities are about as different as you can imagine.

Pearl is a sweet, little gray tabby girl with beautiful green and amber eyes. She mostly hangs around the house, eating and sleeping. Occasionally you will find her outside taking in a spot of sun or saying hello to the neighbors. Pearl is initially shy, but once she knows you she is very demanding of attention. If you are sitting down you are a sure lap, made just for her. Sometimes she follows me from room to room, hopping up on waist high objects (bed, couch, chair) so she can get a pet while you are walking by, all the while chattering away. She is a bit of a whiner. The sweetest thing is when she is on your lap, purring, and gazing up at you adoringly. Of course she has an ulterior motive: to have you scratch her little chin. But I also honestly think she is checking in with you, keeping the love going.

Rascal, on the other hand, is your archetypal, adolescent, tomcat. He is a muscular, sleek, black boy cat. He has about 5 white hairs in the middle of his chest. His eyes are pure gold. Rascal generally exhibits an air of disinterest, unless there is food involved or he wants something from you (food). Rascal is mostly an outdoor kitty. Well, let’s just say he doesn’t spend most of his time in the house. I am not exactly sure where he goes when he is not here. I do know that ALL of the neighbors know him and that is no exaggeration. I live next to an apartment building and all the front doors face out. I can see Rascal making the rounds to each of the 4 floors, visiting everyone. I asked a guy in the building I had never met before if he knew Rascal. He said, “Oh YES, we know Rascal very well over here!” So, it may be that Rascal is couch surfing throughout the night, every night. He usually comes home for a scratch and some food.

About two or three months ago I had a serious scare. It was at the same time as the wet cat food scare. Rascal was looking really run down and tired. I came home from work and there was a note on my door from a neighbor who is particularly fond of Rascal. She stated that he seemed listless and not his usual peppy self. A few days before I noticed that he was home, begging in the kitchen. I even made a comment that someone must be feeding him wet food because he wasn’t happy with the crunchies I was feeding him. At that point I had never fed R&P anything but dry food. The night I received the note getting up the stairs was slow and laborious for him. He came in and drank down two entire bowls of water. He wouldn’t eat the crunchies, but eventually I cracked open a can of tuna and he managed to choke down some of that. I was going to take him to the vet the next afternoon due to issues at work. I talked to my mother who talked me into taking him to pet emergency right away. I am so glad I did.

Taking a pet to the emergency room is probably as traumatic as going to a human emergency room, if not more so. At the Kaiser ER, most of the really dramatic, potentially traumatic stuff either comes in the side door or is behind a closed door. At the pet ER you see every animal, hear every story, and see exactly what is wrong. I saw at least two dogs who were either dead or quickly approaching death. It was really sad. A very drunk couple brought in a huge Airedale who must have weighed a ton. The man was too incoherent to help his partner carry the dog, and she was obviously having a hard time managing his weight. One little poodle-like dog came in covered in blood and the family said he had lost a fight with a pit bull.

Rascal was diagnosed with kidney failure. The outcomes for kidney failure in cats are not great. Often the failure is too far along to be reversed and you have to eventually put them down. Sometimes it can be reversed enough to maintain them with medications and a special diet. In rare occasions, if you treat it aggressively and quickly, the kidney can go back to basically normal functioning. Of course I had to prepare myself for the worst-case scenario: spending a shit load of money trying to save my cat and then having to put him down anyway. Well, Rascal was really lucky. He must have at least 9 lives. After about 4 days in the hospital, he came out with a clean bill of health.

Rascal is back to his old antics. He is at home a bit more than he was before, because I now feed them wet food. Twice a day, like clockwork he is home to lap up the disgusting stuff and beg for more. Sometimes I cave. He did lose quite a bit of weight (2-3 lbs) when he was sick, so he could use a little more meat on his bones.

About a month after his return from the hospital, we had a fun little adventure. I woke up in the middle of the night. I was hearing a “thunk, thunk, thunk.” It was a muted sound coming from one of my closets. I got up and opened my bedroom closet to let out the cat (probably Pearl) I was sure I must have locked in there. No cat. I went to the hall closet and opened it. No cat. I must be hearing things. Back to bed, sleep. Rudely awakened, again. Damn cats. Lights on. There’s Pearl on my bed with me. Oh, and there’s Rascal under the bed snoring away. (Yes, actually both cats snore!) Bedroom closet, open both sides: nothing unusual. Hall closet, open one side: nothing. Open the other side: there I see what looks like a pink, thick tail. Oh shit, there’s a rat in my closet! No, I didn’t scream. I stood back a little. What I thought was a rat, turned around and started hissing at me. It was a baby possum! It had a little white body with a black neck and a pink snout with distinctive little pointy teeth. Really it was quite cute. Pearl is quite interested by this time. I have to push her back into my bedroom. Rascal is still sleeping. I shut the closet door. The last thing I want, besides a possum in my closet, is a possum running around my condo! As I was trying to shake off sleep and figure out what to do with baby possum, I started putting things together in my mind. The day before I had found the pillow I had in the closet had a bit of poop in its pillowcase. I thought it was odd, but figured one of the cats had left a mark before I put the pillow in the closet and I just hadn’t noticed. Very unlikely, but anything is possible. So, how long had this guy been in the closet? Long enough to poop and pee all over the shoulders of most of the coats in the closet.

I could hear my neighbor downstairs watching TV so I called her and asked her what she thought I should do. She suggested calling the Piedmont Police. They have nothing better to apparently. I called them, and even though I don’t live in Piedmont (which they were keen to point out to me as if I didn’t already know), they came with a snare and grabbed the little guy. I was amazed at how flat he was able to get trying to get away from the snare. So, there he was, attached to the bottom of a long pole. I asked where they would take him and the older cop said, “I’m just going to take him out to the street.” The younger cop said flippantly, “In the morning he’ll just be road-kill.” What an ass-hole. In retrospect, I wish I had thrown a towel over him and taken him to a wildlife rescue organization. He would have been better off getting checked out and living in a place away from cars, people, and especially cats! In any case, I haven’t seen any baby possum road-kill. Nor have their been any possum visitors to the condo.