When we moved to our cabin at Gorilla Haven five years cats were already in residence, including Figaro (photo left). In January of 1996 we adopted our first dog, Bwindi, from the Hinsdale Humane Society outside of Chicago. It soon became clear that we had a D.O.G. (Deputy Of Gorillas) in Bwindi, and Figaro soon proved himself to be the C.A.T. When Figaro died, Crombie inherited the honor and title of the Gorilla Haven C.A.T. Hereunder is Crombie's story.
Crombie was one of almost 15 cats I
rescued back in the mid 1980’s when I was working for Abercrombie & Kent,
International, a travel company, outside Chicago. At the time, our offices
were in old single-wide trailers and a farm house near barns left over from
the Oak Brook (Illinois) Saddle Club and Polo Club, where Geoffrey Kent (my
boss)
and Prince Charles would play polo. The land now belongs to McDonald's and is
part of Hamburger University (I don’t make these things up!), but for a couple
years, it’s where I worked, designing tours for wealthy folk wanting to see
the weird and wonderful parts of the world, from Africa to the Galapagos to
Papua New Guinea. Barn cats were everywhere and no one bothered to trap and
sterilize them, so more kept coming. I managed to trap almost all the cats
(the ones who showed themselves to me and accepted the food I offered, at
least), and brought them to the Hinsdale Humane Society, where they were all
adopted, including Mama Kitty (photo right with a few of her offspring) -- the one who kept having babies every other
week, it seemed!
Three
cats were more of a challenge – apparently they were all litter-mates, born
around March 1984. One of them, quickly befriended me and would sit in my “in
box” at work, making it clear he’d make a great indoor kitty. I named him Abby
and he was eventually adopted by a local teacher. His almost twin sister, Crombie, was more difficult to befriend and touch and like her sister, Kent,
she took months of patient waiting, before I could catch her. Crombie and Kent
went to the humane society on the stipulation that if no one adopted them,
they’d come back to me and would NOT be euthanized. The manager later told me,
they’d NEVER be domesticated and they were far too feral to ever hope to be
touched, let alone petted and cuddled.
Once
again, “Time and Love” proved this theory wrong (see photo right, as Kent
walks past me after getting a stroke and Crombie waits her turn). After
seeing Crombie’s lovely long white hair literally ripped out on one side in a
desperate display of self-mutilation caused by stress, I reclaimed her and
Kent and took them to a 5 ½ acre piece of land we’d just purchased, where we
were going to build our dream house, about 20 minutes from where we were
living with my indoor cat, Miew. I knew Miew wouldn’t accept these two wild
ladies in the house, but our new property was an ideal alternative.
It
was surrounded by about 100 acres of vacant woodlands, and a tennis court and
A-frame were already on it, so each day for about a year, I’d trudge about 1/3
mile back thru the brush and thickets (no driveway was built yet) that deer
had cleared, and I’d feed my 2 outdoor kitties and make sure they were ok.
Kent disappeared for about 6 months and
I thought she was gone for good, but eventually both made the A-frame their
home and for 13 years they survived Chicago-land winters and snows in the
comfort of their space-heated home, with an old sofa and pillows for added
comfort. By 1987 when our dream home was built, some times they’d hang out on
the deck and sniff at Miew through the screen door. After 1992 when Miew died,
I’d let Crombie and Kent inside during especially cold winter nights, but they
preferred their freedom and it was always their choice.
When we moved to Georgia in 1996, our Chicago dream home was empty while it was up for sale. Since Crombie and Kent were still wild kitties, I didn’t worry about them finding food, but the realtor would also leave food if/when she saw them. Kent went missing for a while, but soon neighbors described this very nervous black and white cat and sure enough, it was our Kent, who must have wondered if we were ever coming home, and had retreated to her old, feral ways. Crombie, however, was waiting for me at the house when I’d return from Georgia for monthly visits and in May 1997, I drove Crombie down to Georgia, introducing her to her new home at Gorilla Haven. She’d disappear into the woods, but reappear for dinner and eventually she decided the burro barn would be her home. Magic, Balou, Stripey and other kitties decided to join her, but the burro barn was Crombie’s palace and for the past few years we had heat lamps and warm cushions for her to ward off the rains and cool Georgia winters – she must have thought she’d died and gone to heaven, since compared to a Chicago winter, GH winters are like paradise!
