Visiting Corvallis. 150 Year Party at ' Dead Cat Park

I was in Corvallis today to return the black female who was fixed yesterday. When I dropped off the kitten, I agreed to return to pick up her kitten and try to find him a home. He is the kitten featured in the post entitled "Beautiful Kitten". Living around an apartment complex is no life for a kitten.

I then stopped by the riverfront. I'd heard there was to be a party down there, but things were just being set up. I tried to find somebody to talk to, but people were busy or into their own thing. I saw the Flower Girl, as I call her. She was setting up flowers to sell at the market during the party.

Sometimes just seeing someone brings back painful memories. She's very nice. I trapped cats for her neighbor, at her request. Most of the cats were FIV positive and had to be euthanized. Many were very late stage FIV, including some of the females, which is not that common. One female had two kittens. The Flower Girl took one in, but later, her dog accidentally killed it, which was very hard on her. I caught the other one and named her Kia. She was a gorgeous little very serious torti. I came to love her.

Her livliness decreased however, and, when I took her to the vet, who thought at first she had pneumonia, it turned out she had a very rare and fatal congenital defect. Her aorta was wrapped around her esophogus. There was no way she could live, but she wanted to. And I wanted her to. But it couldn't be. Broke my heart. Seeing the Flower Girl brought Kia's face before my eyes. I tried to shake it away but I couldn't, so I moved on, and away from the Flower Girl.

I wandered on down the river front. I tried to ignore the memories of the river front and the building of that park, and what that park cost me. There's blood beneath the tailored green and asphalt paths of that park. I call it Dead Cat Park. That park was built at a cost in lives, my river cats' lives. It's a long story. But sadness and resentment still overwhelm me if I walk down there. I should stay away and I know I should.

I'd forgotten the rose I'd cut to bring. For the memorial. For the cats who died for that blessed park. My family--who died for that park to be built. I like tossing a red rose into the river, each year, to watch it on the water, for them. And I'd forgot it. But I didn't much feel like doing it, not with that big party going on celebrating Corvallis. I like doing it in private in the dark on a starry night.

I lived at the Benton Plaza in downtown Corvallis for 11 soggy years. Lots of people died when I lived there. Lots of friends. When George died, Mickey, his significant other, and me, we went down to the river below Michaels Landing. Mickey threw white rose petals into the river for him. She didn't say anything and I didn't say anything. We just watched those white petals drift off along the brown surface of the Willamette through the gray drizzling day.

I ran into N. I didn't recognize her at first, because I barely knew her, really. She worked for K at one time, who was once the FCCO coordinator for Corvallis. But she quit that position quite some time ago and after that, I never really saw her much at all. I liked her though. She was fun. I hadn't known she'd up and moved to Portland a few months back. But then why would I know that. N said she doesn't hear much from her either, but said she's happy in her new job and likes living in Portland. Then N moved on, looking for her daughter.

I moved on down the river, drawn to the spots where I used to crouch with the river cats, to escape the horrors of the trap I was in, the mental health system. I basically lived along those banks and the river cats were my family. Captain Courageous, a.k.a., The Angel of the River, saved my life on many occasions. She's dead now. Her granddaughter, Vision, is here with me, and a very old river gal by this time.

I ran into some homeless folks at the trails end, down at the rivers junctions. We struck up a conversation. He asked how long I had lived in Corvallis. I said I don't live here anymore but I wish I did, that I lived in Corvallis thirty or more years. He said "why'd you move then" and I told him it wasn't by my choice, that I got evicted by a slumlady then couldn't find anywhere in Corvallis I could afford and ended up in Albany.

This started him in. He hates Albany and says he's thought of taking his camp over there, but it's an awful town, he said, then, motioning across the river and small beach, "there's nothing like this over there. I love it here."

"Don't you be over in that Albany river park after dark," he continued. "There's nobody decent out there at night, just the nasty people." I said I don't go anywhere in Albany after dark and he said that was smart. Another homeless man walked down then path then, and pulled out a glass pipe and offered the other man some weed.

I shook his hand as I left. "My name's Shadow," he offered. "I'm the cat woman," I said in return. "I heard of you," he said, pointing a finger. "I did hear of you and those cats you slept with by the rocks." He grinned. I grinned.

I wandered off again, back up to the paved path and through the park that holds so much of me and my history, with the cats and with the city, and the fight for the lives of the cats. I walked right through the celebration in Dead Cat Park, without turning my head to even look. I walked to my car, got inside it, and drove away.