Pets, Adoption & Rescue

Bend Bulletin: ‘NaMEOWste’ Combines Cats & Yoga

Published: Aug. 25, 2018

Several cats, by way of sniffs and head bumps, investigated a group of humans acting remarkably catlike during a recent afternoon in Redmond.

“Inhale, up on your toes, exhale all of your air,” said yoga instructor Jaimie ­Hamman. Nearly 20 participants, spread neatly on mats, followed suit. Several cats, which meandered through, however, paid no mind to the yoga cues. They preferred to stretch and recline wherever coziest — preferably within arm’s reach of a grinning yogi.

“Hi kitty, kitty!” one participant said, giving a tabby cat’s head a good scratch while assuming a complicated yoga position.

Such distractions attracted these flexible feline lovers to BrightSide Animal Center in Redmond for the second installment in a cat yoga class called NaMEOWste. The sessions have been held Sunday afternoons when the animal shelter is otherwise closed. Right now, the class is in the trial phase, so there’s no ongoing schedule, however, two more classes are scheduled for September and October.

Yoga’s health benefits are well-documented. The practice, which originates from ancient India, has been shown to lower blood pressure, strengthen a person’s core and foster positive feelings about a person’s body, according to Harvard Medical School. Other studies demonstrate how cats can also lower blood pressure and stress levels.

But tell that to this room of cat-loving yogis.

Two black cats with long hair and white booties and whiskers patrolled the yoga class. One of the cats, Wizard, a green-eyed, middle-aged male, was brought in as a stray. Skunkie, a 12-year-old male, looks nearly identical and has a similar story.

Wizard sashayed to Paige Hirata, 18. He curled between the Redmond resident’s legs when she changed positions. Hirata laughed silently while Wizard settled in.

“Now bend your knees and walk — or pounce — to the top of your mat,” Hamman told the class.

Erica Psaltis, BrightSide’s event director and volunteer coordinator, helped organize the cat yoga clinic. She whispered some of the felines’ back stories.

“Skunkie has really beautiful eyes and some white hairs between them, like a skunk,” Psaltis said. Throughout the session, Psaltis deposited — and redeposited — cats among the attendees.

“A lot of the cats come out and just land on you,” said Hamman, who considers cats inherent yogis.

“Just watch a cat wake up. They immediately go into downward dog, they stretch. My cat will get onto his back, legs out and just keeps stretching. I watch and be like, ‘I want to do that. I’ll do my yoga now.’”

BrightSide spays or neuters each feline it receives after holding them for five days so an owner can claim them. BrightSide is a “high save” shelter, which means while it has a staff veterinarian who can euthanize animals with quality-of-life issues; it doesn’t kill to create more space, Psaltis said. BrightSide relies entirely on donations to operate the nonprofit. It found homes for 96 percent of cats — and 98 percent of dogs — last year, according to the organization. Presently, BrightSide has a population of 81 cats, 11 of which are adoptable kittens, and nine more that are still too young.

That’s a sliver of the 3.2 million felines that wind up in rescue shelters throughout the country, according to the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals.

Events like cat yoga help bring people into BrightSide, Psaltis said. At the first NaMEOWste class, which saw nearly 20 people, only one participant had been to the animal center before. The point of cat yoga isn’t mastering difficult positions, but putting yogis in positions to meet cats they might fall in love with and take home, Psaltis said.

One 18-year-old cat was just so lucky. Named Spot, the elderly male cat mingled with yogis as they trickled in yet retreated when he became overwhelmed. However, Christina Withers noticed the gray-and-white tabby and his golden eyes. The cat was originally surrendered in 2008. After being adopted, Spot was returned in 2013. He’s since lost more than half his body weight.

“It’s really nice someone wanted to take Spot in. He’s really thin,” she said, describing how his weight has shrunk from 18 to 7 pounds in 5 years. Conditions like hypothyroidism and a heart murmur complicate Spot’s health, although he has a good appetite. His new owner has cared for elderly cats before.

“She knows what she’s getting into, and that he could pass away soon,” Psaltis said. “She just wants to give him a nice place to live out his life.”

During the most recent cat yoga session, a ginger tabby with a stub for a tail emerged from an open filing cabinet where he had been napping. Ruger, 3, took a shining to Ally Clark and her daughter, Tegan Clark, 8, both from Redmond.

“The fact that Ruger came out for yoga and was getting all up in people’s faces and being a part of it — we were all really surprised,” Psaltis said, adding that Ruger’s previous owners brought him in when they became homeless. “I told a (longtime) volunteer about it, and she said I must be talking about a different cat.”

Furry philanthropy

NaMEOWste came about when Hamman visited BrightSide and floated the idea of cat yoga by Psaltis. Hamman explained how she has taught yoga at Namaspa Yoga & Massage in Redmond since February 2017 and loves advocating for feline welfare. Psaltis was stunned.

“I was like, ‘Are you reading my mind?’ I hadn’t mentioned it to anyone here,” she said, adding that she came up with “NaMEOWste” — a riff on the Hindu greeting “namaste.” “It was kismet.”