A few months later, I found Kent
(photo left with "happy cat tail") and
brought her down to join her sister, who I wasn’t sure she’d even remember.
Kent was very high strung and nervous and did not like the 12 hour car ride
from Chicago, so I made the decision to let her go as soon as we arrived at GH,
rather than stressing her more by keeping her confined while she acclimated to
the new sights, sounds and smells. I knew she could survive, and I hoped she’d
remember my voice and come for meals, like her sister had done. I took her
carrier to the burro barn, where Crombie sniffed her, then opened the door and
Kent stepped out, looked around, then took off into the woods. We never saw
her again, but I’ve always felt as long as Crombie was here, Kent was here in
spirit.
In 1992 Chicago vets told me Crombie had
a heart condition and without daily medication, she’d have less than 6 months
to live. But since she was an outdoor kitty with her own schedule (including
tennis time - see photo right 
), I knew I
wouldn’t be able to see her each day to give her the medicines, so I decided
to forego the extra measures and just let Nature do Her thing. By the time
we’d moved to Georgia, her white coat had developed spots of skin cancer and
eventually she had both her ears removed. In recent months, her nose was often
bloody, as skin cancer (so common in white outdoor kitties) was clearly
effecting that too, so we’d keep a close eye on her and look for any changes
in behavior to indicate stress or discomfort. But each morning, she’d be
waiting to walk me from our cabin to the burro barn, with her "happy cat tail"
up tall and proud. There I’d give her her own bowl of canned food (she’d lost all
her teeth years ago). Just like Kent, she’d refuse to eat until I’d petted
her and cuddled her as if to say “Hey lady, I can get food anytime I want, but
this cuddling and loving is something only YOU provide me and I need it!”
Crombie was always afraid of strangers
and it took Steuart years to get to the point where he could pick up Crombie,
but towards the end, Crombie even let the dogs approach her, knowing she was
immune from anyone hurting her, but keeping her guard up when I wasn’t around
to reassure her. Our critter-sitter, Joy, was coming to stay when Steuart and
I went to NJ on business, and the morning we left, I warned her not to be too
shocked if she picked up Crombie, since she’d lost a lot of weight and felt
like a bag of cotton balls with toothpicks inside. But she was still greeting
me with her “happy cat tail” and trotting over to the burro barn, or coming
over to the back yard to wait for me and her kitty escort. A few days earlier,
I asked Crombie if she was ready for another Georgia winter and a week
earlier, she had “asked” to come in the cabin, so she spent the night in one
of our guest rooms, where she would recover from her various surgeries (photo
above was after her first ear surgery - recuperating in the guest room) or just
where she’d want to go to relax. I called it her Kitty Vacation Condo. When Steuart went to put her back outside, she was anxious to run back to the burro
barn and literally jumped from his arms and scampered back to Balou and Magic
kitties, who were anxious to hear how her vacation went! I’d been calling Crombie my
“old lady baby” for the past few years and knew her time was limited. But I’d
hoped to be there for her and I hoped she’d go peacefully and quickly, which
she apparently did.
On August 27, 2002 I called Joy to see
how everyone was doing, even though we were going to be home the next day.
That’s when I learned Crombie, at 18 and a half years of age, had died. Joy
fed Crombie that morning and everything was normal – Crombie escorted Joy to
the burro barn and after a petting session, she snarfed down her canned food,
as usual. Afternoons the dogs and I would go playing in the back yard and
Crombie would come mid-way and sit near a Weeping Cherry tree, waiting for me
to come over to feed and cuddle her – she trained me well. When Crombie didn’t
appear for dinner that night, around 5 p.m., Joy went looking for her, and
found her rain-soaked body by the Weeping Cherry tree. I can only imagine she
went there to wait for me (or Joy) and had a heart attack and died quickly.
Then the heavens, knowing what a special cat she was, opened up and the rains
came down. (Photo on the right shows Crombie followed by Kent on one of our
walks through our old property in Chicago).
Julicat continues to hang out at the cemetery and I imagine there’s a fun party going on at the Rainbow Bridge … Besides Steuart, Crombie was my oldest, dearest friend on the planet. Rest in peace, dear one. You’re in my heart forever.