ZIP

ZIP

Yes indeed I want to tell you more about Keisa and one of the comments made has told me how I want to do it. This person asked me to write about my other special cats. There were four including Keisa. The same motivation makes me want to show how deeply attached cats become as they age, to a loving care taker.

But first I want to thank all of you kind people for your encouragement by visiting my Keisa Blog and especially those who made comments. One comment had to do with Siamese cats. I did not intend to give the impression that they do not mew. I never had one and I did not want one. I thought they were terrible squawkers who talked all the time. I failed completely to recognize their slim grace and lively intelligence. My two cats of pantomime skill, Chip and Keisa, I called Siamese-mix, based entirely on appearance and behavior. They were recorded by their doctors as domestic cats.

Now I begin with special cat #1 – ZIP, [1929]. I have a feeling of guilt about her to this day because I failed her twice but at least it formed my resolutions: Do it yourself. Don’t cravenly leave it to another.

I don’t remember how I got Zip. She was partly long haired, pretty, timid and a perfect lady. At the family table she had a chair beside mine and she sat there content. She was also a lap cat, a gentle creature that had a horrible experience.


One night after dark as I sat in the living room there was a terrible banging racket on our front porch. I was scared. When it stopped I made myself investigate. There was nothing there. The next morning, Zip had not come home as usual. I searched and called throughout the neighborhood. No result.

It could have been as much as two weeks later that I got a phone call. A cat was under a garage. A cat had been caught by one foot in a leg-hold trap. It was ZIP and her foot had been freed, missing two toes. I carried her home. My mother said to walk her in the fresh air. Then I laid her on the bed in the room next to the dining room and we began the noon meal. Zip came dragging her infected foot to sit beside my chair. I got her onto the expected other chair. So animals don’t love? It is all instinct? Not in my mind.

Zip recovered slowly and lived to age 15. Finally she became incontinent in the house and my mother said enough. I called the humane officer and went to work with the understanding that Zip would be put to sleep at home and left there. When I got home, I learned that she had been put through the terror of being carted away. The officer had convinced my mother that he could do the work better at his office. Zip deserved better.

There had been another time in her life when I had been away from home for six months and my mother had cared for Zip faithfully. When I came back Zip promptly requested the chair at my side be restored. Mother wryly remarked that she got small thanks for her service.

The other three specials were all taken to the veterinarian by me personally and held during the proceedings and buried by me in their yard.

The first of these three was Chip. I look forward to discussing his personality. He was the clown, the investigator, the tease, the biter, the one who couldn’t care less about me, what a fraud!