Sandy

Hello Homebodies,

I’m writing this from the hamlet of Opoutere, in the Coromandal Peninsula, on the east coast of the north island. To be more specific, I’m sitting in the kitchen of Opoutere’s beautiful YHA (Youth Hostel Association) facility, which is a hundred-year-old schoolhouse, on the banks of an estuary, over which an arched wooden bridge meets a pine forest, through which a sandy path leads to a five-kilometer long beach where the sand is as white as sugar.

The contrast in atmosphere between this place and Solscape is profound. Let’s just say it’s quiet and peaceful, and leave it at that. When my camera arrives. I’ll devote a separate essay to photographs of this special place.

Before I catch you up with my doings, I’d like to acknowledge a certain proclivity for focusing on the “dark side” of things. The truth of the matter is, reading about one man’s pleasure is boring (as evidenced in the tepid response to my last entry, “Glory”). I do not perceive nor pander to cruelty in the hearts of my readers; I know that we both would like nothing better than to hear that the other one is happy and doing well. But something different is at play with the written word. I don’t know why and don’t care to ponder it here. I just know that it is so.

And let’s face it. I’m a whiner and a complainer. It’s bread in the bone. I find it cathartic to write about, oh, let’s say, “Bugs”, and I just bet you’d love to hear about them. And if I managed to do so in an original or entertaining way, then we would both benefit.

But the thing of it is, finally, that I see the positive in the negative, and vice-verse. “The sweetest kittens have the sharpest claws”, as the old saying goes- which brings me to the tale of Sandy.

Soon after I arrived at Solscape, I encountered a “ginger”-and-cream colored cat begging loudly for food scraps. He was sleek and full-bodied, friendly and confident- obviously not a feral. I assumed that, like the bunnies, he had migrated over from the folks next door, who were exceedingly casual about their animal stewardship (to put it one way).

Concerned for his welfare, I bought him a box of Whiskas, and began to think about what to do with him. Bernadette, the co-owner of Solscape, expressed her concern too. She offered the office number as a contact point, and re-asserted the necessity of finding him a home.

Meanwhile the little fellow was making himself more and more at home with us. Most mornings I would open the station house (kitchen) door to find him stretching awake on his favorite chair. He would snake between my legs in that irritating feline way, yowling to be fed. He would eat so ferociously that sometimes he threw up the un-chewed food.

I soon came to understand the elements of his personality. At this stage, he was fixated on food. He would purr and rub against your legs, submit to strokes, even allow himself to be picked up and cuddled- before he had eaten. After feeding, he might bath, or trot off and do whatever it was he did between meals. If he did stick around, he might loll in the sun on the deck of the station house, or move to the shade, as the day grew hot.

But he didn’t really like being touched. Short of allowing a few glancing cheek rubs, he pretty much isolated himself after being fed. People that tried to do more were scratched. Would-be lovers glared, sucking the top of their hand or the tip of a finger.

He came alive when a toy (dried flax fronds were a favorite) was dangled. It was apparent, then, that he was a young cat. He pounced with a vengeance. He leaped and twisted his body in the air. You would tire before he did.

I refused to give him a name. I didn’t want to get attached. A nice Australian couple suggested Sandy.

After about a week of feeding him, I discovered a golf-ball sized lump on his neck. I called over the fence to the house next door until I got the attention of one of the residents, who disavowed him. “Drown ‘im!” her companion added.

I phoned the vet and made sure someone could attend to him. I emptied a box of toilet paper, poked holes in the ends, put a towel in the bottom, and went looking for someone who was going to Raglan.

The cat was lounging in the sun, tail flicking. I scruffed him and put him in the box. Hugging it shut, I got into the car and off we drove. He was fairly quiet, and to my gratification, didn’t empty his bladder.

We decided to get him castrated, along with having the abscess lanced. He spent the weekend at the vet's, to ensure that he got his medications.

In the meantime, I had bought Herbert (my 1989 Subaru), so when the time came to pick him up, I didn’t need to wangle a ride. I didn’t try to stop him when he squeezed out of his new cardboard carrier on the way home. He sat upright on the passenger seat and looked out the (closed) window, as nonplussed as any dog.

As a treat, he got canned food for a week. I composed and printed a poster that read “Save Sandy”, with this photo, which I chose for its plaintive quality-


Can you tell that he is begging?

I described him as a “purring love machine” I did not say that he didn’t like to be pet, or that he was somewhat… vicious!

I put up a flyer at the library, and at the newsstand where the owner likes to talk about U.S. politics. I hung one at the laundromat. The hippy-ish health and beauty store had a bulletin board, but it was full. I left, then thought the better of it and asked the proprietor if I could hang it somewhere else. She glanced at the poster and said sure, then went to help a customer. I found an open bit of wall, but it was nice wood, and I wasn’t sure if it was OK. Feeling a bit of a pest, I waited until the clerk was free, then asked again about the spot on the wall. She took a better look at the poster, and stopped and stared.

She said she wanted the cat. She and her 13 year old daughter wanted a ginger and cream cat, and she wanted a young male.

Feeling more than a bit aware of the soft-sell description on the flyer, I told her that Sandy was a diamond in the rough, and needed an experienced cat person. She insisted she was.

Well, after several false starts and mix-ups, I brought Sandy to Keiren’s stunning home on an isolated, wooded street overlooking Raglan Harbour. I left the next day, so I don’t know how it’s worked out. I hope all of them, especially Sandy, are patient with one another.