Kittens

When we first moved into our house there were a lot of stray cats around. Feral cats is probably the more accurate term. They didn't want anything to do with you, didn't want you near them, were truly wild cats. Even knowing that, we always talked nice to them and tried to befriend them for no reason that makes any sense. I suppose it's the same instinct that has me talk nicely to squirrels when they're on the path in front of me when I run. "Move over little squirrel, I don't want to smush you," I may have problems with anthropomorphising animals. A few times though, we did have cats that responded to us in a way that indicated that they understood that they were cats and we were humans and we could be friends. One of these cats was Heroin Cat. She was a very small grey tiger cat that had some significant psychological problems. She could never resolve her conflicting feelings of absolute terror at the sight of people and her undying love for anyone that showed her affection. As a result of this inner turmoil she would run up to you and then run back and then meow and then run back and then rub against your leg and then run away all while shaking like she was on day three of significant drug withdrawl. That's how she earned her name. We thought of her as a street cat down on her luck who was just trying to keep clean. She was Heroin Cat.

Hanging out in a pile of car parts.

Like many disadvantaged girls in her position, she ended up knocked up. She got rounder and rounder and her running became slower and slower. We put some old towels on the old couch in the garage she had been sleeping on to try and make her as comfortable as possible. We checked every morning to see how things were going. One morning we found her there in the garage with two babies on the couch and two off, looking very very confused about what she'd done and how to reunite her brood. We moved them all to a box on the floor to prevent any more gravity induced separations. The kittens grew and became very friendly. The garage and the yard were their playground and they prospered. We handled them every day and they were always very excited to see us. In fact, that was their downfall.

After about eight weeks, Heroin Cat disappeared. Maybe she thought she'd done all she could for the kittens, maybe she heard about a big score and it all went wrong, we'll never know. It didn't seem to bother the kittens too much as they were thoroughly in love with us. They were always there when we opened the door and were always excited to hear the car drive in. They were so excited in fact that they'd run to the driveway and force me to stop so I didn't run them over. It was annoying but they were cute. Until they got too fast that is. I'd drive into the driveway and close the gate. I'd pull forward and not see any kittens, or I'd see them playing by the garage. Knowing I was in the clear, I'd pull forward. Only after I'd parked I'd find that a kitten had done a sneak attack on the car and I didn't see it. We lost three of the kittens that way and each time it was horrible. I tried to console myself with the knowledge that I did everything I could, I did watch, I did pay attention, but if you can't see them, you can't know to stop. It worked fine on an intellectual level, but my heart broke a little each time.

Once there was only one kitten left, it became a little less sure of itself, a little less friendly. It was only a few more weeks before that one disappeared too. Not under a tire this time, but to a neighborhood dog or an owl or one of the other maladies that made being an outside cat in our neighborhood such a precarious existence. I like to think that during those months that we had Heroine Cat and her kittens around we made their lives a little better, a little happier than they might have been. They certainly did that for us.