It Takes a Village to Save a Cat

If it takes a village to raise a kid, it must take a village to save a cat.

Sure, Facebook may have had a role in Akari's fate on May 25 at her Stafford County home. But it still took community-minded people to respond—and they did.

Rob Grogan eloquently wrote about his family's adventure in this month's "Front Porch" city magazine. As he describes in this unabridged version, this "rescue was a postcard 'Greetings from Fredericksburg' kind of scene, steeped in community-mindedness."

Two weeks later, Grogan said he's happy to see Akari safe, and his daughter is overjoyed to have her back. The help from his friends and boosted Grogan's own belief that he can rely on others to lend a hand—even if it is a cat in the tree.

"That's a good feeling to know that is the the kind of community we live in, play in and work in," Grogan said.

Courtesy of Rob Grogan:

If Norman Rockwell had been there that afternoon, he would have set up his easel. It had begun the night before; a cat’s distant purring had stirred our fears. Akari (Japanese for “Light or Brightness”) was missing, and stuck, somewhere in the brush behind the circular top of our long gravel lane.  Ours is a property of history, wildlife and trees; history dating to the Civil War and a Union occupation; wildlife of varying species, from snakes slithering at night, to fox and deer moving along unnoticed, to raccoons and groundhogs entertaining with their cute awkwardness; to hawks and vultures patrolling overhead for opportunity, and birds of color and song on-stage during morning coffee and evening cocktails; and those trees!

Bent by severe winds at this high point in Stafford County, locust and mulberry and the unexpected bamboo flex and lean with the weather. 

Alexis or "Lexi" (my daughter) and I responded first, pulling the car and the truck to the edge of the woods to get some light on the area. The truck was facing the wrong way, and when I backed it up, the sound of plexiglass smashing disrupted the silence that only the cat’s purrs had broken. I had backed into a fallen tree limb. Never mind, no time. Add a spotlight to the on-location set and find that cat… to no avail. Lexi finally figured Akari was up a tree. I figured she would be safe there overnight and at first light we’d try again. She agreed.

First light came and launched a series of tactics and strategies to “Free Akari!” We called three tree companies (one said he would climb the tree, grab the cat, then toss her to the ground but she’d land on her feet), rented a 40-foot ladder (from the good people at Theros Rentals) and were joined by super-neighbor David Post, who, at 37 years and a native of hockey country, was more physically up to the challenge than I.

Dave and I cut away dozens of stalks of bamboo to clear a path to the leaning locust tree, whose main trunk lay at a 45 degree angle—perfect for a young, “Simba” like cat to explore new heights on—but at 40 feet up, the tree splits with the right side continuing gradually up and out, and the left side shooting virtually straight up, and up, and up… to nearly 70 feet, too much of a reach for the ladder and too far for a freefall.  (The thought of calling the fire company was fleeting.  Our long lane is not easily accessible, nor is a water jet from a power hose the recommended rescue option.)

The morning light quickly turned to midday heat and humidity and, by the sound of the purrs and wimpers, Akari was beginning to dehydrate and feel hunger. Hawks flew overhead. Hopes began to fade…

I posted a plea on Facebook and within minutes, suggestions and phone numbers poured in. Janelle Kennedy saw it and called Aby Bethem with a lead for me.  Acting on their “tip," I called Tanya (and the “women get things done” cry echoed in my head) at Bartlett Tree Experts.  She was expecting my call!

Tree experts who are “community-minded and love cats” should be a Yellow Pages classification all to itself. Tanya commented that our Front Porch Magazine is community-minded, too, and she offered us the services of her tree crew that was out in our area at the time. Twenty minutes later, climber Grant Mullins, bucket truck operator Patrick Rogers, and boots on the ground troop Ramon Reyes showed up.

Armed with the right tools, the right skills and the right attitudes, they went quickly to work with a calming sense of humor. Patrick extended the bucket to its full 55-foot range, up and into the woods, but still out of reach of the frightened cat; Grant harnessed up and, armed with a duffle bag and cat food, climbed the ladder to the fork in the tree. Patrick and Grant, communicating from on-high, put their strategy into action, while Ramon watched for the cat’s movement, and we (Lexi, my wife Virginia, and David, Ryder and Ronin Post and I) held our breaths and craned our necks.

Patrick swayed the bucket toward Akari from the left. The cat scampered right, just as Grant had hoped. Grant coaxed her over and down with a handful of cat food. There was silence below as she trusted and reached the climber. He gently scratched her neck as she ate from his hand. Then came the moment. Grant whisked Akari into the open duffle bag, and our silence turned to roars of joy, gratitude and relief. Cameras flashed.  Patrick swooped down to take the bag from Grant, and 21 hours after it had all begun, Alexis reunited with Akari in her arms…

“I come to you, so silent in the night; So stealthy, so animal quiet; I'll be your savior, steadfast and true; I'll come to your emotional rescue; I'll come to your emotional rescue.”

Mick Jagger and Keith Richards wrote that lyric circa 1979. It fits here. It was an emotional rescue of a cat, a simple happens-all-the-time sort of deal, but not really. This cat rescue was a postcard “Greetings from Fredericksburg” kind of scene, steeped in community-mindedness.  There should be a parade for them all—David, Grant, Patrick and Ramon—with Akari in a big pen on the main float, with our hometown Norman Rockwell, Mr. Bill Harris, painting the scene.

Rob Grogan is editor and co-owner of Front Porch Magazine.