The cat came back — after crossing the Pacific

Calico kitty spent 3 weeks without food or water in shipping container

A cat that spent nearly three weeks crossing the Pacific inside a shipping container with no food or water appears to be just fine.

Pamela Escamilla lost sight of her 3-year-old calico, Spice, while packing a large container with household goods in Waikoloa Village, Hawaii. The container was shipped June 15 to Southern California.

Escamilla, 39, and her husband could not find the cat before taking their flight and asked neighbors in Hawaii to call if Spice returned.
As it turns out, Spice spent 18 days in the pitch-black container without food or water before arriving at the San Bernardino home of Escamilla’s parents on Tuesday.

“We really thought that cat was going to be dead,” said Edward Gardner, Escamilla’s father.

When Escamilla opened the container, she and family members noticed fluffs of cat hair on the floor. They started removing items, and Escamilla climbed into the container to search.

She said she saw Spice poke her head out from behind some bicycles.

“I started to scream,” she said.

Escamilla gently picked up the cat and took her to a veterinarian who said the feline’s prognosis was good. Spice’s kidneys had shrunk and her bowels were backed up, but she managed to get some food and water down at the vet, Escamilla said.

Escamilla said the veterinarian told her that calicos have a strong survival instinct.

“It’s always a good day when the cat’s alive,” said Escamilla. “We didn’t know what we would find.”


Article found here.

Flickr photo found here.

Judy the Cat

Death Is Easier When You Expect It

I apologise in advance to the cat-haters out there. I'm not Crazy Cat Lady, but after re-reading this post, I'm starting to reconsider.

I never considered myself a cat person. We grew up with a lot of animals (dogs, cats, rabbits, the odd sheep or two) and though I loved them, I was never devastated when they passed on. Sad, yes, but not usually devastated for days on end. My father was particularly pragmatic when it came to our animals dying. I recall coming home one winter day and asking what the bag hanging in the garage was. "Oh, that's Magda [my grandma's cat]. The ground was frozen to bury her." Or coming home from college and asking, "Where's Nermal?" to which my father replied, "Oh, poor guy had skin cancer. We had to put him to sleep." To be fair, my father went to great lengths when burying them, marking each of their graves. I suppose I inherited some of that pragmatism. My sister? Not so much. She'll chase every stray down, feed it, try to find a home. She's the true animal lover.

When I came back to the US I stayed in Seattle with my brother while I looked for work. He had two cats to which he had developed allergies to, so they were indoor/outdoor and never on his bed or cuddled. I couldn't help but take a shine to the littler of the two cats, Duck. He was a petite tuxedo cat who acted like a dog. When I moved out, I took him with me. He was the kind of cat who ran to meet me every day when I came home-meowing all the way. I remember being here alone without my husband and not feeling like I fit in here, but every day I went home and little Duck was waiting for me. A year ago, he disappeared and we searched for about a week when we finally came to know a wonderful woman who happened upon him after a car had hit him. I guess searching for him for a week and then realising he had died was overwhelming. We got him from a pet hospital that had been keeping him cold and buried him. I think I cried every day for about 3 weeks. This may sound strange, but after he died, both my husband and I heard him. We heard him when we were together, we heard him when we were alone. My neighbour said she saw him (he loved hanging out by their patio) and called to him. Some people thought we were nuts. I'd say most people thought we were nuts. I suppose my attachment to little Duck was unusual compared to our other family pets. He needed someone to cuddle him and adore him (the way my brother wasn't up for) and I needed a companion to come home to.

Just over a year ago, I went and adopted two cats from a no-kill shelter. I wanted to give two cats a home that would not likely to be adopted. Enter Judy and Roux (Rufus). My neighbour said it was clear that "you two bleeding hearts" (my sister and I) were responsible for bringing home 2 of the homeliest cats ever. Roux was about double his natural weight, diabetic, unable to walk more than a few feet at a time...not the picture of health. I knew his days were numbered, but I also knew that he had been in and out of the shelter most of his life, and if I could give him 1 year, 2 years, whatever...of a happy home life, then I thought it was worth it. He lost weight-a lot. Too much, actually. I suppose it was part of his kidneys slowly shutting down, though the tests never showed that to be the case. With his weight loss came adventure. He loved riding in the car, going for walks, and exploring the ledge outside our window. He was more active than he had likely been in years, based on what the shelter had told us. It was just over a year, before the symptoms of his kidneys failing began to show. Last night, he died, beside the space heater, in my arms, rather quietly. We didn't have to euthanise him. He didn't appear to be in pain. We buried him this morning. I'm sad, but unlike when Duck died last year, this time I got to say goodbye. This time I got to tell him that it was ok to go. I gave him what I had promised him-a loving home. So, I miss him, but I think he's in a better place. As for crying every day for 3 weeks, well, I feel better about his passing than I did about Duck's. Perhaps death is easier to accept when you know it's coming.

Roux