Monks snuck kittens into my yard (and other conspiracy theories)

I didn't choose the Cat Lady life. The Cat Lady life chose me.

Or so I thought. After all, hadn't I just agreed with my housemates Jim and Carolyn that this was a good season to be pet-free? Their latest dog had died a year earlier, their kids were out of the house, and all three of us were very busy, including regular overnight travels. Plus, with the big new wall the landlord built around the property, a dog no longer seemed necessary for security, and Carolyn's allergic to cats. I was fine with that - my family had a dog growing up, but I've never felt inclined to have my own pets. They're not a priority.

Besides, that big new wall didn't deter many creatures. Lizards, chameleons, skinks, and bugs were permanent residents. Cows wandered in to graze on crabgrass and rotting mangoes. The neighbors' stealthy cats, raucous roosters, inquisitive dogs, and floppy-eared rabbits regularly paid our yard a visit. Toads snuck under the door to poop in our dining room nightly. While gardening one day, someone moved a rock and uncovered a mother scorpion with dozens of babies on her back. We had plenty of animals around.

Jim first documented their presence

So I barely blinked when three little kittens showed up last August. I savored their cuteness and snapped a few photos, but they didn't seem like pets any more than the scorpions. Until they stayed all day, and the next day, and the next.

We realized these kittens, around four weeks old, weren't yet venturing far. They had not journeyed together to our yard without human assistance. The options? A neighbor. Anyone in town who had noticed our spacious green yard. Maybe someone who thought that since Cambodian pagodas always take in and care for stray animals, Christian missionaries might be willing to do the same. Should we drop them off at the local pagoda like everyone else who didn't want their kittens? "If the pagoda was overrun, the monks might have brought them here," one friend theorized. So the Cat Lady life didn't choose me... but maybe monks did. 

The Gabriels' son Jake and his friend Jack were wrapping up a summer visit, and Jake was the first to put out milk and coax the kittens to feel safe around us. Soon we had designated food dishes and daily feeding times. The guys started assigning names: Frodo, Galadriel, and... Gandalf the Grey? Radagast the Brown Wizard? We couldn't agree on kitten #3's color (what's your vote?), but it became apparent that she was not the same gender as either wizard. Shelob? When this kitten was their favorite, the smallest and most mellow of the three, it was hard to name her after an evil giant spider. This dilemma highlighted the LOTR cast's limited racial and gender diversity. This kitten did not see herself represented in the dozens of characters. For months we called her "the gray one" and "the brown one" and "Gandalf" and "Radagascar" before Jim finally said, "She's so sweet, I'm just calling her Hugs." And Hugs she became. 

Galadriel's name also didn't seem to suit her well. Aloof, moody, talented at hunting, and wanting closeness only on her own terms, she hardly seemed to take after her namesake. Where were the serenity, wisdom, and gentleness? Later we watched "Rings of Power" and realized WHICH Galadriel we had living with us: definitely First Epoch. And Frodo wasn't pensive and melancholy - he's more like Merry and Pippin, loving food and fun and mischief. Anyway, Frodo and Galadriel's names both stuck, but Frodo acquired a lot of nicknames like "Frodo-Panda" and "Panda in the Neck" and "Floppy Fro" (rhymes with "Sloppy Joe") for his tendency to roll over and play when we gently kicked him out the door. In Frodo's view, all attention is good attention.

But why were they still here, when we were all avowed non-pet-owners? Carolyn's allergies were tolerable if the cats stayed outside (harder than it sounds) and if she washed her hands after touching them. Jim and I didn't mind feeding them, and Jim loved teasing them and posing them in funny situations. (They also had a knack for posing themselves without his help.) The nation's few animal shelters, 3-5 hours away, are overrun with kittens. There seemed to be just three options: rehome them, kill them, or keep them. Having a subpar survival rate in my previous Cambodian cat-sitting experiences, I wasn't sure we'd need to reach a decision. Our teammate Joel's cat had kittens in July, and all of them got sick and died by September. With all the critters, diseases, and vehicles around, it seemed like a miracle every morning to come downstairs and find them snuggled up safe and sound. 

