viragette

I was washing my breakfast dishes when he walked in and asked me if I felt “motherly, or maybe like nursing a tiny, sick little animal in very bad shape.” Damn. Were my ovaries showing again?

The tiny kitten was hunched in a spot of weak sunlight along the front of the house. I could see from 10 feet away that it was trembling. It’s long black fur was matted and dirty, and it had gunk in it’s eyes. “That orange cat over there was humping it,” he told me - pointing out the big cat lurking off the property line. “The kitten couldn’t fight it off, it’s too weak. I shewed the big cat away, but that kitten looks sick.”

We discussed what we should do. I went to get food and water. The kitten had crept into a dark corner. I set the food down, and backed away. I’ve never seen anything eat so voraciously. I sat and watched it eat two entire cans of cat food. I can’t take care of a pet right now, but I wondered. The only time I ever wanted a cat, years ago, I had wanted a black, long-haired kitten like this one. Only healthy and happy. I thought about what it might be like to keep this little kitten, to rescue it.

After eating, the kitten lurked back into the dark corner. I had made an attempt to touch it, and it did not want to be caught. Fine, it was on it’s own. Perhaps it would warm to us later, and it was safe for now. I left some more food and went inside.

In an hour, I ventured back outside. The kitten was not in the corner. After a brief search, I spotted it on the neighbor’s drive. That big orange cat was back at it.

“My god!” I thought. “Taking advantage of a malnourished little kitten - again - sick bastard!”

I tossed a rock at them, and they broke apart. The big cat looked at me warily. The kitten looked woozy and disoriented. I stood there, waiting to see what would happen. Waiting to go rescue that poor kitten.

And then the kitten walked over to the orange cat and touched noses. The orange cat returned her affection while keeping most of his attention focused on me. Her tailed whipped back and forth and she continued to rub her face against him. He sulked beneath a car, and she followed.

“Well FINE!” I thought. “Ruin your life. See if I care! Throw your life away on the first jerk to show you a little affection. Damn cat, I’m through with you! Who’s going to take care of you when you are pregnant? Who’s going to take care of kittens? You think he’ll stick around?!”

I went back in the house, fulminating. Misguided wretch, there was nothing I could do, damn her. I wasn’t about to capture her. I didn’t want a cat. I went back to work.

Several times that afternoon I looked out the windows to see them laying in the sun, or at it, again. The horror. If I was outside, I was tempted to pitch rocks. I would stand there with my hands on my hips, or crossed across my chest, scowling. I felt like some disapproving, grumpy old prude, watching cats hump with a deep, pursed-lip frown and shaking my fists at them. Damn cats. I wanted to hate that malnourished kitten!

At Easter brunch yesterday I learned the kitten had been captured. He couldn’t bear it either, and when he caught them at it, again, on Saturday he brought her into the basement and put her into a cage with a soft blanket, food and water. She’s isolated from the other cats until she can go to the vet, but he and his wife visit her every couple of hours. The kitten is sweet tempered, purrs loudly and loves affection. They’re already discussing names for her.

Lolita?