Whenever I told anyone I was doing a post-doc in Germany two questions would always follow, “What are you and Ryan going to do?” and “What are you going to do with cats”. To this I would respond. “ Me and Ryan have decided ‘to try’, and I’m taking the cats.” Usually the response to that was “You’re taking cats?! Isn’t there like a long quarantine?” “No” I would inform them “there is no quarantine. Besides if I can’t take the boyfriend I ‘ve got to have something to cuddle up with at night.” When I found out taking the cats to Germany would simply involve boosting their rabies vaccination there was no question as to whether they would go. Ever since I took on the responsibility of these warm fuzzy creatures in July of 1991 we have been a sort of mini family.
Like any family we are a collection of personalities. Helga is the ultimate feminist bitch. She’s an attractive female, who’s smart and manipulative. She definitely knows what she wants and how to get it. She knew exactly how to get me to pick her at the animal shelter. I noticed her first for her silky gray coat, green eyes and huge ears. I put my hand in her cage and she gave out the sweetest little mew as she walked over to my hand and placed her head under it and began to rub against me. “Look she’s so sweet” I told my parents, who were helping pick out a cat. I looked at her information on the little card at the bottom of the cage. Helga was due to be sacrificed that weekend. I couldn’t let it happen. So I decided that Helga was my cat of choice and was ready to go with just her, then I saw Owen.. The white/blonde blue eyed beauty in the corner cage of the room. Owen is kinda of like your typical gorgeous guy. He’s easy going sort of a slob, not the brightness, but he’s thinking he’s gonna get by on his looks and he pretty much does. Owen had just come in as a stray and wasn’t up to be adopted yet until the customary week were the owners could still claim him was over. As ogled over Owen the caretaker at the shelter said I could but a “deposit” on Owen, meaning after the week is over and his owners still haven’t claimed him I would get first dibs on him. “He’s so beautiful” I thought “certainly its a mistake he strayed away, someone would definitely claim him.” So I put a deposit on Owen. I had decided before going to the animal shelter that I was gong to name my new cat Owen. Once I had decided on Helga, even though she was a girl I thought I would call her Owen. “Might even be different having a girl cat called Owen” I speculated. However, this was all before I put the “deposit” on Owen, who I felt was the epitome of Owenness. During the week I would have Helga alone there was no point on calling her Owen on the slim chance I would actually obtain Owen. “So what should I call her?” I pondered out loud, hoping to get some value suggestions from my parents who still couldn’t believe I was actually getting a cat and may even get two. Then the caretaker said the people that left Helga left an information sheet on her. On her sheet it said her name was “Helga” I thought it suited her perfectly. I also learned from her info sheet that she had been left alone in the basement most of short 3 month life, which explains the need for attention, and made me feel so bad that first week I took her back to Baltimore I had to leave her alone during the day while I was at lab. I would try to sneak out when she wasn’t looking, but smart as a whip as soon as she heard the door creak open she would run down the hallway meowing. I know she was saying “Don’t leave! Don’t leave!” “Even if I don’t get the white cat” I thought, “Helga needs a friend”. As it turns out of course no one ever did claim Owen and the next weekend I was his proud owner. I thought Helga would be thrilled, but to say the least she was not ecstatic over Owen’s arrival at all. I can imagine her saying “Stef, Stef, Stef, why? Its because he’s blonde isn’t it?”. Still to this day I would say Helga tolerates Owen, or she would like you to believe she does “For the sake of the family” she might say. But I’ve seen her cuddled up sleeping with Owen or cleaning Owen’s ears she can’t deny she cares. After an initial period of adjustment we did become this mini family. Helga the bitch, Owen the guy, and me, (and I hate to say it), I guess, the mother of the two. Well, I least I fulfill hat mother role. I discipline, feed them, and take care of their general welfare, but I having a feeling they don’t see it that way. They probably think I this big stupid cat that never gets anything right. If they could I know they would say stuff like, “No, no, no, I don’t want more food that wasn’t what I was complaining about! The litter box needs to be changed, geez Stef come on!” (that would most likely be a Helga complaint) or “ No I didn’t want my head stroked, I like to be rubbed under my chin” (that would definitely be an Owen complaint). Over the years we have learned to get used to each others personalities and tolerate them enough that we can all stand to be in one room without killing each other. You’re typical all American family.
Like any family we have had our good times and bad times. During the good times we happily hang out and enjoy being together. I particularly like sleeping in or work days all cuddled up together, especially if I hear the tickle of rain outside my window. The sleeping in is enjoyable that I don’t really mind when Owen will start to gently tap (with claws in of course) my nose to remind I to go to work and he had to be fed. If that doesn’t work he moves on to gently biting my eyebrow. During the bad times we try to be there for each other. Well more accurately during my bad times the cats have been there for me. The summer of 92 for instance, when I totaled my car and my self esteem took a nose dive, was a particularly bad time. I got in the habit of coming home from lab putting in a Tori Amos CD and curling up on the sofa under my mother’s afghan. Some how the cats knew I was depressed. I know they did. They would both come up and join me on the couch, Helga on my chest and Owen at my feet and they would stay there until I was feeling good enough to make some dinner. No matter how much I moved. This is unusual during good times, when at slightest move and they’re off, and usually Owen doesn’t join me and Helga on the couch. I imagine during that summer the following communicate between them must have happened more than once:
“Owen! Owen get over here”
“What’s up Helgie?”
