This is Kabuki. Isn't she adorable? Doesn't she look like she would be the perfect pet? Doesn't she look as if she would love to curl up on your lap and purr for hours and hours? I'll be honest, I wish that were the case- but Kabuki is just a bit more complicated than that...
I'll start from the beginning... I was working at a Borders bookstore in Fort Lauderdale when I got a call from a co-worker.
"My neighbor found two kittens and she can't keep them. I figured I would call you and see if you wanted them."
"Fuck", I thought. I already had a cat, my first pet in my one bedroom apartment. I knew that bringing 2 more kittens into the mix would bring me one step closer to "crazy cat lady" territory, but you can't just hold kittens in front of my face like a carrot. I'm sure to bite. At this point, I turn my head and change the channel every single time Sarah McLachlan starts playing on those ASPCA commercials. I can't handle them, and almost consider them abusive to my own psyche. When I have watched them, either by accident or on a dare, become a fucking basket case, and feel the need to save every mangy one-eyed pet I see.
I put my cards on the table, holding firm with my stance:
"Yeah, I would love to be able to take them, but I just don't have the room." I stood my ground, I was NOT going to take those cats.
Instead, I agreed to just go and SEE them. Just seeing, no adopting. I was doing it more as a favor than anything else, but I was definitely not going to be taking home any kittens. I headed over to take a look at the two of them, stepping over garbage and auto parts in the yard. I was let in and was immediately hit by the smell of urine and body odor. There were boxes and people everywhere. Way more people than there were bedrooms in the home. I was led to a back bedroom by a girl in a NASCAR t-shirt who kept playing with her clearly infected belly button piercing. She showed me the kittens, who were being housed in an empty Jack Daniels box. The two little fuzz balls were absolutely tiny. I would guess they were not older than a few weeks. It was a worrisome situation, but I did my best to stay resolute.
"They are really cute, but I really, REALLY don't have room for them so---" -she interrupted me in a high pitched, fast, excuse laden voice.
"BUT IF YOU DON'T TAKE THEM WE ARE TAKING THEM TO A KILL SHELTER TOMORROW!" she shrieked "WE FOUND THEM UNDER MY MOM'S CAR!"
I was annoyed, I was wavering, and I was in love with these kittens. I even said "fuck it" and agreed to take one of them, but that wasn't good enough. I had to take them both. I had to think of an excuse that would justify my horrible decision making, but nothing sufficient came to mind as I carried the Jack Daniel's box out to my car. They both were trying to climb out of the box as I was driving, and I spent just as much time replacing them in the bottom of the box as I did steering the car.
I initially called a couple of friends of mine and begged them to take the kittens for a few days while I got my apartment ready for them. I don't know what preparation I thought was going to be necessary, but I wasn't quite ready to take them to my place yet. I was scared that the kitten I already had, Astro, would not react well to these new, furry invaders.
At my friend's apartment, the kittens were not doing well. They were very scared and shaky, and they ran from anyone trying to pick them up or touch them. They hid in every corner of my friends' kitchen and ultimately wound up behind the dishwasher. This was a crisis situation. Defcon 3. I couldn't see the cats, so I couldn't get to them. On the verge of freaking out, I needed to extract the kittens as quickly as possible. One thing I had never seen happen was the removal of a dishwasher. It seemed to be a pretty permanent type of appliance. It is connected to the wall of your kitchen by a variety of tubes and such, and it isn't meant to just be dragged out of place. Regardless, that is essentially what I did. There was a metal bar attached to the machine and the bottom of the cabinetry, keeping it in place, which a screwdriver did quick work of. I then wiggled the machine outwards into the kitchen until I could see the two shaking babies. I fished them out, put them back in their Jack Daniel's box, and got them the hell out of there.
This is essentially the beginning of my relationship with Tegan and Kabuki, but this story is particularly about Kabuki. She came into my life in a Jack Daniel's box, and we have ridden the waves of her anxiety together. She is a unique and beautiful cat with a dark side and the most clinically screwed up behavioral traits I have ever known a cat to have.
There are lots of stories about Kabuki, including her traits, her anxiety, her behavior, and her tendency to draw blood when threatened. I hope you all enjoy reading about Kabuki as much as I do writing about her. She is chronically misunderstood, and rarely seen by human eyes. She is like a Sasquatch, and I am the lucky, crazy bastard trying to pet the sleeping giant.
She is a handful to say the least, but she is also incredibly sweet and affectionate with me on HER terms. I have learned to work with them and I know when to push and when to back away. I have come to the conclusion that Kabuki is an anxious cat. The affection that I get from my other cats is a behavior that Kabuki just could not handle. She will never jump up and sit on my lap, but when she rubs up against me or lets me pet her coat before scurrying away, I KNOW that that is what she is capable of. I'm ok with that, and am excited about telling her story.
to be continued...
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