Column: Chickens, cats, dogs, goldfish: From the front lines of the fires, stories of survival

Early on the morning of Jan. 8, Mr. Thelma went missing.

Anthony Ruffin and his wife, Jonni Miller, had no choice but to flee their west Altadena home as the wind-driven Eaton fire bore down on them, and they managed to herd their dog, Nan, and their one-eyed cat, Maple, out the door.

But they couldn’t find the other cat — a fluffy white shorthair with what looks like a black-and-brown mask — named Mr. Thelma.

“We searched the whole house like five, six times,” Miller said.

A few hours after leaving, Miller and Ruffin learned their house — which Ruffin grew up in and had purchased from his parents — was one of thousands that had been destroyed in their community. They’ve resettled in a rental property and hope to rebuild, but they feared the worst about their missing cat.

If Mr. Thelma had been trapped in the house, he surely had perished. And even if he had darted away without their knowledge when they opened the door to leave, he might not have survived the inferno that incinerated much of their block and probably killed their backyard chickens.

On Jan. 20, when evacuation restrictions were lifted, Miller and Ruffin returned to Altadena to survey the damage.

“We were slowly walking through the property and kind of assessing what had happened, and yelling for Thelma,” Miller said. “By the time we got to the back, I heard this very faint meowing.” Up popped Thelma, jumping over a concrete wall from an adjacent property, “like nothing had happened.”

“She came up to us, she stretched out, rolled over on her back, like, ‘Where have you guys been?’”

If you’re wondering about the interchangeable he and she references to Mr. Thelma, I did, too. Miller and Ruffin, both social workers whose dog and two cats were formerly Skid Row strays, explained that they initially thought the cat was a girl and named it Thelma. But Thelma turned out to be a boy, so they opted for the honorific.

“We just say she’s gender fluid and identifies by all pronouns,” Miller said.

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After weeks of grim news about heartbreak and loss in greater Los Angeles, the story of Mr. Thelma was like a brief vacation from despair. So I followed a few other leads on animal stories with happy endings. Or at least partly happy endings.

Jessica Davis, who works in real estate marketing but also runs a nonprofit volunteer dog-and-cat rescue called Boomer’s Buddies, put out the word by email and social media that she was available if anyone needed help with injured or lost pets.

In her travels through fire-ravaged neighborhoods in Malibu and Pacific Palisades, she carried food for stray animals but came upon a number pets that didn’t make it. “Unfortunately,” Davis said, “there were cats and chickens, and lots of koi.”

One day she saw a homeless man with a limping German shepherd who looked to be about 10 years old.

“My dog’s paws burned,” he told Davis, saying they were exhausted and had been walking for miles.

“I put both of them into my car and drove to the vet,” said Davis, whose organization is covering the cost of treatment. She said the dog is still being treated — as are countless dogs and cats injured in the Eaton and Palisades fires — and progressing nicely.

Through a grapevine of connections, Davis learned about Connee Russo, who’d lost her home on Piuma Road in the Malibu hills. Russo and her daughter had evacuated with their Pekingese pup but had to leave before they could collect nearly a dozen chickens and three cats. A house cat named Smokey wouldn’t come out from under the bed, and two feral cats, Blackie and Half Mustache, were on the loose.

When Davis pulled up, “there was nothing left but the chicken coop.” It was damaged, but some of the chickens had survived, and Davis managed to trap Half Mustache, who went to the vet for a checkup and later to a cat hotel.

When Russo was able to return briefly to her property, she found that a hen, four chicks and a rooster were gone. But five chickens were going about their business (she keeps the flock for fertilizer that she uses on her fruit trees). Russo also saw a black cat up a tree and figured it must be Blackie.

“I’m really glad that the five chickens survived and I would like to get them a rooster,” said Russo, who intends to rebuild on her property. “And I am still holding out hope that Smokey will come meandering back. She was really good at protecting herself, so she probably has some secret hiding places.”

Read more: Column: For L.A. County Supervisor Barger, the right to rebuild in Altadena is nonnegotiable

Fire survival stories are not limited to mammals and birds.

Novelist Michelle Huneven and her husband, Jim Potter, had just welcomed evacuees into their Altadena home early on Jan. 8 when they realized they’d all have to decamp.

They got out with Tatty Jane the dog and Helen the parrot, but had to leave behind the chickens and goldfish that lived in their backyard.

A few days later, they returned to unimaginable devastation. The 1953 stucco house that had been their home for 23 years, filled with light and designed to showcase the back garden, was gone.

As they walked through the ashes, Huneven said, “we saw a little orange nose in our pond, and we found two of our five goldfish.” The fish — 6 years old and pretty big, as goldfish go — were swimming in a slurry of ash and debris.

A Limoges teacup had survived the fire, and Huneven used it to scoop them up. Later, at a friend’s house, she transferred them to a bowl.

“One of the goldfish kept listing on its side,” said Huneven, who flicked at the bowl, trying to keep both of them moving. Someone suggested it might be time for a burial service, but Huneven had other ideas.

“I went to PetSmart and bought a small aquarium,” which seemed to revive the struggling fish. “Then I went and got a bigger aquarium and bought plants,” said Huneven, who took a piece of ceramic art that had survived the fire and set it into the tank as a decorative bridge.

The fish appear to be thriving, which has offered a small measure of comfort, and a therapist-friend made an astute observation: “You’re making a home for them, because you can’t make a home for yourself.”

Just as it is for humans, displacement can be hard on animals. Miller and Ruffin were thrilled to find their missing cat, but as Ruffin carried Mr. Thelma across their scorched property on the way to their car, the feline squirmed and clawed.

In their temporary home several miles away, Mr. Thelma climbed into their bed and stayed there for days. During my visit on Jan. 30, Mr. Thelma and Maple were hiding out in a bedroom, and Nan sat on the sofa with sad eyes, head down. I wondered if, in addition to their own disorientation, the animals were responding to that of their owners.

“It seems like all our animals lost a little bit of their identity. I guess we all lost a little bit of our identity,” Ruffin said.

They’re planning to take Mr. Thelma to the vet as soon as possible, and veterinarian Annie Harvilicz — who runs animal hospitals in Marina del Rey and Harbor City — highly recommends that all pet owners consider doing the same.

Read more: Column: Earthquakes and fires always stalk L.A. But our greatest danger is denial.

“Signs of trauma could actually be symptoms of a hidden illness such as starvation, smoke inhalation, kidney disease, etc.,” Harvilicz wrote in an email. “Sometimes medication is necessary to take the edge off of traumatized animals.” But over time, “animals, just like humans, will heal from this trauma.”

As I said goodbye to Ruffin and Miller, 12-year-old Nan, a shaggy, tan-colored poodle mix, jumped off the sofa and followed us out the front door. Nan hadn’t been fetching as she used to, but Ruffin grabbed a rubber ball, gave it a toss, and the dog bounded after it.

Again and again.

steve.lopez@latimes.com

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