When teaching NaMEOWste, Hamman emphasizes interacting with the cats. If a cat warms to you, she wants you to enjoy a cuddle.

Melissa Baker, 50, attended NaMEOWste for the second time. She wore cat-themed earrings, tights and a tank top. She owns three cats, one of which, Ivan, is a longhair black cat, she adopted from BrightSide. All three cats like to “do yoga” with her at home. Baker, who practices four times a week, had already done a yoga session at home before attending NaMOEWste.

“I had a cat lie on me for 15 minutes,” she said. “We took a little snooze together. You just got to lie there.”

Hamman knows the feeling. She’s happy to share her love of yoga and cats with others.

“Dreams do come true,” Hamman said with a laugh. She keeps two cats at home and fosters BrightSide kittens, who crawl all over when she’s stretching. “I wanted to share this. I found out on YouTube that other people are doing it. I thought, ‘Well, if they can do it, then I can do it, too.’ My passion has always been taking care of cats and connecting them to the human world.”

Melanie Hirata attended NaMEOWste in its first installment. This time she brought her daughter, Paige, who’s more into weight­lifting but decided to give yoga a shot, she said.

Melanie lives by yoga. In four years, she lost 120 pounds. Daily yoga was the catalyst. Daily yoga in the company of cats is doubly rewarding, she said.

“It’s really therapeutic,” Hirata said.

“We’re used to it. My cats are brats. They’ll want to sit under your legs and sit where your tush was literally two seconds ago. So (NaMOEWste) is kind of like being at home. We can’t foster or adopt any more cats because we already have a packed house. So this is our way to reach out to the community and give back. We feel like we’re a part of BrightSide, but we don’t have to bring every cat home.”

Bend Bulletin: Exotic Bird Rescue Opens Near Tumalo

Ear-piercing chatter and squeals that rang from inside Donna Costley’s steel building sounded like a preschooler’s well-attended birthday party. Stepping inside revealed the noise was the pandemonium of 60 exotic birds — the residents of Second Chance Bird Rescue, north of Tumalo.

The chatter crescendos when a new visitor enters the doorway. Bursts of indigo, tropical green and orange plumage greet the eyes while chirps, clicks and chatter assault the ears.

“Hello! Hello!” a parrot called out.

Bend Bulletin: Honoring a Pet; The Path from Mourning to Adoption

Published: Dec. 2, 2017

“Uh, Miss?” The New York Police Department officer said after conferring with his colleagues. “What we think happened was: Your cat had a party.”

That’s the clincher of my favorite anecdote about Fuzz, my green-eyed gray tabby. Years ago, my ex-girlfriend Athena — the cat’s “mom” — returned late to her apartment in Brooklyn, where I previously lived, and heard a crash. She screamed and called 911. After the police scanned her first-floor apartment, they turned up nothing but Fuzz — the indoor and very bushy-tailed cat.

The cops suggested that strays had entered through the open window but scrammed, knocking stuff over, when Athena unlocked the door.

We loved telling this story. We’d do an impression of the earnest cop’s Long Island accent by pronouncing party like “pawd-ee.” Later, when I accepted a job at The Bulletin, Fuzz accompanied me to Bend.

Athena and I stayed close. When I told her Fuzz, who was a whopping 19 years old, was sick, she urged me to take him to the Animal Emergency Center. She flew in the next day.

During Fuzz’s last two years in Bend, the high desert air and sunshine cleared his pollution-induced asthma. Yet, while he passed his days watching birds flit about my feeder, a tumor grew in his chest, a scan would show, gradually displacing his lungs. In a week, Fuzz had gone from his chirpy — if sometimes bossy — self to serially vomiting his wet food and lying, as if suctioned, to the couch, facing a corner.

At the Animal Emergency Center, Athena stroked Fuzz, who struggled to breathe in a Plexiglas oxygen chamber.

“You have to think about his quality of life,” a veterinarian told us. “He’s suffering.”

The doctor softly yet firmly encouraged euthanasia. We decided to have it done in my living room, so we could spend a little more time with Fuzz. Soon, another veterinarian arrived to perform the procedure. Fuzz, who was given medicine for his pain, was nearly inanimate except when gasping for air. With a deceptively slim needle, the doctor ended our cat’s life with a massive injection of painkillers.

“I love you, Fuzz,” Athena said, placing a hand on his striped fur while she fought back sobs. Once Fuzz’s heart stopped beating, his green eyes, as bright as they ever were, stared emptily at the wall. The vet directed Athena to bundle him into her wicker basket. Athena trembled as we held each other. “I’ll miss him forever,” she said. “He was so special; our little gray guy.”

Goodbye

In the week after his death, Fuzz was cremated and his ashes mailed to Athena in Brooklyn, where she had cared for him since she adopted him, one of a stray litter from Manhattan’s Upper West Side, in 1998.

As I moved about my apartment in the coming days, I was haunted by reminders of Fuzz.

