Pilgrim, Tales of a Traveling Cat is a cat's eye view of the life, travels, and adventures of an urbane feline sophisticate in the world of his favorite humans. Although only the uncharitable would call Pilgrim a "hustler" when he meets his new family in an animal shelter, he's already in charge, riding on the vet's shoulder. Pilgrim is clearly a "people" cat, but he's still a cat and he's soon running the new digs, defending his garden wall against intruders, falling down storm drains, devoting himself to his humans, and winning them-and us-over.

Pilgrim

Tales of a Traveling CatBy Ellen Hasenecz Calvert

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2009 Ellen Hasenecz Calvert
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4389-3000-8

Contents

For seventeen years,................................1As the car was safely...............................7At the age of seven months,.........................12Opening the screen door.............................14Driving out from New Jersey.........................18One of my mini-wishes...............................22In the autumn of 1990,..............................27Slowly over the next two years,.....................30As I grew older,....................................35Carlsbad............................................38With my newfound maturity,..........................44In the twilight years...............................47In all my numerous lives,...........................52Thinking about full moons...........................55Epilogue............................................57

Chapter One

For seventeen years, our family belonged to a cat named Pilgrim. Originally, he was called Sam and acquired the name Pilgrim Sam only because second son Nicholas was reading the book, Pilgrim's Progress in English class. Pilgrim centered the family with his variety of activities. When in a playful mood, he became known as "the ways of Pilgrim"; an unpleasant day labeled him as "just a Pill" or "Pill-Grim," and his wild, outrageous behavior was described as a "Pilsner light."

As the glue that kept the family together, Pilgrim's adventures were numerous over the years, but wait, let's allow Pilgrim to tell the story himself, in his own words.....

My life has been a series of adventures. When I first thought about writing an autobiography of these stories, it was in the late 1980s. At that time, I rejected the idea of typing them because of the logistics involved in manipulating my huge front paws to hit the right keys. However, at the present time, the computer in the office now makes becoming a writer much simpler for me. I can relate to a lap top as a lap cat. Hey, lap cat sits on lap top ...

Life began for me in close proximity to a dumpster surrounded by weeds at a strip mall in Morris County, New Jersey. Mom, with her mouth full, was busily carrying us off to a new location when the capture took place. My entire family was scooped up into a station wagon and driven to Noah's Ark Animal Haven. There must have been seven of us, including Mom, because we were emptied into a cage all together. It was estimated by my teeth or lack of them that I had been born in May of 1985 and, even at that young age, I believed it prophetic to be rescued by an animal haven known as Noah's Ark. "Why?" you might ask and the answer is quite simple.

Historically, my family line traced back to the Turkish Van cats that lived in the country of Turkey. My ancestors grew up in the shadow of Mount Ararat, a mountain in East Turkey, where Noah's Ark supposedly still rests. This data and other info such as my ancestral family's love of water gave a charming distinction to my heritage. Of course, in Turkey, we were valued more for our pure white coats, so take some points off for my crooked brown angel wings and other brown beauty marks.

Between Mom's milk and the shelter's food, my days normally were spent eating and tumbling with my six siblings. One by one, first Mom and then the others were adopted. Don't get me wrong: adoption is good because I've been told having a loving home and caring family affords the possibility of a richer life.

Goodbyes were not easy for me and being left behind meant being alone in the cage. Euthanasia was not being considered for cats in 1985 or for me. In New Jersey, there were not that many stray cats. I lucked out in meeting a young college intern who would place me on his shoulder while he prepared the shots and meds all of us received as Noah's Ark animals.

To express my appreciation to this young intern who named me after himself, I delighted in purring up a storm near his ear as I sat there on his shoulder. It was tricky staying in position and sometimes one or two of my paws slipped and I had to regain my balance. "Whoa, hang on there, Sam," he would say as I struggled to regain both my composure and balance. This daily routine became the highlight of my tiny body's life and I tried hard to purr my happiness to the intern who had initiated this cool activity.

One day in the late afternoon, (I can't quite pin down the exact time frame), a brown-eyed woman, blue-eyed man, and skinny blond boy walked into Noah's Ark. At the main desk, they spoke about wanting a cat or kitten to replace some cat named "Bananas" and to have another animal for their dog "Snuggles." Can you believe those names?

Before I even stopped snickering, the three of them began wandering through my section, the feline quarters, of the shelter. Evaluating us was apparently tough on their brains because they were creating all kinds of screwy faces in quick succession and shaking their heads in all different directions.

Meanwhile, I was removed from my vantage point on the intern's shoulder, and quickly tossed into my cage. I still have to smile when I remember the blue-eyed man looking happily at the old Cheshire, my neighbor next door, sitting in the back of his cage. "Nick," said Blue-eyes, "Take a look at this Cheshire straight out of Alice in Wonderland."

