Mi-Reina

Adopted 10 May 1990 in Tulsa – died 1 March 2001 in Tulsa

Parking by the Geophysical Resource Center I noticed a kitten scurrying under one of the cars – not an auspicious start of the workday. Whether she had escaped or been allowed to go outside or, more likely, dumped, she needed help. She came to me unhesitantly which meant she had been socialized and not yet traumatized. I couldn’t take her up to the office, so we jumped in the car, were she calmly rode on my lap to the nearest veterinarian. Perhaps she lived in the area and was in their records or someone was looking for her. Meanwhile they should give her a routine check up and keep her until I picked her up after work.

If she had a home, a cat allowed outdoors at four months of age is not in responsible hands. With 70% cats entering shelters being euthanized, her best chance was with me. Beyond looking at missing-cat announcements I made no effort to place her.

Mi-Reina (my queen) was the name of this self-contained, dainty, docile creature. Not once did she misbehave, soil, break, fight ... she was the perfect cat. Most unusual was her tendency to relax and go limp when picked up. Like cats of the Ragdoll breed (which she wasn’t) there was no resistance to being handled. This characteristic propelled her to stardom at a nursing home.

The mother of my friend Kay Stauss had been a resident of Wildwood Care Center for a while. I accompanied Kay a couple of times on her weekend visit and was struck by the catatonic state of most residents – no conversation, no watching tv, no reading, total apathy and much drooling.

Given the beneficial influence of companion animals on people with physical and mental deficiencies, I asked about the possibility of bringing a docile cat for the residents to handle under supervision. The management agreed it would be an enriching experience and so we put gentle Mi-Reina in a carrier and took her there.

Mi-Reina sparked instant interest in several people who had been listless until she came out of the carrier. One by one almost all of them held her –while she was limp as a boiled noodle— and people who had been dozing off in the rec-room were smiling, reaching out for the cat, asking questions ... It was something to behold. When we left, the head nurse and several residents asked if I would bring Mi-Reina back. Noblesse oblige. We returned several weekends to the Wildwoodians’ mounting anticipation. There were even some of them standing by the door expecting her.

Mimosa (Blog bio 30 Apr 2017) lurking beneath

Until one day, for no particular reason, the Ragdoll had had enough. She bolted, running from room to room, chased by me, orderlies, nurses, and a couple of wheelchair daredevils. She was finally cornered and extracted from under a patient’s bed. Wildwood earned its name that day; it was more intramural excitement than anyone there had seen. Regrettably it was also our last visit.

On 29 August 1997 a photo of Mi-Reina appeared in the Tulsa World in an article entitled  “Community Cats.” All the cat photos were good, but she emanated an aura of uncommon serenity.

May her outer-wordly serenity be why I don’t remember anything about her death? It’s like her ethereal persona decided to move on quietly, troubling no one, just as she had lived. She was only 10 years old, not sick. She died at home, not at the vet. She was buried in the backyard, not cremated. That’s all I know.

Forgetting the ending of someone so dear is on the order of forgetting my own name. However, it may be by design that my brain has blotted out something that may be too sad to remember; like the end of someone pure and perfect.