TWO FOR THE ROAD

I met Chloe when she was about 6 mos. old. My roommate had gotten her from the Pound in Topanga Canyon to chase away our mice. My roommate insisted Chloe be confined to our tiny kitchen because she didn't want cat hairs in her mouth when she did yoga on the living room carpet.

The only entrance to that house was through the kitchen. That night when I came home, Chloe was the first thing I saw--pacing like a trapped tiger, squeaking her funky meow.

My roommate, whose name was Rainbow, had been resisting getting a cat because she said, "The mice aren't bad and cats in this canyon are coyote fodder." Then one day I walked into the kitchen and Rainbow yelled, "A mouse bit my toe!" Later that evening, Chloe was there to greet me. I squatted down to pet her and after a few strokes, she hid under my dress. "Mama!" my roommate laughed.

Chloe slept in a basket. Every morning when I entered the kitchen, she'd jump out and stretch so I could pet and fuss over her. Although my other roommates called her my "daughter," she still officially belonged to Rainbow.

My most vivid memory of that time is the night all my roommates were out, and I made a complicated soup (Rainbow owned the house but not an oven because she ate only raw food). Chloe sat on the counter intently watching my every move, keeping me company. I talked to her, sang to her. And she squeaked back.

One day I was outside doing Tai Chi in the front yard and Chloe was in front of me squeaking an insistent squeak, very annoyed at being ignored. As I finished the form, I stood quietly with my eyes closed...and she jumped straight onto my chest! I flung her off with a cry and she never tried it again.

Fourteen years later, the arthritis in her hind legs would make it impossible for her to perform any more grand leaps, and I would make steps next to our bed so she could easily climb into it.

How I moved to Topanga is detailed in my first novel, One Divorcing Woman's Roadmap for the Karmically Challenged. I was going through a divorce when I landed in Topanga, and when it was time for me to leave, after my car was packed, Rainbow said:

"You can take the cat with you."

Because Chloe was "skittish" with everyone but me. I was happy that I could take her, but that was a stressful move. I had numerous personal problems and was almost at the end of my tether.

Not having a cat carrier, I threw Chloe into the car with all the rest of my stuff and started off for the hour ride to L.A. where I'd rented an apartment. Chloe was screaming and howling. When she ended up at my left foot next to the brake, I pulled into a small business compound on Topanga Canyon Road and stopped -- headlights shining on the door of an artist's studio.

"That's it!" I said. "You are out of here."

Next to the artist's studio was the Chill Out Cafe where stray cats were often left. I felt certain they'd find her a home. As I opened my car door, the artist came out of his studio and shouted, "Can I help you?"

"Do you want a cat?" I asked. Chloe was meowing like crazy inside the car.

"No ma'am I do NOT," he answered with a slight warning in his voice.

I got back in, drove away and said to Chloe, "Okay, but you'd better behave."

And she did.

For 14 years, she was everything I'd ever wanted in a companion, and when it came time to move to Kansas, she made the drive without a single tranquilizer. And when it came time to move to Missouri, she was the best passenger ever. And when I had to move back to Kansas, ditto. Our drive to San Francisco in '06 was fraught with danger and problems. But Chloe was serene throughout.

As L. Frank Baum almost wrote about Toto and Dorothy: Chloe didn't care where she was as long as she was with me. At one point we even faced tornadoes...but I'll blog that in another post.

During the time of her cancer, Chloe grew even more loving and attentive, as if she knew how short and precious our time suddenly was. When I touched her, I felt her love in every part of my body, but particularly in my chest where the heart chakra is. The pain was so intense, I felt like the Tin Man when he says, "Now I know I have a heart because it's breaking."

Chloe was one of a kind. We lived 10 years on Sargent Court in Los Angeles. Fate decreed that we change apartments in the complex three times. She settled into each move with no period of adjustment.

Rainbow was told by the Pound people that Chloe didn't like "other cats." I imagined Rainbow checking out cages full of frisky cats, passing cage after cage until she came to this beautiful cat with the gray and white stripes and the calico face...in solitary confinement.

At Sargent Court, my neighbor Sanda had her own cat who also didn't like other cats. We used to cat-sit for each other. The first time Sanda ever cat-sat for Chloe, she told me afterward:

"She is one of a kind. All the rest are just cats."