When told he could open the cage, Blue-eyes did so and his outstretched hands were greeted with the biggest hiss of his life. Both Blue-eyes and Cheshire's eyes widened big time and Blue-eyes backed off . "Honey, be careful" said the brown-eyed woman. "That cat is bigger than our dog and seems to dislike us". Meanwhile, the blond kid spied me in the next cage. "Come here," he called to the others, "and take a look at this one. This kitten is so-o-o-o cute."

Looking as darling as possible, I watched as my cage door opened and felt two hands lightly lifted me up and gently held me against a blue and white soccer jacket. Oh, did I take to this kid with his enthusiastic big smile and happy laugh. I could have fun with him in my life. Brown-eyes and Blue-eyes agreed that we looked "great" together and that I was definitely "the one."

In my warm, satisfied position, I watched as if from on a cloud as they checked me out. I didn't even care that in so many months I would be "neutered," whatever that meant. After I was checked out, the intern came up to the main desk to tell my new family the story of my shoulder sitting experiences and even suggested they try it at home with me. My eyes got a little misty as the intern smiled and said he would miss having the "little guy" (me) hanging around on his shoulder and wished us "lots of good luck."

Still on a cloud, even with an uncomfortable collar around my neck and body that was attached to a winkie kitty leash, I sat in the car being held tightly in the blond kid's arms. The question of names and what to actually call me caused me to fall back to earth. "Whitey, Snowball, and Sugar cat" were names tossed around in the car. Oh, please, don't name me something darling or sweet. I was an alpha male. I shivered with fear and the blond kid thought I was cold, so he held me closer and smiled down at me. "Wait," he said, "how about Pilgrim? The book I'm reading in school is right here in my backpack". "I like it," said Brown-eyes. "Me, too," said Blue-eyes. "Then that's it," said the blond kid. "Pilgrim, you're on your way home." I sighed and snuggled closer in the kid's arms, contented in knowing that, as an alpha male cat, I could live with being named "Pilgrim."

Chapter Two

As the car was safely parked in the garage, I became aware of the surroundings in my new home. "Home." A base of operations, a source of energy, a guide, a port, a haven, a nest, and now I had one, too. "Home." The word made my heart sing.

Still handheld, no sooner was I in the door, when Nick, the skinny blond kid holding me, yelled for someone named George to come down to meet the new cat, Pilgrim. George's response was "Okay, Nick, in just a minute. Let me finish up this homework first and I'll be right there." I mentally made a note that Nick was the skinny blond kid holding me and someone named George would soon appear. The names of Brown and Blue eyes still remained a mystery. My ears began to operate like radar tracking devices as I plotted my investigation to turn up their identities.

By this time of the day, I normally would have eaten, cleaned my paws and whiskers, and been catching a few Z's. Hey, meow, do you know what time it is and do you have anything to fill my empty tummy? Please don't mistake my stomach's rumbling with purring at this moment.

"Nick," said Brown Eyes, "why don't you put down a bowl of water and some food in the dish for Pilgrim to eat so he'll start to settle in. After he eats, we can drop him in the litter box, so he'll get used to knowing where he's supposed to go".

"Good idea, Hon," said Blue Eyes.

Interesting! Brown Eyes was also "Hon" and Blue Eyes was also "Honey"? This might be useful! I made a mental note to eat less noisily and listen more closely in the future.

Continuing to munch away at my dry food with gusto, I felt these folks had really prepared a place for me in their lives. Little things, like enough food in my dish, really do mean a lot. Just then, a bubble of air escaped from my protruding belly. Please note that very few cats are seen burping or passing fizzies and it would be highly undignified for an aristocratic Turkish Van cat like me to do so. But, hey, no one's perfect. As I tried to accomplish the release of this huge bubble of air inconspicuously, I glanced up and noted four persons looking down at me.

"Heh, heh, heh, this little guy's really tiny, but, boy, can he pack it away," George, the new kid, was saying. "Nick, you're going to have to get a paper route or something to keep this little porker in food."

Mentally, I made another note to consider the implications of George's remarks and any resulting consequences for him. Big brother George might become a human trampoline for my early morning exercises before his alarm went off.

At last, it was bedtime. I wondered if there was a place for me to sleep. It had been a long day. More mumbles from above me and the decision was made from on high to walk my paws around the litter box before placing me in a little box with, yes, a soft pillow in Nick's room. I was no longer alone. Nick and I had become roommates.

The next day, I began exploring the place and life was good. A few "meows" for meals appeared to be working and I adjusted them to making three to four meals a definite daily routine. When I pushed for five or six meals, it was challenged by the brown-eyed woman whose name I learned was Yelena.

"What are you - a cat or a little pig?" she responded to my fifth meow.

Trust me, I tried to explain to her as I put on my most expressive puss, comments like that will not decrease my appetite for food and might cause me devastating psychological harm resulting in expensive pet therapy in the future.

To change the subject and score some positive points, I decided to exhibit my fastidious personal grooming talents for face washing with my huge front paws. Yelena's face softened into a smile and she shook her head in amusement. If only she would pick me up and carry me around in her mouth like my real mom.

