It was a pleasant September evening and our balcony door was open for the convenience of the Fab Five (new readers – these are my own fabulous five feline family members), while I dutifully went through the day’s emails in the den. A hundred junk mail deletions and a few legit business responses later, I got up for a second glass of wine and noticed ALL the cats were gathered on the balcony, peering intently through the rails. This is highly unusual – they normally take turns with just two or three going out at a time.
As I approached the door to investigate the source of this rare unity amongst my gang, I heard plaintive meowing coming from the yard below. Lady Macbeth, a pretty grey member of the Shakespearean Colony (a group of feral cats who make their home in the field behind my apartment complex) was standing directly beneath our balcony calling to me.
How she knew this particular balcony belonged to her caregiver I have no idea – though perhaps she figured any balcony with five cats hanging out made for a reasonable assumption. Lying on the ground a few feet from her was what appeared to be a dead squirrel. A present for me? Odd, really, since the many squirrels on the property seem to have an amicable living arrangement with the feral cats. I’ve seen squirrels and cats peacefully sharing ground space at close quarters, each going about his/her own business unmolested. Oh, occasionally a cat will chase a squirrel up a tree, but the chase lacks any serious intent and seconds after the squirrel has “escaped” up the tree, it’s right back down on the ground with the cats again.
Lady Macbeth's meows sounded more distressed than the excited "see what a wonderful gift I've brought you?" chatter. She kept looking up at me, at the squirrel, inching closer to it, and with a muttered curse (I’d finished my pet sitting visits early and was looking forward to a peaceful evening), I grabbed some work gloves and a towel and dashed outside. Less than a minute later I’d arrived on the scene, by which time Lady Macbeth was nosing the squirrel anxiously. A very skittish cat around humans, she nevertheless only retreated a few feet and laid down to watch as I knelt beside the squirrel.
There was no sign of blood or injury visible on the little critter - and much to my surprise, she was breathing!! Just barely, but she was alive, despite the lack of any movement. She made neither verbal nor physical response when I tentatively made contact. Yes, I DO know attempting to handle a wild animal is dangerous and not recommended unless you know what you're doing - which I don't - I've never touched a squirrel before in my life! - but she was obviously in no condition to be a threat. Acting purely on instinct, I administered a very gentle, modified version of CPR, and rubbed her little body with the towel to stimulate circulation. Was I possibly doing more harm than good? Under the circumstances, running back upstairs to surf the web for answers wasn’t an option; I didn’t have my cell phone on me, even if there’d been time to waste making calls – which nine times out of ten result in getting voicemail anyway. Lady Macbeth had no advice to offer either – just a worried look in her eyes that seemed to plead with me to “fix it”.
About fifteen minutes from my home, there's a licensed wildlife sanctuary/rehab center that I'd visited once a few years ago, Frisky’s Wildlife and Primate Sanctuary. With the squirrel wrapped securely in the towel on my lap (body heat), I sped up there. Or I would have, if I hadn't stopped twice on the way to ascertain my patient was still alive and quite ridiculously admonish her not to die on me. The sky had deepened to a purple dusk when I skidded into the parking lot and laid on the doorbell. A woman answered almost immediately and whisked the squirrel off to the infirmary with a speed and immediacy that would put most hospital emergency rooms to shame! When she returned to have me fill out some papers – even for a squirrel, there are papers - she said the squirrel had been placed on oxygen and was still alive. One possibility was the squirrel could be experiencing a difficult delivery, though this turned out not to be the case – no pregnancy.
Though it was probably no more than an hour, hour and a half tops, from the moment I first ran out into the yard until I returned home after releasing the squirrel into the care of the experts, it felt like an eternity. A quick glance into the yard showed that Lady Macbeth had moved on; the Fab Five had also abandoned the balcony for their personal favorite napping spots; and I wearily collapsed onto the sofa with that second glass of wine I never got around to pouring earlier. Now that the situation was literally out of my hands, I recalled the wonder I felt when I first touched the squirrel – the unexpected silkiness of the fur (for some reason I’d expected a coarse coat) - and the incredible beauty of those big brown eyes up close as I’d never seen them before.
Two days later I got the call from Colleen at Frisky’s, the wildlife center. “I’m so sorry” she said. The best guess is that the squirrel fell out of a tree during a storm that morning and succumbed to internal injuries/bleeding.
Realistically, I knew the squirrel’s odds of survival were slim from the start, but still I’d hoped and prayed that I’d be returning her to her backyard home to live out her natural life. I DO accept that I can’t save everyone – I just really, REALLY hate being reminded of it!
Despite the sadness of a life lost, I know I witnessed something very beautiful and special that evening. In nature, cats and squirrels are natural enemies – predator and prey. Even pampered domestic cats with no need to hunt their food will attack and kill a rodent or bird out of instinct if given the opportunity, though rarely actually eat it. Though my ferals are fed both wet and dry food daily, it wouldn’t surprise me that they supplement their diet with occasional fresh wild meat.
So why didn’t Lady Macbeth, or any of the other cats for that matter, take advantage of a snack incapable of escaping? Why did she summon assistance for the squirrel? Why did she nuzzle it’s nose instead of administering the swift, lethal death bite? Why did she stay, when normally human approach, even mine which she’s familiar with, sends her scurrying for cover in the woods as fast as the cartoon Roadrunner?
Any attempt at explanation on my part would be anthropomorphic, so I’ll just leave it alone. I know what I saw, sensed, and felt was all very real – and the poignant memory of Lady Macbeth and her squirrel is one I will remember and treasure the rest of my life. I could consult my five witnesses, but felines don’t willingly give up their secrets. That The Fab Five have a clearer understanding about the entire situation than I’ll ever come close to, I have no doubts at all.
[Fab Five Ed Note: We do NOT have a “clearer” understanding – we know exactly what happened. diana’s right about one thing though – we’re not talking…]
Visit The Fab Five and diana at http://www.geocities.com/newagecatcare. diana is a pet sitter in Carroll County, MD; Vice President of the Howard County Cat Club, a 501(c)(3) non-profit, no-kill cat rescue/adoption agency http://www.howardcountycatclub.org; freelance pet photographer, and Catnip Chronicles columnist and consultant.
Frisky’s is a 501(c)(3) non-profit organization dedicated to saving lives of wildlife and pet primates since 1970. They charge no fee for their services and medical care and are dependent on the generosity of public donations. The Fab Five and I urge our readers to visit their website (www.friskys.org) to see for yourselves the wonderful contribution these dedicated folks make to preserving, rehabilitating, and rescuing the lives of our ALL our animal friends.
