The Magic of Purple

Tears had come. Why? After all we had been through as a family. Why did he have to go?

He came as a miracle to us on that fateful day in October 2018 - the very day I bought the home. I took my parents to show them the cabin for the first time, and there was this tiny meowing creature. My girls would love to have a cat, I wondered out loud. But who was this cat? Where did it come from? I wasn't ready for the responsibility of a pet. We were just getting resettled as a new kind of family. I wasn't ready yet.

Another day came and went. This meowing kitten imploring me. I knew it was hungry. And even though I wasn't ready for a kitten, I couldn't bear for it to starve. It wouldn't let me come near it, so feral and afraid. I had part of a Subway sandwich that I was eating, and I pulled a part of it away and gave it to the little meowing kitten. It ate it so hungrily.

My Love. He came to the log cabin in the woods to see it for the first time, and there was this little kitten. Meowing. Somehow Jason knew this was a cat we would save. He came back from the store with kitten food, and the little cat ate it with all the strength he could muster. And then he curled up in the garden sun and went to sleep.

And indeed, he was our cat after that.

Gray tabby with ears too big for his face. Meowing - my, what a talkative kitty. He loved attention. He loved company. He was an outdoor cat, and also very much a "mountain kitty" as Jason called him. And the girls loved him. The joy that lit on their faces when they first saw him, the joy that grew every day as they played with him outside on the porch. Gia would suit up in a heavy coat and hat just to sit on the porch and hold him. And at that point, I knew. This cat would have to come inside so that I could have my daughter back!

Slowly we introduced him to an indoor/outdoor life. And he seemed to love it. The girls named him many names, but only one seemed to stick, and it was the name he responded to most:  Kit.

He asked to go outside when he was ready. He took walks with us, he went on his own little adventures (according to the neighbors who spotted him!) He would always come home for dinner, and he was waiting for us in the morning for breakfast. My mom bought him a heated little house outside and he loved it.

This cat survived so much. A bobcat who left prints in the snow. Wild foxes. Raccoon fights. Dogs. Other feral cats who wanted to fight. He sang songs to the females who paid him visits, and he came inside with his battle scars. He was between his two worlds - his indoor family world, and his outdoor adventure world and he loved them both.

And we thought of him as an angel. He showed up right when we needed him. The girls found joy in him, in the midst of this new transition in their lives. He cuddled with me when I felt anxious or lonely. He was the perfect gentleman, never jumping on furniture or clawing up the curtains. He was, we all said, the perfect cat. And we loved him dearly.

It was a late January evening, and we were arguing. Stress. So much going on and two people with needs wanting them desperately to be seen. Kit asked to go outside, so we let him. And then we talked it out. We held each other. This is what love should be. Never unkind, never unsafe. A soft place that we always found in each other.

We waited for Kit to return that evening, but he didn't. He wasn't there the next morning to greet us. The longest he had ever been gone was 2 days. So we waited.

Two days came and went. I told myself that if he was gone for 2 weeks, then he would never come back. But I still held hope. I posted about him on social media. Gray tabby with white sock feet. I got a few messages. "Is this your cat?" It never was.

We wept. We sobbed, actually. The girls and I sat on the couch and held each other, and Jason sat across from us, crying, too. Kit was gone. This perfect, perfect kitty - he was gone. And we mourned the loss of him, and how empty the house felt.

COVID and the fear that wracked the world, hit our world in March and April. It stung the nation, it stung our family. And then, out of nowhere, a miracle. I had vacuumed the floor many, many times. And there, while I was laying on the floor of our bedroom, I found a tuft of his fur. I picked it up and held it. How can this be? Was he still alive? Where was he? Was he thinking of us - sending us hope - even now?

And then, Magic. 

Almost 10 weeks since the day he stepped out of the cabin door. A message from a stranger asking that same question we had heard so many times before. "Is this your cat?" 

And this time, it was.

He was six miles away, covered in a mysterious purple. He was feral again. It was night and I called out to him. I turned on the camera light from my phone. The light hit his eyes, and I could tell he knew me. He paused. Two hours later with the tempting of bacon, he let us touch him. He rolled on his back to show us his tummy for more scratches. But he would not let us take him, so we had to leave him there that night. 

The following day we captured him with the help of the lovely family who notified us, and with the trap borrowed from another family. Finally, Kit was home. And within 20-30 minutes of our having him in our garage, he "remembered". The feral was gone again, and Kit was finally, finally home.

It was a miracle for us. Magic. Kit was dead to us, and now, he was alive. When we needed hope most, there he was. 

I think truly he is an angel. He showed up at my door the day I bought the cabin. He knew our family needed him. He shows up at my side to sit with me when I'm struggling. He curls up to comfort me when I'm sad. And when we felt total loss of him, he came back to take care of us once again.

Our purple cat is now gray and white again. It took about a month and a half, but he is himself again. 

The color purple means a lot of things, some of them being devotion, wisdom, independence, and of course, magic. 

Kit brings joy into our lives, and he brings the magic of purple with him: that when all seems lost ...

there can indeed be hope. <3