A Tale of Two Kitties
A little background: Today’s blog post is more therapeutic for the writer than anything else, so if you are looking for some Clairton history, clever witticism, or other raconteur chatter, this might not be the column for you. However if you are a cat person, a pet junkie, or have a soft heart when it comes to not-so-dumb animals, this might be one you’ll want to read.
Not exactly a dark and stormy night: It was a cold Sunday winter morning in the desert. Christmas was just around the corner and Mrs. Dr. Forgot and I were hanging lights on the outside of our shanty. People who have been to Las Vegas in the summer and lived through triple-digit temperatures 24/7 for weeks often imagine it is warm here year round. But it does get cold in the winter relatively speaking. It can dip below freezing overnight and occasionally we’ll awaken to a dusting of snow, but not very often and it doesn’t last very long. So it was this winter morning. Temperatures were probably in the high thirties and as we hung our lights there was a “meooooow.” From the corner of my eye I saw a large black cat. I’d seen one like it in the neighborhood but whenever I approached it, the cat darted away, so I told Mrs. Dr. Forgot not to waste her breath by calling it, but when the mini panther meowed a second time she said, “Come here sweetheart,” and it did!
No room at the inn: I explained to my bride that it was absurd to take the cat into the house. We’d always had dogs and our little poodle (who was smaller than the cat) was in the autumn of her life. Zindi the poodle was ill, blind, and did not have much time left. Add to that my Mother was ill and I was to fly out to Pittsburgh the following morning to see her. So I made it clear that in the spirit of the Christmas holidays we would do the humanitarian thing and take this cat into the house so it would not freeze, but it would go directly to the veterinarian in the morning. They are professionals and would be able to tell the gender, whether it is chipped, if it is healthy, etc. They could also place the cat in a good home. Besides, I was not too crazy about cats and I’m allergic.
Not an overnight sensation: We bought a single-use $2.00 kitty litter, got some food from a neighbor who had a cat, filled a bowl with water and put the wayward wanderer in the garage until morning. At about 10 that night I peeked into the garage to check on the cat and it was standing in the litter box shivering. The concrete floor was too cold on its tender feet. I took control of matters and said, “Ok, you can stay in my (carpeted) office overnight,” and I let it into the office then continued, “Let’s set some ground rules; I don’t like cats, I don’t like you, and I’m allergic. Understand?” With that the stupid cat jumped into my lap, rolled onto its back, and began to purr. What a dumb cat! He didn’t even understand English. We named him Licorice since he was all black, but soon changed his name to Casanova as it became clear he’s really a lover. That was six years ago and Casanova still runs the house. It was the best of times.
Do I have a sign on me that says “Sucker?” After hearing a suspicious noise in the back yard the other night I took my 1,000 watt fishing lantern (I don’t fish) and went out to investigate. Sitting atop the 6 foot fence was a black and white tuxedo kitten, crying its eyes out and afraid to jump down. I lifted the kitten off the fence and brought it in the house. It was so traumatized that Mrs. Dr. Forgot stayed up with it all night as it would cry until exhausted, then sleep a while, awaken, cry, eat, sleep, and so on throughout the night. The next day we took it to the vet (I’m sure we’ve paid for that vet’s kids braces over the years). It was a she, healthy, but neither neutered nor computer chipped. We paid for her shots, spay, and exam, and said we’d drop her off at the shelter. WRONG! The vet posited that this was probably a “Foreclosure kitten” who had been left after a neighborhood house had foreclosed upon. She had been somebody’s pet and did not know how to fend for herself. The shelters are so overloaded with such pets that to take her there would have been a death sentence. So we decided to keep her and named her Belladonna as she would become Casanova’s little sister.
Sad ironies abound: We’ve become attached to the little Jellicle kitten but Casanova was shattered. After being the “only child cat” for six years (and believe me, he hit the lottery in this house) he had competition. He either ignored Belladonna or hissed at her. Bella wanted so bad to have a big brother but he’d have none of it. “Oh well,” we figured, “He’ll get used to it.” He sulked.
It was the worst of times: Yesterday I took Bella to have her hysterectomy stitches removed. On the way home, we pulled up to the mailbox and saw the “Lost Kitten” poster with Belladonna’s picture (her name had been “Tootsie”). I faced a major moral dilemma. Do I call and perhaps give away this precious little fur ball, or not? It had been nearly two weeks and we (except for Casanova) had bonded with Belladonna, nee Tootsie. The song from Les Miserables rang in my ears, “If I speak, I am condemned. If I stay silent, I am damned.” So I made the decision Jean Valjean had... I made the call.
All’s well except for a broken heart: The owner lives one street away. She’d had company and when a friend opened the door the kitten darted out. The owner had been walking the neighborhood and checking the shelters daily and in a last-ditch effort, made the posters and hung them throughout. Bella’s (Tootsie’s) reaction removed any doubt that this young lady was her chief of staff (Dogs have owners. Cats have staffs). The owner had moved in with her father a couple of years ago while attending college. He was recently killed in an auto accident. The kitten was very important to her. Yes, it was important to me as well, but it was REALLY important to her. With glassy eyes we said “Goodnight Belladonna. Consider your time with us a vacation. We’ll visit you and bring you toys.” Casanova smiled. And that, my readers, is A Tale of Two Kitties.
A little blogging music Maestro... “Only Love Can Break Your Heart” by Neil Young.
Dr. Forgot
http://drforgot.com
No comments:
Post a Comment