“Its Stefanie, and you know I hate it when you call me Helgie”
“Whoa! What’s with Stef”
“Well from the looks of it, she’s depressed again”
“Geez Helg’ how do you know?”
“Well she’s put the Tori Amos CD in again and she’s curled up on the couch, simple reasoning Owen”
“You’re so good at that Helgabaloo”
“Will you stop with the names! Now you know the drill. I get on her chest, you get down by her feet. Snuggle up to her as much as possible and remember to purr really loud it soothes her. Okay?”
“Okay! and don’t leave until she’s feeling better, right?”
“Right! Let’s go”
Its because they were so good to me during my bad times that I couldn’t help overlook their bad times. Like when Owen got in this phase of just attacking Helga for no reason, and when Helga started to “act out” (to put it delicately) because she wasn’t getting enough attention. She would “act out “ on carpets, piles of laundry, winter coats and once when I was preparing my thesis, my favorite suede book bag. As it got closer to moving to Germany and Helga was still acting out now and again, friends and family would say, “Why don’t just take Owen. Helga is too much work; she needs too much attention” I admit I envisioned a simpler life with just me and Owen residing in a small studio apartment in Konstanz, but I knew in my heart I couldn’t leave her. “What kind of parent would I be if I solve the solution by getting rid of the child” I thought, “and she can be so sweet sometimes..” Nope me and Helga and Owen were going to Germany together. The whole family. Somehow, some way we’ll survive, I just hope the new apartment will too.
The first hurdle to Helga and Owen’s move to Germany was boarding them at the vets the week I would be living with Ryan. I was a bit concerned about how they would take this arrangement. The last time I had to board them was after the fire in the Bolton hill apartment. This apartment had these ugly greasy small apartment stove, that no matter how hard I scrubbed just would not become clean enough for me to ever trust cooking on it. So I gave and place a piece of cardboard over the burners and plopped my microwave on top. For over a year this arrangement posed to problems. The cats used the microwave as a stepping tool to the top of the fridge and from there they would go to the top of the cabinets. Owen was particularly fond of this place to hang out. I think he likes to be up high. Anyway I woke in the middle of night and happen to glance over at my bedroom door, which leads directly to the kitchen, and I saw this orange glow through the crack of the open door. In my half asleep, still sort of dreaming state I thought “Hey, who started a fire in my kitchen” and went to turned over and go back to sleep, then I thought again “ A FIRE IN MY KITCHEN!!” I got up and opened the door, my microwave was on fire and the kitchen was black with smoke. Apparently has Owen got down from the microwave he step on a burner knob and turn it on, and the gas flame set the cardboard and consequently my microwave on fire. There was no time to call the fire department the fire was going, so I quickly grabbed a spare comforter that I used to lay out on my deck outside my bedroom (luckily since I don’t put stuff away to often it was lying right on the floor) and I snuffed out the fire. When things calmed down, I thought about Helga and Owen. They were crouched down on the living room floor, which was filled with smoke. They were covered in soot. I was worried their small lungs might of inhaled too much smoke, so I took them to a 24 hour vet. I decided to board them there for observation and there was no point in staying in the Bolton hill place until the smoke had cleared, literally. A few hours later I called to see how they were doing. The cats had FREAKED OUT. “We can’t get near your cats” the receptionist said. “We want to know if can sedate them in order to examine and clean them” “Okay” I agreed reluctantly. So as I was filling out the boarding forms early Saturday morning I was a bit apprehensive; the previous boarding experiences in Helga and Owen’s life were no happy times. First at the animal shelter, where the faced the possibility of death if they weren’t adopted. I know they had to sense that. Helga’s stroking head against hand ploy was notion conceived out of desperation. She knew her time was getting close. And the last boarding experience was after being almost trapped and killed in a fire. Once the forms were done I knelt down and opened their kennel, petted each of them good-bye as I said out loud “You guys be good okay. It will be all right. I’ll miss you.” I stood up and said to the receptionist “I talk to them, I guess It’s pretty weird” “Not at all” she replied “We’ve had people bring photos along so their cats don’t get homesick, or send a card when their cat is being boarded after surgery or an illness..” So I didn’t feel so weird after that. On Monday I called to see how were doing. I got the honest response of “Well over the weekend they weren’t too happy, but they seem to be calming down today” “Oh no” I thought “they’re probably having flashbacks to the fire episode or the Animal Shelter. “Do you need to sedate them” I asked “Oh no, its not that bad” she replied. On Wednesday I called again, “They’re doing fine”, was the response this time and I was a little relieved. The next Saturday I picked them up. They looked so cute as they came down the stairs, each in a different caretakers. I had decided to splurge on them and got the “Comprehensive care plus” which included play time with a caretaker each day and a toy at the end of the visit, when I went to pay the receptionist informed me that Helga did n ot want the plus care so they didn’t charge me for it , but they let Helga have a toy anyway. I have to say that CHAT was a good boarding choice for Helga and Owen; they really seemed to care.
