Broken Hearted and the Breaker

If you want to read about running, skip down to the sub-titled "Race" section of this post; otherwise, please join me for a tribute to my precious, precious Scooter kitty. First a little background. I love animals. Spot dog, a golden retriever-lab mix, joined our family in 1997. I thought that would be it for animals since, even though cats are my favorite animals, Rick is extremely allergic to them.

In July of 2003, I was running down a rural road in Lewiston with a friend. We had planned on running a different route, but, due to time constraints, settled on this one. I heard a teeny cry coming from behind us. I turned to see a very small kitten running after us. It was a gray kitten (vet estimated to be just 5 weeks old) with extra toes on every foot. She had an upper-respiratory infection and an attitude; she was fearless! I brought her directly to a vet and took home the antibiotics they prescribed.

I made her a temporary home in the garage and started making phone calls to find some one to take her. Her name was already Runner. She was not at all afraid of Spot dog. Every one of the shelters I called said they would put her down because they didn't have any quarantine spaces available. We were leaving for Colorado in two days to visit my brother; we needed to resolve this fast.

So, she would be put down if we didn't keep her. We decided to try to have her live in the garage and see how Rick did (she really was my cat from the second I held her). We paid the vets to keep her in their quarantine and board Spot while we vacationed in CO. The bill...Yikes!

What a great kitty though! She remained fearless. Runner tormented Spot and killed every kind of rodent and lots of birds. She growled at cars that came up the driveway, except mine. She would walk right out in front of me. Of course I would stop and park where I was.

If the kids were playing in the yard, she would make sure to interrupt and be in at least one of their laps - but never for too long. She loved us, but on her terms.
Most nights, I was able to get her in, but, again, if she wanted me too. With the cats I'd had from childhood on up, we just filled their dishes with food as it was emptied. It never occurred to me to do otherwise.

Runner was with us for three years. One night she didn't come home. I looked everywhere, put posters up, and offered a reward in the paper. She never came home. I didn't even care that Ryan left for college; I was too distraught over Runner.

I missed Runner. I missed having a cat. Even though we had made the garage work (a heated pad during the winter that heated to cat temperature when stepped on in a insulated box that she could go in and out of, a mommy that would go out and sit for every night, paths shoveled all over the yard during the winter, and more), I decided it wasn't safe to have an outdoor cat where we lived.

That winter I worked as a seasonal employee for LL Bean. It turns out, one of the women I worked with was a volunteer at a shelter in Westbrook. They were trapping feral cats, spaying and neutering, and then releasing. I told her about my Runner and how I missed having a kitty, but why I wouldn't have another. She told me she might have the answer to that....She had been fostering some kittens taken from a feral cat colony at just 4 weeks. There was one that she didn't think would be adoptable. He wasn't adjusting to people. He did like her dog though. She thought my set up would be ideal for him.

I was so excited. Two days later I brought home this extremely furry adorable kitten. Since he was a feral cat, I thought he was gonna be a straggly thing ; he was beautiful. And afraid of everything.

It was a very cold December. He took to his insulated, heated box right away. As soon as we opened the door to the garage, you could hear him purring, LOUDLY. In fact, that's how he got his name. Sam thought the kitty sounded like his Vespa scooter. The funny thing is that he grew out of his loud purring, but grew into his name in another way...He had dwarfed legs and, since he remained fearful of almost everything, was always scooting away.

In just two days, he was climbing into my lap. I was always sitting with him in the cold garage. Running is a great way to stay sane. Having a kitty in your lap that loves you is another one.

To begin with, I thought he was always crouching because he was so fearful. It took almost a month before I was sure he was dwarfed and not crouching at all. Sam rigged up an old children's fishing pole for me to cast kitty toys for him to chase.

Look at his pictures. He had such a special face. Sometimes it looked like he had a goatee and mustache, sometimes it looked more like a perpetual smile. Linda's granddaughter thought he looked like a big caterpillar when she first saw him running through the grass...his little legs and long hair made him look like one.

Scooter liked Spot right off even though he was afraid of every person except me. In his four years with us, he was just starting to allow Rick to touch him. Ryan was away too much for Scooter to get used to him. Sam could pet him at night and sometimes in the daylight (for whatever reason, Scooter was always much braver at night).

I figured out something that I should have with Runner; the kitty would come in at night if that was the only time I put out food. Not that he ever really went far (Runner was a real roamer); he stayed mostly in the rock wall behind our house, barn, and behind Linda's. Whenever I was in the yard, he'd appear looking for me to hold him or, at very least, rub his belly. If Rick and I were in the garden, he was right there. Around six in the evening during the longer hours of summer, he would be out on the patio waiting. In the winter, he would show up even sooner, sometimes already in the garage if it were cold. He was closed in before dark.

