Mango

I am fostering a cat. Her name was Poki, and she lived in my neighborhood. The family is moving to New Zealand and can’t take her with. She arrived Monday a week ago and after everyone left, she was happy to look all around my downstairs. But then my handyman came and perhaps the sound scared her, but she went upstairs and got under my bed and stayed there the whole rest of the day. When I came up to go to bed that night, she ran downstairs. I just kept telling her to do her, take it slow, make herself at home.

I had a cat or two or three for the first 32 years of my life. I absolutely adored cats as a child and then moved more into my dog phase. It was so interesting having a cat back in my life. I pictured us just being two independent women doing our thing. I asked my colleagues’ two daughters to choose a name for her. They gave me a whole list and I chose Mango. It seemed to suit her.

I was told she doesn’t go up on counters. She does. I was told she doesn’t scratch furniture. She does. They never used a litter box because she went in and out of the house. I kept her inside the first week so she would learn me and her new home. She quickly took to the litter box, but when she finished her business, she would kick her litter all over the place.

On the first day I let her out, she stood in the threshold for a very long time. I went out onto the patio and just sat quietly, witnessing the liminal space between the home she’d come to know and the big wide world out here. I wondered what was going through her mind. Finally, she stepped outside, walked around the patio, keeping low to the ground, and ran back in. This back-and-forth went on five or six times for the rest of the afternoon. Each trip outside was a little longer. At one point I watched her come back in and couldn’t help but think how much like parenthood this was. How we raise and launch our children to go off independently into the world, but hope that they will choose to come back and visit us. I clearly remember each of my children standing on the threshold between childhood and adulthood.

What I discovered on the very first night is that I am now allergic to cats! My nose is stuffy and I sneeze and now I’m starting to get headaches. I’m already on allergy medication for seasons allergies, so that’s not an option. I’ve started to put the word out at work and in my various groups in hopes that someone will take her.

The other day I bought her a cat townhouse, assembled it, and put it up in my office so she could hang out with me while I write. Except for the little bed on the bottom, she doesn’t seem very impressed by it.

One night when I went to bed, she hopped up on my fluffy down comforter with me. She was crouching in a funny way, and I enjoyed watching her hold the pose. I did not enjoy the stream of urine that came out of her and flowed down the duvet cover, however. It was already past midnight and now it was going to be a very late night. I stripped the bed and ran the laundry and folded up the now smelly duvet with the damp feathers and put it down the hall. I locked Mango out of the room. She stood outside my door and meowed in protest all night.

A few days later, Mango was sleeping next to me in the office when I saw something moving out of the corner of my eye. I had seen a little gecko earlier, but this thing was bigger. I turned my head to see a black-and-white cat walking down the hallway.

“Hello?” I said to it as our eyes met. He turned and ran down the stairs. I followed him and watched him go out onto the patio. I could not believe that a cat had just walked into my house in that little crack of door I left for Mango.

Later that night, I went to bed late once again, and kept Mango outside my bedroom. I was awoken a little while later to the sounds of a cat fight. At first, I thought it was outside, but then I realized it was much closer. I opened my door and there was Mango. I went downstairs to see what was happening and there was Mango. Had I missed her coming downstairs in my grogginess? I walked back upstairs and there was Mango with her pink collar. I walked downstairs and there was a ginger cat without. I shooed her outside and closed the door. Mango cried outside my door all night again. We were having a rough week!

The next morning, I looked out the window and that black and white cat was on the patio. We made eye contact. Then he went into my garden, dug around and pooped with his eyes locked on mine.

I told my friend at work about these cats entering my house and she said that’s very common here in South Africa.

Mango and I are learning each other and adjusting. As I write, she’s chasing a bug that just came in through the open office window.