One evening my husband stopped at a roadside restaurant in Madison, Ohio. He was seated by a large window, a preferred location for him so that he is always able to oversee his dog, “Magic,” a constant companion who patiently waits in the car. Outside the window that night was a little kitten waiting to be discovered. When eye contact was made the little creature stood up on hind legs and started doing a dance. Naturally Buddy was captivated. He returned to this restaurant at least eight times regardless of the long drives involved, hoping to catch the kitten. Finally with the help of a kind hearted waitress and some neighborhood children she was caught. The small one had been previously attacked within the feral colony that inhabited the area and she needed an operation to patch up a severe bite. Otherwise she was healthy. At the time of capture she had short dark brown fur, a beige nose, and her long narrow tail reminded me of a rat’s tail. I was not inclined to take her in and we couldn’t find anyone who would. So Buddy took her out to Fairport Harbor, a small lethargic community next to Lake Erie. He and his friend and business partner, Alex, had secured a large building there to renovate. When purchased, this downtown property had been unoccupied for about fifteen years and was derelict and deserted except for some local wildlife that sheltered there. But the building had possibilities. It had contained a bank, a post-office , numerous store fronts , second floor apartments, and a full movie theater.
The second floor was partially gutted. Windows were missing, some walls had no doors, otherwise doors stood with no walls, and in general a musty, dusty, spooky atmosphere prevailed. The whole place was quite spacious. An area there was enclosed and remodeled for Vanessa, whose illustrations grace the pages of the “CatMagic” poetry book. She became the only occupant of the building.
Fairport Harbor always was a strange place to me, quiet on the surface. But I sensed an undertone of something almost sinister, making it a perfect backdrop for a Stephen King scenario. There was a lighthouse nearby and the street led to the beach. In the back of the building, down a steep incline, part of the Grand River flowed. Alongside the river was a cement manufacturing business. Long ocean freighters would sail by and unload piles of gravel and sand. Some of the hills were quite high and there were metal structures like the parts in a child”s erector set. These were set with randomly placed lights that never went off. The whole big area seemed always deserted, nothing human venturing forth and to me projected an eerie quality. I always expected to turn around and get a glimpse of something alien. There had been sightings of strange craft over the lake and several residents of the town swore they had seen something humanoid and part bird with a very wide wingspan perching on top of the lighthouse.
Fairport Harbor was quite cold in the winter with blizzards sweeping across the lake from Canada. The winds had a steady keening moaning sound. I used to visit Vanessa. I would pass through the former bank entrance, then go up a tall flight of stairs to the upper floor, everything still ramshackle and tumbling down, many spaces holding construction materials, boxes piled in disorder and unidentifiable things in the shadows. But once past Vanessa’s doorway I would find myself in a fantastic and magical world. Vanessa, having used her formidable decorating abilities had created artistic surroundings for herself and her four cats. Her studio apartment had. many rooms. An eclectic collection of antiques, museum type artifacts, statues, and paintings filled these rooms. There was Victorian styled furniture, oriental rugs, and wonderful plants everywhere. Small Tiffany lamps shone with lambent light. I especially remember a tall wicker birdhouse containing miniature furniture. No doubt winged fairy beings had taken residence but did not want anyone to know this. Her studio section where she designed marvelous clothing and jewelry contained shelves overflowing with cuts of exotic fabrics, colorful trims, and assortments of findings and gems.
Here we would visit and Vanessa would serve rare and aromatic teas with dainty pastries and cookies that either she had baked or bought in the gourmet shops she loved to frequent. We would sit and chat, surrounded by her cats, Piewacket, Earl Grey, Little Thing, and Yellow Jacket, who all have their own interesting stories to tell about, but not today. During the Winter as the winds blew, windows rattled while embroidered lacy curtains would blow inwards, affected by drafts that could never be contained. In the Summer we would go through a wide hall to an open window, climb through onto the open roof of the theater lobby and then up and over again onto the top roof. There we enjoyed watching some magnificent sunsets over the lake.
Next to the main building was a smaller one with a store front about twelve feet wide. A display stage ran the width of the plate glass window. This is where Buddy took Sassafras, or Sassy, the kitten. Since it was Winter then and there was no heat available there, an electric heater held smug by heavy bricks was installed to provide warmth. Buddy brought much food, necessities, and toys galore. Since she would be alone there he drove in from Cleveland everyday regardless of high snow, storms, and icy roads. Vanessa, who now had her own home nearby would come to check on her also. Sassy would play in the window, tossing her toys around. She would eat there, take her naps, and greet people passing by. She became popular with the children of the town. Buddy taught her a game called hockey puck. He would toss pellets of cat food down a long hall in the store and she would bat them back with her paw. She has never forgotten this skill.
In the Spring when construction was scheduled to start, she could not remain where she was. Since I, too, had come many times to see her, bonding had occurred. She would stay with me. By then she was very beautiful. Her fur was long and lustrous with some lighter brown patches. She had a fluffy ruff around her chest and face, and her tail had transformed to a magnificent plume. Her face resembled the front view of an eagles face. In the beginning she followed me around intently watching and studying everything I did. Sometimes I found this unsettling for this was beyond the usual curiosity of cats. She seemed to be observing and sending the information to someone or something unknown. She is unique unto herself and she became a worthy addition to the furry folk family.
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