The second hurdle was spending a day at Ryan’s new place. The stressful thing about Ryan’s new place was it was a mess. He hadn’t really unpacked and stuff was everywhere. Plenty of places for Helga to “act out” and express how happy she was about being boarded for the last week. I freed them from the kennels in Ryan’s kitchen and immediately they went for places to hide. They did this same thing when we moved to the Greenehouse. I couldn’t find them for half a day. Finally I discovered Owen behind the dishwasher and Helga was in a small space between the bottom of the cabinets. At Ryan’s Owen tried desperately to get in the small space between the cabinets and the wall. He just couldn’t accept the fact he was too big. Helga went behind the fridge. Over the course of the day they tried out various other hiding places. At point they were both particularly fond of the living room coat closet, behind my suitcases. Eventually Owen settles on the top shelf of Ryan’s linen closet and Helga decided she was happiest in the bottom bathroom cabinet and that’s were the stayed for most of the time. I guess they were too scared or shocked or tired to be bad. This was good for Ryan’s and the cat’s relationship. Ryan was in awe of Owen up in the linen closet. “How does he get up there?” he pondered. I didn’t know. I only know likes being high up and he has strong arms. I think he developed them from climbing the ladder to the storage loft in the Greenehouse. When I first saw this loft I thought “There’s no was my cats could climb that ladder and get up there!”, but I was wrong. Within a week Owen had mastered the ladder. It took Helga longer, and when she finally could get up, she had problems getting down. After a while though she was coming and going up the storage loft with no problems. So from then on a referred to it as “the cats room”. Ryan also though it was cool that Helga figure out how to open the door to the bathroom cabinet. It had no lock so she simply could pry it open with her paw from the outside, and simply nudge it with her head from the inside. Saturday evening Ryan and were sitting around and he admits that cats aren’t so bad. “They’re not always in your face, like dogs can be ” he observed. There we were in the living room and the cats were no where in site. Then he said music to my hears “I think I might be able to live with them.” “Even Helga?” I inquired anxiously. He never really got along with Helga in the past. She seemed to be her most irritating whenever Ryan was over the apartment. “Even Helga” he admitted, and I couldn’t help but smile and breathe a sigh of relief.
The third hurdle was getting Helga and Owen on the plane and surviving the fight over with a layover in Paris . Ryan, and I got quite a few stares when we arrive at the line with three suitcases, and two animal kennels. In line I tried to feed Helga and Owen the sedative the vet prescribed. “It should be no problem to feed it to him; they’ll eat it right up” he said. Well they wanted to part of this pill. They would move their heads to the side and refused to open their mouths. Finally I resorted to mixing it with a little food in their kennel food dish, hoping they would eat it eventually. Ryan and Subhendu went and got bottled water for then too as I paid for additional baggage fee at the counter. They were very nice at the Air France counter regarding the cats; I was informed I could replenish their water in Paris during the layover. When they were all paid for and everything was settled with my ticket it was time for them to go. A guy got out from behind the counter to take Helga and Owen to the plane personally. I was so sad when he grabbed both kennels in each hand and walked away. As he strutted through the terminal crowds of people would turn and stare at my attractive pets. They were quite a site. A site I hoped I would see again very soon. I thought I would see them in Paris. I saw their kennels on the baggage cart as the shuttle drove us from the plane to the airport. After the shuttle to the terminal drop the passengers off, we had to take another shuttle to the gate area. With all this shuttling I had no idea were I was in the Paris airport much less were my cats were and how far we were from each other. At the gate I tried to tell the fight attendant that I was told I could give my cats water, but she didn’t understand. “They are probably on the plane” she said. Her use of probably did not console me. Then yet another shuttle took us from the gate to the plane. As we approached the plane I was so happy to see Helga and Owen being loaded into the baggage department. One of the baggage handlers was playing with Owen through the bars of his kennel and Owen seemed pretty feisty. While boarding the plane I stopped to ask the fight attendant about the cats. “My cats” I said “ Are they okay?” to which she responded with a heavy French accent “Oh yes! And they are so nice...no beautiful!”
The final hurdle for Helga and Owen’s move to Germany was entering Germany. At the baggage claim area I was relieve to see that Helga and Owen weren’t put on the luggage conveyer belt, instead they were brought out through a side door. Immediately I knew they were not happy. Helga had acted out on the rug that lined her kennel and needless to say neither of then managed to eat the sedative. So they had gone through the whole trip fully aware of what was going on. I loaded up my three suitcases on a trolley, placed the cats on top and put my camera bag and computer on the basket in front and headed for the green light doubled door area labeled “NO CLAIMS”. As a struggled through the first set of doors the guard looked at me like “You nuts if ya don’t think I’m gonna ask for something”. So he asked for the cats papers, which I promptly handed over. “The moment of truth” I thought as he looked them over. Then he handed them back to me and waved us through the last set of doors. Finally we were in Germany.