Then Yelena picked me up, held me in her arms, and rubbed her nose in my neck. Oh, wow, I felt such a purr coming on. Would she put me on her shoulder? No, she walked with me to - to - to the litter box! This gig had become a mixed bag of moments to be remembered and not to be remembered. And I did remember where the litter box was located. Thanks a lot.

After shaking the litter off my paws and checking to see if I was under surveillance, I headed for the sliding doors. I heard birds outside. Instinct and my ears told me that there was activity going on in the yard. Not a party, but activity.

The dog, Snuggles, was napping on the sofa and opened her eyes to check on my whereabouts. The plan was to get me on the other side of this door. I was not declawed, but found myself unable to get a grip or enough strength to move the door. With a week or so of working on this obstacle, my outdoor adventures began.

Truthfully, day by day, I fell more and more in love with this family. And, can you imagine, their affection was returned with the exception of having to keep my litter box clean.

"Are you sure it's a cat and not a horse in drag?" asked George, as he scooped stuff out one morning.

In my quest for companionship with the family, I had discovered that even if a door to a room was closed, there was just enough room for my front paws, and I did mention that my paws were huge enough, to slip under the door and startle whoever was on the other side for whatever reason. This activity became part of my daily routine, to my delight and everyone else's startled surprise.

Cat toys thrown at my outstretched paws might be maneuvered the length of the opening and greeted with amusement by members of the family. If the door was opened, I felt welcomed and often I would sit on the bathroom sink watching the males doing something called "shaving." It became an alpha male bonding experience for me with the guys.

My mission was to make sure that life was not dull when I was around. In fact, if I chose to nap in one of my numerous locations, I was sought out by one of them to make sure that I was "okay." My response to this hide-and-seek was to stretch out in a purr of acknowledgement about their concern for my well-being.

Chapter Three

At the age of seven months, an appointment was made for me to visit the veterinarian's office. Up until that time, I had regarded riding in the car as an adventure. This trip, however, can only be described in retrospect as "bittersweet."

I was brought into the vet's office, somewhat shaken up in my cat carrier, and promptly plopped on an examining table where I was diagnosed in good health. It was then that things began to become "bitter" for me.

After this diagnosis, Yelena was asked to leave, and bid me "good-bye" with a warm, fuzzy hug and left the room.

"Wait a minute," I wailed. "Where's she going without me? What did I do? Don't I belong to the family anymore?"

Talk about becoming stressed out in the sterile environment of the examining room! My white fur fairly flew off my body because of my feelings of abandonment and at this rate I'd soon be a hairless cat. The next thing I knew, I had either fainted from fear or I was drugged big time, because it was "lights out" for me.

Sometime later or whenever, I opened my very heavy eyelids to discover myself in a recovery room. Recovering from what, I wondered, until I moved my back legs and felt some things missing. Whoa, I heard voices in the background mentioning that the neutering was completed. So, that's what "neutering" was all about. I learned that I would now behave in "a much more civilized way" because of this visit to the vet's. Okay, I would think more about these complications later, because I was still drowsy and wanted to sleep away this bad dream.

When Yelena entered the room, her face looked different, glad to see me, but sad at the same time. I remembered her holding me extra gently and whispering.

"We all missed you, Pilgrim," she said softly, "and we can't wait to get you back home again."

Well, that was the "sweet" part, but I wasn't sure I was the same fellow going home as I was coming in here. I knew there were some things missing as I moved about in my cat carrier exiting the vet's office for the car.

You know, life is a series of trade-off s and we animals have to give up some things in order to live with humans. I now knew the meaning of the word "neutering" as I looked around, thankful for the soft carpet in my cat carrier that was bungeed to the back seat of the car. Often, Yelena looked in the rear view mirror to check if I was okay and this simple gesture of caring reaffirmed the bond I now felt for my family. I hoped Yelena was able to read my thoughts as well as I could read hers, so she knew how much better I was feeling back in the family fold.

Chapter Four

Opening the screen door required some time until I managed to tear open the screen enough that I could slink through. Luckily, the door latch didn't close properly and when they patched the torn screen, I learned to slide the door open as easily as my humans did. It worked for me, but they noticed almost immediately. "Pilgrim's opened that door again." If I was exploring close by, I usually ran home when I heard my name being called, followed by the "pst, pst, pst."

As the days passed, I found myself gravitating next door to the bird's nest in a tall evergreen shrub. I could scratch my nails on its bark while I taunted the mother bird. One day, she decided to swoop down on me with a wild shriek that caused me to think about returning home. Her long, pointed beak punished me severely for my high jinks as she repeatedly shrieked and swooped aiming for my back and head. Hightailing it toward my own yard, I was relieved to find that our screen door was still opened from my last exit.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from Pilgrimby Ellen Hasenecz Calvert Copyright © 2009 by Ellen Hasenecz Calvert. Excerpted by permission.
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