Opinion & Comment

'Cat House' Provides Haven For Unwanted Felines

APPALACHIAN NOTEBOOK - Steve Oden

“I am going to work at the cat house,” said my wife, matter-of-factly, as she finished putting on her makeup.

“Have fun,” I replied.

This exchange might have raised eyebrows in public. Cat houses are usually considered dens of iniquity, where ladies of the evening ply an ancient trade. Found in red light districts, the employees of cat houses are prostitutes, and the “work” is illicit and illegal.

But my wife doesn’t work at those types of cat houses. She was headed to The Perennial Cat, Inc., local sanctuary and adoption center for abandoned or unwanted felines.

Known locally as the “cat house,” the shelter is a block building that snuggles against a steep Appalachian hillside. It is manned by community volunteers, who feed, water, clean, doctor, and cuddle the furry residents.

It is not a place for persons affected by a phobia of felines or cat-induced allergic reactions. Depending on the time of year and corresponding pet adoption rates, the Perennial Cat is just that… a place where you are greeted at the door by a flood of pointy-eared, purring, shin-rubbing cats in a bewildering array of colors, sizes, and temperaments.

On the afternoon I visited, the volunteer workers said they’d just had a very good week for adoptions. The number of boarders was down to around 5-6 dozen, including kittens. Cats lounged, sat, played, climbed, and slept in a carpet of feline fecundity, making it necessary to carefully pick your steps across the floor so as not to tread on a tail or paw.

Less sociable animals, usually new arrivals to the sanctuary, peered from cages, where they were temporarily segregated in order to acclimate them to the dormitory-type environment of free-ranging felines.

I had come to see one cat in particular, a large neutered tom with a peculiar affinity for water. Just as I had been told, I found him sitting in the sink, his head under a flowing stream from the cold water tap. His long black-and-white fur was water-logged, and he was purring happily.

Occasionally, he would tilt his head and open his mouth, allowing water to flow in and out. His purr turned into a throaty gargle, but he never choked. He walked in a tight circle around the sink, rubbing on the stream of water, before sitting down again.

“The first time he did it, we were worried that he might be sick or demented,” explained a cat house volunteer. Local veterinarians donate their time and facilities to the medical upkeep up the Perennial Cat’s residents, including neutering and spaying vouchers for the new “families” of adopted pets. A professional assessment concluded nothing was wrong with the cat. He just liked water sports.

Potential names were bandied about for the water-loving feline: Diver, Aqua-Nut, Scuba, Fathom, and Drippy, to name a few.

The volunteers agreed he was one of the most unusual cats to pass through the doors of the sanctuary. This is indeed a distinction. In its first year of operation, the non-profit cat shelter founded by Evelyn Kirkhart and her daughter, Laurel Kirkhart-Owens, accepted hundreds of adult felines and kittens, healthy and sick. Ill cats are nursed back to health through the auspices of local vets. The goal is to place all cats in loving homes.

Reliance on community donations and volunteer help means a tight budget. To help with fund raising, a garden of perennial plants is tended on the four-acre site. Flower and plants sales from the garden support the mission of The Perennial Cat.

I was intrigued by the water-loving tom cat. I wanted to make a video of him and submit it to a national television show.

But, by the time I returned with a camera, the cat had been adopted.

“He didn’t stay here too long,” observed a volunteer. “And most of the time he was here, he was sitting in the sink. You couldn’t even fill a mop bucket without him trying to climb in.”

I thought for a minute and decided on an appropriate name for the cat.

“Tell his new owner that they ought to call him Sinker.”