Although I tucked his food bowl and litter box out of sight, my lap remained cold while I read beside the fireplace. I sat in the spot where he died so I wouldn’t have to look at it. I still find traces of his gray hair on his favorite nap spots. Strands cling to my sweaters and I morbidly regretted throwing away a clump of hair from his last brushing.

To keep from dwelling, I spent weekends in The Dalles with my new girlfriend, doting on her cat-sized dog, occasionally calling it a kitty.

“You should adopt another cat!” cat-loving friends told me, but I wasn’t ready. “Next year,” I said. “Maybe in spring.”

Hello

Perhaps counter-intuitively, I visited the Humane Society of Central Oregon during a lunch break. What I needed was kitten therapy. My editor and fellow cat lover, Jody Lawrence-Turner, told me to watch out or I’d come back with a cat. I guffawed.

On my second visit, I stopped in my tracks. A sign detailed the “Adopt a Buddy” program, which waives a second pet’s adoption fee. They were actually encouraging me to adopt not one but two cats. The HSCO began the program 15 years ago when it was inundated with kittens. The HSCO encourages the adoption of pairs, particularly among kittens and adult animals that have bonded. Together, they adapt more quickly to new homes, said Lynne Ouchida, the HSCO’s community outreach manager.

A married couple recently picked up a bonded dog and cat that came from the same home. “(Co-adoption) shows compassion not only for the animals but for the bond two animals share together,” Ouchida said. “It provides comfort and keeps them happy.”

In a glass-walled visiting room in the HSCO’s feline wing, two cats, who arrived on Nov. 14, reclined in a cat tower: Gotham, a wee 1-year-old black cat, and Crookshanks, a full-bodied 2-year-old orange tabby. They came from the same Madras home when their owners encountered landlord issues. When I entered the room, Crookshanks hopped down and rubbed against my leg. His Scottish name, along with his hooked tail and clipped ear, suggested a pirate. I placed him on my lap. He was meaty without being overweight. His purr was soft but easy. When Gotham trotted over, his yellow-green eyes looked like two blinking marbles; his features otherwise melted into a contrast-less bundle of inky fur. He met my hand with a revving purr and a happy, near vertical tail. As I rubbed both cats, they commingled, their tails sometimes entwined. Both let me hold them in my arms and even rub their bellies — two important boxes to check off.

As I signed the paperwork to put a 24-hour hold on the pair, I felt a strange mix of joy, guilt and anxiety. If all goes well, these cats may survive into my early 50s. They will befriend any children I have. And would they take to the Australian cattle dog I hope to adopt down the road? More pressingly, in adopting not one but two cats within a month of losing another, am I becoming a “crazy cat person”?

To many people, this “pet replacement” might seem irrational or impulsive. After all, in rejoining the club of 30 million Americans who acquire a new companion animal each year, was I actually ready to move past my loss and be the doting cat dad these two felines would need?

Honoring a friend

Jessica Pierce, a bioethicist and the author of “The Last Walk,” a book that chronicles the decline of her family’s 14-year-old dog, said the appropriate time for grieving before adopting another animal depends on the individual.

“I know someone who lost a dog seven years ago and still isn’t ready because the loss was so painful,” she said. “This is just anecdotal, but for people for whom the end of life was ambiguous or traumatic — maybe they were uncertain about the timing of the euthanasia, especially if the animal was young and it was unexpected — it may be more difficult to get over the grieving experience. It can be more complicated, and it may take longer for someone to feel ready to open their heart again.”

For others, Pierce said, the presence of an animal can be very comforting during the mourning stage.

“If you’re grieving, it makes sense that having a new animal would make that wound heal and offer comfort,” she said. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong or callous about adopting a pet animal very soon after the loss of another.”

She adds a caveat: Pet owners suffering acute trauma, depression and difficulty functioning should seek the help of a mental health professional instead of an animal.

In “The Last Walk,” Pierce writes about the two-year ordeal she and her family endured as one of their two dogs — an elderly yet active vizsla named Odysseus — began losing function of his hind legs.

“His end-of-life scenario was hard because he was clearly suffering. It was really hard to make a judgment to euthanize him and when that time would be. For us, it took us some time to recover,” she said, adding that she and her family had administered exhausting care-giving. “We were not getting enough sleep, and we always had to clean the rug. We weren’t ready emotionally, or physically, for quite a while.”

After two years, Pierce and her family felt good adding a second dog.

Myself, I feel confident I made the right decision. Crookshanks and Gotham have adjusted quickly to the apartment and to me. They greet me at the door and — I kid you not — cuddle with each other, sometimes on my lap. When I think about Fuzz, I don’t feel pained like I used to — I’m too busy retrieving Gotham or Crookshanks out of a head-high cabinet.

Something a veterinarian friend told Pierce really stuck.

“She said, ‘There are so many animals who need loving homes. The best way to honor the animal that has passed away is to open your home to another in need,’” Pierce said. “I like that. … In my mind, it doesn’t in any way devalue the relationship that was had with the first animal … To make room in your home and heart for two cats is a way of honoring Fuzz.”