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Our Little Cali-co Finds a Family

On March 16, 1987, our family suffered some real heartache when our cat, Buttons, passed away at the age of 18 years. We swore we'd never get another pet.

By 1990, that sworn promise was broken when our dog Blondie entered our lives. She would live to the age of 16, dying on January 12, 2006. And we swore we'd never get another pet.

Until Dante entered our lives not too long thereafter. But on November 11, 2017, our family suffered more heartache when Dante died, at 17 1/2 years of age. And we swore we'd never get another pet.

The amazing thing about each of our pets is that every one of them had their own personality, their own quirks, which made each of them truly unique, and none of them a mere "replacement" for the last one lost. Pets have always had a way of finding us, rather than the other way around.

The human heart is immense, and "Pet People"---folks who form very real connections to their pets, and who benefit from the companionship and the "visibility" (a la "The Muttnik Principle") that a pet provides---have an almost limitless capacity to fall in love again, even after the devastating loss of a cherished member of the family.

Apparently, about 9 days after we had brought Dante's body to our neighborhood clinic (The Jacobson Veterinary Clinic) for cremation, our vet, Dr. Linda Jacobson, welcomed into that clinic a cat named Cali (short for Calico). She was 5 months old, having been born on June 21, 2017. She immediately got all her shots, and a microchip, and in January 2018, she got her hysterectomy.

So, on May 17, 2018, we spoke to the folks at the vet's office, who wanted us to meet Cali. Dr. J encouraged us to give Cali a "trial run" on the weekend of May 18th. Somewhat worried about "falling in love" again, we took the challenge. Poor Cali was petrified entering this apartment, especially when I let her out of her carrying case. Within a short while, with an odd "Twilight Zone" twist of irony, Cali discovered the only place where she could find comfort. It was under a small table in the corner of our front room---in the very space where Dante's bed had once been located, the very space where Dante died back in November. She stayed there all night. Until about 5 am... when I got up, and she and I met in the darkness and she was so startled she went speeding by me.

And then, she was gone.

Now, she could not have left the house; we had closed off the doors to two bedrooms and a storage room and she had nowhere to hide. Or so I thought. It was 12 hours later. I'd looked under every table, every piece of furniture, and even under the sink, where we have one of those carousel storage cabinets. No sign of her.

Another couple of hours passed. It was now around 8 pm. Surely this cat had to visit her litter box at some point. I mean, I know that I could not hold it in for 15 hours (let alone 15 minutes). So I checked under the sink again. And I suddenly saw two glowing eyes staring back at me. I talked in a high-pitched voice, "Come on, Cali, come on." And I went to fetch a flash light and returned---and she was gone again. I emptied the carousel of all its contents, and put my whole body under the sink---no small feat! And I discovered that there was this slit between the back of the cabinet and the wall. I got myself a mirror, and put the mirror diagonal to the slit, and I shined the flash light on the mirror. And there she was. God knows what was behind a slit that I never knew existed. And we've been living in this apartment for over 30 years! She wouldn't come out for anything. Not for food, water, or conversation.

I spoke to Dr. J and she suggested that we just leave the cabinet open and allow her to come out on her own. I took out a couple of old sheets, and a roll of duct tape, and told my sister: "If I should hear this cat in her litter box, then I'll know she will have left that little safe space, and I will race to the cabinet, stuff sheets in the slit, duct tape it shut, put everything back on the carousel, and duct tape the cabinet closed."

And so, sleeping lightly, I heard the scraping in that litter box. It was 4 o'clock in the morning, almost 24 hours from the time she had probably entered that space.

I raced to the kitchen to complete the mission of closing that hiding space. It was an exhausting 24-hour period.

When my sister got up for work a couple of hours later, I said to her: "Next time somebody offers us a new pet, slap my face!"

But it wasn't Cali's fault. After all, she had spent most of her life being bullied by her half-sister, and then when she came to the vet, she spent most of her life in a large cage, coming out to be nourished and nurtured, but still going back into that small space that was her home.

When she entered this apartment, with its seven rooms, it must have looked like a vast continent, too intimidating to explore. I'm happy to say that the trial period ended within about a week. Cali is now a new member of the Sciabarra family, and today, she has turned one year old. Happy birthday to Cali!

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Cali Stretching Out After "Playtime"


Two weeks after her arrival, I joked to Dr. J: "Cali is like the Indominus Rex in 'Jurassic World': She is discovering what life is like beyond the enclosure she had lived in for so long, and I'm not sure we want to find out how mischievous she will be in figuring out where she sits in the house hierarchy."

Well, we're slowly discovering that she is vying to become Queen of the Castle. And who is going to argue with her?

Judging by how she has explored this new continent, making bottle caps, rubber bands, and tissues into toys, in addition to her regular array of playthings, it is clear that she is a very young, very healthy, and very energetic cat.

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Cali: Diva In the Making


We'll probably have a makeshift cake for her tonight, made of the finest ingredients, and sing her a chorus of "Happy Birthday."

In any event, I've gotten so used to writing loving obituaries, that I thought it was time to speak of this new joy in our lives. May Cali live nine lives and more---providing us with the gift of her unique character, with health and vigor. She is already getting all the love her new family can give her in return.

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Cali: Dog Tired After Her All-Night, In-House, Nocturnal Run