Isis

Isis was a teeny ball of fur with closed eyes when first I saw her.  Lady Lapushka, a friend's cat, had given birth a few days earlier.  Now that I was moving out of the dorm, and after the sad loss of Karma, I could adopt a cat.  Lady had four kittens in her litter; the smallest one did not survive.  That left two orange kitties and Isis, the black-furred runt.  The two orange kittens suckled happily at Lady's breast, ignorant of Isis' desperate attempts to get in there and get her dinner.  She would go to one side, try and fail; go to the other side, try and fail.  And then she would push her way forcefully in between the two orange cats.  Now here was a cat with an attitude!  Lady's human friend had promised me my pick of the litter, but was reluctant to let the only black kitten go.  After reminding him he had promised, she was mine.

My roommate's family helped us move into the apartment after leaving the dorm.  Her sister (who became a vet tech), cradled Isis in her arms on the way over to the apartment.  Isis was completely freaked at the move.  Liesie's help probably made the situation much better.

She was my second cat.  There was still so much I didn't know.  What I did know was that she *was* going to be spayed.  And she was.

Isis did *not* have a sweet, kind personality.  Karma, who did, came for my mother.  The first cat that came for me (or rather, whom I picked out) had a *nasty* temper.  She was also incredibly intelligent, with the single exception of her weird habit of running across the apartment and banging her head into the wall.  She would shake her head, and then do it again.

She understood that keys unlock doors.  She kept trying to figure out how to turn the keys to open the door (I left them in the lock), but just couldn't figure it out (no opposable thumbs, of course).  Isis was an indoor-outdoor cat.  I lived in a small college town at the time, and still didn't understand that indoor cats live *much* longer and healthier lives (granted, she lived to be at least 11, but read on).

Every roommate I had in this time said "Wow!  That's the most intelligent cat I've ever seen in my life!"  The fact that she appeared to be a headbanger didn't change the opinions.

She was utterly nasty to people she didn't like.  She was a complete lamb to people she did like.  And she could switch back and forth with ease.

My brother had a friend who, for some odd reason, she utterly adored.  She was all over him when we were visiting my mother's home.  He later did a very forgettable commercial for some athlete's foot product, as a bizarre point of information.  She acted like he was her long-lost friend (and perhaps he was).

If she was very ticked off, she let you know it.  But if you were in pain, she was there for you.  My roommate at the time once had a horrible day.  Isis climbed up in her bed, and sat next to her, purring, until she calmed down.

People she didn't like found her scratching them, deliberately getting underfoot and making them trip, and other antics.  She was definitely clear in her opinions!

I went through a terrible series of personal crises, and ended up leaving her with my mother.  At the time, I felt that I could not take care of myself, much less protect Isis.  I felt she was safer with my mother.

Each time I would visit, she would run to me and greet me.  And then she would remember "Hey!  You dumped me here!  I hate you!"  And she would hiss and bat me with her paw.  Isis didn't tend to scratch; if she was ticked off, she would smack her paw on my hand, and it felt distinctly like a slap.

She utterly hated other cats.  I rescued an abandoned cat from next door in college, after I saw a woman there chasing her with a broom.  I thought my mother needed another cat, and got her spayed, named her Michelle, and gave her to my mother.  She was a sweet-tempered little thing, an orange-and-white kitty, whom my mother loved but never quite connected with.  Isis liked/tolerated Michelle, and when they were together on holidays, Isis would actually bathe Michelle.

Michelle was killed by a car; she was also an indoor/outdoor cat.

She lived there for years, until my mother died.  My brother is bipolar, and told me flatly after our mother died that he could *not* take care of Isis.  By this point, I had four cats, and knowing Isis, decided that there was no way I could take her.  I called a cousin who lived in the country and had a number of cats, and asked if she could take her, at least for a few weeks (I tried calling a dozen others before this).  I knew Isis would be miserable, confined indoors in a big city, with four other cats she didn't know.  I thought this was the best option.

My cousin took her, and kept her confined in her bedroom for a week.  One day, Isis managed to jump the barrier, and was gone, out the cat door.  I never saw her again.

My brother felt guilt that he did not keep her, and I felt guilt that I didn't take her, in spite of how horrible the situation would have been for her.  I will never know what happened to her, but I do know she is long gone by now.
 

Back to Cats Page