The Story of Frank

                Frank, whom you’ve met, is our problem child. Sleek and black with a white chest patch, he’s very photogenic.  His bright yellow eyes beam like headlights and he has the alert, nimble musculature of a wild panther.  Much to his fellow felines’ dismay he stalks prey like a jungle cat, sneaking up on his housemates and chomping their hindquarters, then spitting out large mouthfuls of their fur onto the floor.  Frank is not well liked by the rest of the clowder. (Clowder is the term for a group of cats—I think “herd” of cats sounds better, but no one asked me.)

Frank

 

                The fact that we have Frank involves a series of events that beat the longest odds possible—so improbable that you can almost physically see God’s hand dabbling with the details to make it happen.  The first hurdle Frank overcame was survival. At less than a week old he lost his farm cat mother.  When the farmer found the litter the next day, Frank was the only one alive.  Eyes closed, a few ounces in weight, severely dehydrated, needing around-the-clock mothering—Frank is a survivor.

                My daughter’s classmate, the farmer’s daughter, called  that Sunday afternoon begging her to take Frank in.  What to do?  My daughter had school, my husband worked, I had just opened my piano studio…we couldn’t cover the long hours of care this little guy needed.  We had a friend, though, who was laid up with a back injury for the month.  This friend (what are the odds?)  not only had an animal science degree, but was also passionate about pet rescuing.  He graciously agreed to be Frank’s surrogate mother and provide the necessary bottle feedings, baths, and socializing.  My daughter helped too—it was the first of many joint rescues for her and her future fiancé.

                Frank was weaned off the bottle just in time to join our household as my daughter’s birthday present.  Despite his good health and loving care, we quickly learned that Frank’s mind is just not wired right.  He has a split personality and we have yet to discover the off switch for his instantaneous mood swings.  One moment he is snuggling around my neck purr, purr, purring when suddenly he’ll bite my nose (not lovingly), hiss, and bolt out of sight.  He also spends long periods of time in a dark, brooding funk and engages in foul antisocial behavior, like peeing in the water dish.  (I did mention that the other cats haven’t warmed up to him.)

                Oftentimes I wonder why we have Frank, why all the circumstances aligned so he could be part of our family.  After all, he terrorizes the other cats and keeps me up nights sleeping on my face.  I stay awake to protect my chin just in case he snaps and decides to chomp. 

I’m reminded that I, too, snap—I am not proud of it and yes, I know better.  As much as others would like to snap back or reprimand me, what I really need at that time is loving acceptance and forgiveness.  That’s what I try to give Frank and about half the time I’m rewarded with his sweet side—a curious, companionable side-kick that makes me hope for a moment that he’s

a reformed kitty.