We started working on rehoming them. Cambodians generally prefer dogs over cats, since they can protect the home and be trained not to steal food from their open-air kitchens. Though nobody wanted females that might later have kittens, one family offered to take Frodo. But they had an aggressive puppy that had already killed several baby chicks, so we told them, "Wait till he's bigger." The kittens were so tiny and vulnerable, and they'd already lost their mom. Surely they needed each other. Plus, I wanted to spay and neuter them before we sent them out. In the meantime, I didn't mind them piling on me for daily cuddles in the hammock. And when we traveled, we needed someone to house-sit anyway, so it was easy enough to arrange for their food. 

I realized Jim was a much bigger pet lover than he'd let on. He suggested we keep just one cat long-term, but which one? Though the easiest to give away, Frodo was winning his heart as the most playful, following us everywhere and eager to wrestle with us and his sisters. Whenever I picked him up at the door to keep him from running into the house, he made aggressive eye contact until I paid more attention and petted him with more dedication. I felt more attached to the girls, though. Hugs was the sweetest, content to lie quietly on our laps, play with her siblings, or go exploring on her own. Galadriel meowed the most plaintively, seeking my attention until I sat or crouched down, when she'd run up on my shoulder and compulsively lick my chin. We all felt bad thinking about splitting them up into families that just wanted rat-killers (not pets), would likely hit or kick them for being naughty, and would feed them almost nothing but rice. Eventually, we decided to keep all three.

Not that we always love them. They sometimes like to bite us - not to hurt us, but to play or to get us to pet them. The older they've gotten, the more they've started doing "cat things" like depositing maimed or dead lizards and birds on our shoes. They shed a lot, especially during hot season. They run inside when we open the doors... which is often, since our office, kitchen/dining room, and bedrooms are all in separate enclosures with an outdoor hallway and stairs. (Frodo is especially good at slipping in through the kitchen door, which doesn't latch well.) It will be a miracle if nobody ever breaks an ankle en route from the kitchen to their food bowls because all three are underfoot every time. They're not smart enough to steer clear of the pickup when it's backing up, so we're always worried about hitting them. I have caught each of them standing in the squatty potty to get a drink. *gag*  

I wasn't sure if I'd like them as cats as much as I did as kittens. They're more independent now than they used to be. These days, my hammock naps might bring a cat or two, or not, whereas before they all came running every time. But they still clamor for affection a few times a day. It's still fun to watch them playing and napping together (they huddle up even on the hottest afternoons). And except for the occasional squatty potty incident, they stay astonishingly clean given all the dirt and mud around here. As mostly outdoor cats, they don't need a litterbox, bedding, walks, toys, or anything from us besides food and a little attention. I'm on board for that.

Getting them spayed was an adventure. The local vet doesn't spay or neuter but offered to administer human birth control (we declined) since medications here are unregulated and don't require prescriptions. The vet in Siem Reap required them to be at least six months old and weigh 2 kg. Kittens can get pregnant at four months, and we were advised to separate them until they could be spayed at six months, but keeping them indoors was not an option.  The last thing we wanted was more kittens here, but what else would we do if they got pregnant? "Drown them," Carolyn declared, to my shock. "It's more humane than letting them suffer as strays or be maltreated in someone's home." 

Carolyn chaperoned the cats in repurposed storage baskets

 

In January, Jim and Carolyn loaded them into their pickup truck bed when taking some visitors to Siem Reap, three hours away. We were relieved to hear the vet declare neither female was pregnant and all three were qualified for surgery. This vet was more Western, wanting them to return in five days to remove stitches and then every few months for more shots and check-ups, which was far beyond our commitment level given the distance. She even mentioned a taxi driver who could chauffeur the cats solo if needed. The cats came home pros at wriggling out of their cones, and were back to lying in the dirt within days, but they still managed to heal without infection. They might be the only spayed and vaccinated animals in our whole province! 

I've been the main feeder and cuddler of three cats for seven months and counting. I think that puts me squarely into the "Cat Lady" category. A crazy one? I won't deny that I've been a little crazy lately, but the cats have been less of a symptom and more of a therapy. It's not something I anticipated when I moved up here. I'm not sure I'd continue it if my context changed. And I'll probably never know who conspired to thrust this lifestyle on me. But I'm enjoying it more than I expected. 

I didn't choose the Cat Lady life... but I'm choosing it now.