Good Things Do Come To Those Who Wait

Miracles still occur. Monday night, October 4, 2010, after 12 1/2 months of searching, Mr. Squiggles was brought back home to us.

We got a call from a friend, Sue, around 9pm. She had a cat sitting on her front porch who looked like Mr. Squiggles. Sue only lives about 1/2 a mile from us, and we are separated only by cornfields and woods. Jim and I, seasoned veterans in Maine Coon searches, weren't expecting any miracles, but we vowed from the beginning to follow every lead. So off we went, hoping but not expecting.

When we pulled up to Sue's house, she was sitting on her front porch with the cat. Instantly, I didn't know if it was him. This is a bit unusual, because Jim and I usually know right away. But still, there have been a handful of cats who have thrown us for a loop. So I held him, still unsure. He cradled himself in my arms, not wanting to let go. Jim held him as well, and he felt so at ease. It was a chilly night, and this cat was underfed and matted, and Jim and I couldn't be certain it wasn't him, so we decided to take him home.

The only room left in the house to sequester a cat is the finished basement music studio, which thankfully is home to our old couch (the one Mr. Squiggles knew). I sat on the couch, cradling the cat, and the only way I can describe his reaction was...the could finally breathe. I have two other rescue cats at home, and while they are grateful to be here and are affectionate with Jim and I, this cat's reaction was more...familiar. Like he was finally home after a long, hard journey. Which he was.

It took us several days to fully admit that it was him. My parents both looked at the cat. My Mom reacted with tears, sure it was him. I was the most skeptical, afraid that if we misidentified him, what would happen to the real Mr. Squiggles? But this is him. Over the days, I have noticed not only the significant physical similarities, but also the behavioral similarities. The way he eats his chunky cat food (leaving the big chunks and eating only the small ones), the way he uses the litter box (no Feline Pine, thank you very much, but if he has to use it, he perches with all four feet on the edge), the way he tilts his head, the way he walks, the way he reaches out his paw, the way he looks when he's asleep, the look in his eye. He is familiar with our home and isn't afraid of the dogs, who are fine with him as well. (Even Isis) He looks around the house, not as if he's trying to figure it out, but like he's wanting to see what's different and to remind himself of all his old familiar things.

But it's the way he acts with Jim and I that has really convinced me. That feeling of being released from fear and uncertainty is so apparent in his demeanor. He loves to be held and cuddled by us, but in a different way from any cat I've ever had. Like he truly appreciates what it's like to be back with his family. He melts into us when he sleeps with us (tucked behind my back legs, as always), like he knows he's home. I know it too.

The past year has obviously been rough on him. There is evidence that he has been kept captive by someone in the past year, and he has some long-lasting injuries that we can't repair. But we can make them better, and his only health concerns are caused by severe malnutrition, which a month or so of a good, solid diet can cure. He's as picky an eater as ever though, so we know we have our work cut out for us.

As I write this, he is happily laying in his favorite window perch, with the window open and the birds flying in front of him. Sometimes I see the weight of all of his troubles behind his eyes, but I hope, in time, and with lots and lots of love, that those memories will vanish for him, and he'll only be left with the life we were all obviously meant to lead.