When my brother was in HS (the exact timing is still debated, more on this later) my parents got him a cat so that he wouldn’t have to come home to an empty house. While some families might play with the new kitten, poring over possible names that fit (I imagine them saying, “let’s call her Ashes for the gray in her coat!”), the Ringwelskis do not waste their time. Kicia #3 was the logical next step after Kicia #1 and #2. Kicia (pronounced “Keet-sha”) is not even a name; in Polish, Kicia means female cat. Kicia #1 ran off mysteriously at the age of who knows, probably about 5, and Kicia #2 disappeared mysteriously. We say disappeared because unlike Kicia #1, she was not very adventurous and would not have wandered off intentionally.
Kicia #3 was the best of the 3, acting much like a dog. As a kitten, she climbed into our beds, used the soft little pads of her feet to smack us in the face in the morning when she wanted us to get up. She was playful, loving, in short, a success.
Until she disappeared for 3 days. My parents and brother (I was away in college and heard about this second hand) searched all over but could not find her. Only when they heard meowing overhead did they realize she had been stuck up in a tree about 100 ft up. My dad, the ex-fireman/contractor, got out the fireman ladder and got her down. This event marked the beginning of Kicia’s eating disorder. We theorized that the lack of food sparked some crazy eating gene in her head, because she quickly gained weight as she stuffed herself with anything and everything around. In no time, she became obese and her health suffered dramatically. She preferred to stay indoors (after the disappearances of Kicia #1 and #2 the Ringwelskis encouraged the inactivity), but when she did sneak out, the sight was pathetic. Our property was overrun by squirrels and sometimes, Kicia #3 gave into her feline instincts and made attempts to chase the critters. However, she consistently aborted the pursuit after 2-3 steps, clearly short of breath. My cousin from Sweden asked when the kittens were to be born. When one Christmas eve, Kicia found an enormous box and climbed into it, as cats often do, her weight problem was evident. She filled the entire thing with her massive abdomen, which when walking nearly scraped on the ground.
My parents instituted a strict meat-only diet and started letting the cat roam the outside. With smaller portions, our eternally voracious cat was forced to supplement her diet with killings. These were initially impossible to capture, but as she lost weight and increased her exercise tolerance, Kicia was occasionally found devouring an entire chipmunk outside of our dining room sliding door. Despite the added calories of an occasional catch, it seemed this system worked and Kicia slowly lost her belly, although the saggy skin remained. She eventually became a fully outdoor cat.
Years went by and Kicia continued her outdoor existence, as my brother left for college, my parents moved twice, and Tim and I got Rio. No one really paid the cat too much attention. With my brother gone, my parents barely let her in the house, not really liking cat hair and the possible germs.
Sometimes, the issue of vaccinations would be brought up but Kicia had never received more than her initial shots and spay as a kitten. Whenever I visited a pet store for Rio I would buy Kicia a collar, as she never had that or name tags. The collars would all soon disappear and she would return to looking like a fully undomesticated being. We all knew Kicia had been a bit neglected but no one was too bothered by it, least of all Kicia #3.
Until last weekend. Tim and I came home from NYC for the weekend and were greeted by, “Kicia has dried blood on her neck, her eyes were glossy and dirty, and she was sleepy.” Worst of all, they had let her back outside, so she was missing. As a doctor, I was expected to evaluate her injury and determine everyone’s need for the rabies vaccination. Knowing that there have been nearly no human rabies cases in the States over the last 30 years, I wasn’t too worried, but couldn’t resist my evil temptation to scare everyone, “well, there are a lot of bats and raccoons.” I was a bit annoyed that what sounded like a dying cat was allowed to go missing.
In the morning, she came back, ate and was allowed to escape again. My mom was beside herself with guilt. “She might have just gone to die now,” I casually and accusingly stated. Around 2 in the afternoon, the cat returned in hope of an afternoon snack. My irritation grew-her neck had no injury whatsoever, it was just dirty. No one had wanted to get near the possible blood to investigate. How could a mortal neck injury be confused with dirty sticky fur????
One good outcome of this was that my guilt-ridden mother took the cat to the vet. We discussed for a while what we were going to say to the vet, how we were going to present this cat. To avoid being brought in front of a PETA jury for neglect and cat abuse, my mom decided to say it was a stray that she recently decided to adopt. We weren’t sure what vaccines she had gotten, how old she was (probably around 8). All we knew was that she had been spayed.
So finally, after 8 or so years of talking about taking the cat to the vet, we finally went through with it. My mother brought her in a kitty carrying case she bought at Walmart. “Oh, you know, she just wandered over to our house recently and we wanted to adopt her.” After careful examination, the vet declared Kicia to be around 2 years old and in need of fixing. She’s 8 (or more) and had been fixed at 6 months. After that, the Ringwelski’s declined the repeat spay and the optional yet expensive HIV and leukemia tests. Kicia’s long-awaited vet visit made my polish immigrant parents, already less than ideal pet owners, so skeptical that I don’t think they’ll ever go back. Until she finally does die, most likely related to coronary artery disease, from teenage obesity.
