She tried calling the fire department. They don't do cat rescues. She tried putting food down under the tree for him. He wasn't biting. She had already made two attempts to rescue him herself. The first time, she wasn't able to get close enough to him to catch him. The second time, she got him and was carrying him down when he got spooked by a dog and jumped over her head, several feet above where he had originally been. She was getting pretty discouraged.
Couple that with the fact that the cat had just survived a deluge the day before, and the fact that we were getting ready to have multiple days of below-freezing temperatures, and I was pretty motivated. Stupid? Yes. Crazy? Yes. But also motivated.
So after work, I drove home as fast as I could, changed out of my unfriendly-for-climbing-around-in-a-tree work clothes and into a sweatshirt and jeans, grabbed some canned food, a plate, a fork and a pair of gloves, and off I went. By myself. In the truck. With darkness falling steadily.
It's not that Sean didn't volunteer to come with me. But Sean has a healthy respect for heights, and the place where the cat was stuck was known for being the kind of place where you might get shot with a 12-gauge for trespassing on someone else's property. And the kitty, bless him, was on someone else's property. It was dark, it was cold, it felt dangerous. I just wasn't very keen on the idea of Sean and I both falling out of a tree, or getting shot, or worse. So I made him stay home.
I had a lot of time to think about how crazy I was being, since it took me around 45 minutes to get out to where the little buddy was. The five-lane road changed to a four-lane, then to a two. Gas stations and other businesses changed to fields and barns. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, I ended up meeting my co-worker at the lone Dollar General so I wouldn't end up getting lost the rest of the way to her house.
When I saw him, I could tell right away that he wasn't coming down without a fight. He was petrified, almost literally. As we pulled out the ladder my co-worker had borrowed from her other job, a neighbor came out to see what kind of trouble we were getting ourselves into. With his Corgi. I asked him nicely if he wouldn't mind putting his dog up while we were trying to rescue the terrified cat. He blithely told me, in a mountain drawl, "he's awl raht...he ain't gonna hurt that cat." I tried to explain to him that I knew that, and he knew that, but I was 99% certain that the cat didn't know that. He pretty much ignored me, and started going on about how he still liked his original plan, which was to shoot the cat out of the tree.
In retrospect, it was probably good that he was there, because a.) at one point, there were two of us up on the articulating ladder, and at least he was there to hold it, and b.) I was so angry at the guy for the "shooting-down-the-cat" remarks that I think I forgot to be scared for a few minutes.
My co-worker went up first, scaling the extremely tall ladder expertly until she couldn't go any further and had to try to swing up on the nearest branch. After climbing several branches higher, she finally reached the cat. I had suggested we try putting him in a pillowcase this time instead. She held it in her teeth while trying to maneuver enough to get him in it while also not falling out of the tree. After what seemed like an eternity, she was finally successful in getting the writhing, yowling cat into the bag. Honestly, it was probably the bravest, most daring thing I've ever personally witnessed a human being do. She was my hero in those moments.
But then she needed to get him down. That's where I came in. Up until this point, I'd just been offering encouragement and trying to get our little marksman friend holding the ladder to pipe down. Now was the part where I had to actually act. I took a deep breath and, rung by terrifying rung, climbed all the way to the top of the ladder, which, when fully extended, was easily taller than our two-story house. At this point, I was shaking so hard I wasn't sure if I'd be able to get myself down, much less a cat in a poke.
My co-worker gingerly climbed down to meet me and handed me the bag. Now was the moment of truth: could I conquer my fear enough to get us both down safely? Clearly, if I'm telling this story now, you've probably already guessed that the answer is yes. But in those first shaky moments of holding that cat-filled pillowcase in my fist, I can't honestly say I believed that would be the outcome.
Slowly, so as not to slip and not to misstep, I took a step downward. Took another one. Tried really, really hard not to look down, and not to think about what might happen if I lost my grip on that pillowcase. Another step. And another. I'm pretty sure someone could have watched Gone With the Wind from start to finish in the time it took me to get off that ladder.
Finally, my feet felt terra firma, and I begged Mr. Neighbor-with-the-Dog once again to please put his dog up so I could put the cat in the carrier. Of course, my request fell on deaf (or extremely stubborn) ears. So I had to get the cat untangled from the inside of the pillowcase while he was in the carrier. This is actually harder than you might think.
Eventually, we got him untangled, and I put the food in the carrier with the cat, and the carrier in the truck, and headed back home.
Exhilarated by our success, I talked the whole way home to the cat, who returned the favor by talking the whole way home to me, too.
Sean saved the day by working behind the scenes, setting up Elroy's dog crate in the garage with bedding, a litter box, a heater and reflective material surrounding the crate, and of course food and water. The orange and white "tuxedo-ish" buddy ate and drank like there was no tomorrow. I'm sure I'd have done the same thing if I'd been without food and water for a week.
He's turned out to be a really super-sweet cat, at least with people. Other cats he has no use for, and he's already attempted to attack Mister and Wanda, even with many days of carefully orchestrated quarantine and only supervised forays into the rest of the house. He sleeps on our chests and sticks to us like glue when we're in the room. He hasn't yet met a stranger. He loves everybody.
And boy, does he ever have a personality. Yesterday I was washing dishes and letting him roam while the other buddies were in our bedroom, and I turned around to see him standing on the dining room table looking out the window. I clapped at him (not very loudly) and chastised him for being on the table (also not very loudly), but he was off the table like a shot and running upstairs to his room to put himself in time-out. I kid you not.
So he may or may not bring us back to six again. It's too soon after Elroy, of course, and there's no way he would even be here if he hadn't been so silly as to get himself stuck in a tree for seven days.
His name is Neville, after the botany-loving Harry Potter character, and he's already worked his magic on us. Now we just have to see whether his charms extend to the five remaining buddies or not. He'll have to learn to play nice first, but if he can, I think he'd make a really nice addition to the family. We'll keep you updated.
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