When I went to Colorado after my brother's son, Elliott, was born last spring, I gave Sam the task of getting him closed in: first night, fine, second night it took him hours, third night when I called, Sam was still out there working on it till 1 am. I told John, in all seriousness, I was heading to the airport if Sam didn't get Scooter to come in. Finally the call came; Scooter was in. Sam asked to please, please keep him in for the rest of my trip. YES!

Whenever I came home after being away for more than a day, Scooter would get in my lap and try to get as close to me as possible, pushing his little body against me. I could tell he missed me. More than that, he needed me.

In the summer, I would sometimes find little slugs on his belly; it was so low to the ground. In the winter, even though I shoveled paths (till I figured out trampling them with snowshoes was much easier) everywhere he usually went. Still, he would have snow clinging in balls to his fluffy belly.

He had the teeniest of voices. He would talk to me, but, I can't even describe it. It was barely audible. I loved his purr. It was like he was a tribble (any one remember the little sounds they made?) - sometimes. Others, it was the regular purr, but never the super loud one that earned him his name.

When I was walking the grounds calling to him, all I could think of was that I wouldn't even hear him if he was calling to me. I opened every shed/structure on the properties. The brush and undergrowth are so thick around, I could have been very close to him and not known it. I sat in a chair out back till late. I stayed on the couch and went out every hour calling. No kitty.

So totally heart broken, dehydrated from crying, and sleep deprived, it was time to head to Bradbury.

THE RACE:

Rick and I headed there early to help out. Like last race, we just handed out the T-shirts to the pre-registered runners. Everyone was commenting on the shirts. They may be the best ever, of all races. I was just trying not to make too much eye contact, trying to hold it together. I think I did pretty good. I had already put it out on facebook that he was missing, so I had sympathy and support from my caring friends.

As it got closer to the start, we all amassed in the big field for Ian's pre-race words. It was a large group. I tried to place myself well in the pack - not too far up to be in a fast runner's way, but not too far back that I'd be weaving through runners to hit my pace. I think I got it right.

And we were off! Since I've been running there so much, I had a real sense of the pace I thought I could maintain. It was so good to be running and needing to focus so hard on footing and just the physical. When we got to the steepest part of the Boundary Trail, I was able to run up and pass some of the people that had been just ahead, but out of reach. A bit in oxygen debt by the time I made it to the top, my pace slowed for a bit as I recovered. I was at the head of a group when we turned onto the South Ridge. I warned that we were coming to a short, steep down that could be slide-y. I did that because I didn't want them falling into me and I was going to be slowing a lot. I took the line that Ian showed me and was happy that I ran it rather than walked. Just when I was done with the last of the steep part, I fell. Hard. I lay there prone for a bit, with people asking if I were OK as the group split and ran around me. Yes. But then the pain of my fall tapped into the pain of loosing Scooter. I started crying. LOUDLY. Runners were going to stop. I said something about my cat being dead, leave, I'm not hurt. Sobbing is bad for running. Breathing is already hard enough.

I made myself get up and run. I liked seeing the blood running down my leg, my sock getting bloody. Oh, my other knee was whacked too. And both hands. The pain gave me something to refocus on. I made it to the first aid station, manned by TM Dave and another person. Dave handed me a water and Gatorade. I stayed and drank it and showed off my wound. He thought it was the best he'd seen as yet. Back to the race...

I ran the summit in the three very runnable spots that I had planned to, but walked the rest. Got the best of encouragement from Dora at the top and I'm pretty sure Rob took my picture. I love the Tote Road. After the Summit, I knew I could quickly recover there and even push the pace for most of it. On perfectly even, non-rooty ground (in very short supply on that trail!), I turned my ankle. I knew it was still runnable, but would hurt later.

I was able to run fairly well up the Northern Loop. I was probably more conservative on the Switchback than I should have been. Still finished the first lap in a fast (for me) time of 45:53. I stopped again for a Gatorade and water. I ran the first part of the Boundary Trail almost as hard as the first time through, but this time only ran 1/2 the big hill. I think there were a couple more places were I walked along there, but tried to push it after I recovered each time. Through the South Ridge vertically this time! Stopped for another water/Gatorade and visit with Dave. I managed to run to the first rock of the Summit, but then walked the entire way up. Again greeted by the bubbly Dora and Rob. Headed onto the Tote with lots of encouragement.
If I didn't have any more wipe outs, I knew I would pr. After running up the Northern Loop, I was looking forward to the best down on the mountain. I'm pretty sure I ran it faster than I ever have, trying to fight the urge to brake too much. Then the hard right leading to the finish. My final time was 1:34:02, nearly 4 minutes faster than last year. The effort of the race had my emotions unable to be kept in check; I just kept going to our car rather than have to cry all over everyone. After a long drink and some solo time, I headed back to cheer the runners coming in.
Thank you, Trail Monsters. I can't even tell you all how much I felt your concern.

It is very hard being home. I still expect that sweet face in all his spots. I miss sitting with him at night. I hope he didn't suffer.