Turtleman
I first met Turtleman, a slinky black panther of a cat, eight years ago when I was feeding my usual bunch of "homeless" kitties at a nearby lake.
He had a certain presence that none of the other cats could ignore. I watched as they deferred to him, imitating his every move.
If Turtleman lay down in the ditch and rolled onto his back, the others would look on as if to say, "Oh, so we're doing the ditch-rolling thing now, huh?" Then they'd perform the same maneuver.
Intrigued by this, I cautiously approached him; he gazed up at me through intense green eyes and let me stroke his silky face.
I have to admit it -- he had me at "Meow."
I was already in a monogamous relationship, though, with Muffin, a stunning Himalayan who at 19 was dying of lymphoma.
After she died, and after a time of reflection and remembrance, when I felt ready to commit myself again, I knew just whom to ask. By that time Turtleman and I had been cavorting for six months. I asked for his paw and he happily accepted.
I needn't have worried about his ability to adjust to indoor living because from our first night together, he slept with me and easily grew accustomed to his "three hots and a cot."
It wasn't until we'd been living together for a few months that I realized he reminded me of a kitten I'd had for a brief time when I was 8. My parents allowed me to keep one of the offspring of our family cat, Missy. I named the kitten Susie and made a special place for her in our backyard shed.
Susie grew up and had her own kitten, a small black male. I regarded Susie and her baby as my real family until one day I came home from school and found the kitten missing.
My recollection of what happened next has long since dissolved into a slow-motion, wordless blur. What I can recall is that no one, not even my mother, would tell me (but I somehow figured out) that my dad had taken the kitty away and most likely killed it. Too many mouths to feed would have been his rationalization.
I've had many cats since then, but Turtleman was the first black one. Where Muffin's personality had been feisty, Turtleman's is placid. This difference showed up on his first visit to the vet. Dr. Gardner had known Muffin for most of her 19 years and was well aware of her rage at all things veterinarian.
His staff would put on protective gear before they would even attempt to extract her from the carrier.
Turtleman, on the other hand, was an angel. He sat quietly as Gardner probed his trunk, looked into his mouth and took his temperature.
Because I felt guilty about depriving Turtleman of his freedom, I made up for it by feeding him whenever he said "meow." I know -- bad move -- but I never had children, so my limit-setting skills were underdeveloped.
It wasn't until my sweetheart, Steve, moved in three years later and gently suggested we set up a feeding schedule for Turtleman that he shed the extra pounds. I never thought he was overweight, just big-boned.
Recently, however, Turtleman has been vomiting and coughing sporadically. He also appears to be losing weight. This was how the lymphoma started with Muffin, and I have begun to worry that I might lose another precious friend to that disease.
Because of my concern and because of his age (16), I tossed aside the feeding schedule and allowed him to eat whenever he wanted to. I figured he could use all the calories he could get if he had to fight lymphoma.
After taking him to the vet on several occasions for various tests, and while awaiting the results, I mentioned to my therapist friend, Carolyn, that I was once again feeding Turtleman whenever he wanted.
All she said was, "Where are your boundaries, girl?"
"Well, uh ..." I said.
After several delays and hideous anxiety, we finally found out he doesn't have lymphoma but rather a minor irritable bowel thing and some sort of bronchitis. In other words, my 16-year-old kitty is not dying just yet.
Now, of course, I had to break it to Turtleman that it was time to return to his previous dining schedule. On my first attempt, he just flicked his tail and walked away.
Later that day, Steve laughed when he overheard me saying, "Look, Turtleman, since it's clear that you're not dying right now, you're gonna have to ... oh, all right, just one more time."
Cats. Boundaries. Right.
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This article appeared on page F - 6 of the Saturday, May 12th edition of the San Francisco Chronicle.