I dread TV this time of year. If I hear a Sarah McLaughlin song I know if I look up and see an animal in a cage or shivering in the cold and my heart will skip a beat as I reach for a credit card.
I want to save all the animals, and I want to save all the children. When Christopher was 14 he got his first paper route. Home sick from school one day, he saw an ad for starving children and announced he was buying one. His earnings from his paper route would cover the 50 bucks a month, earnings he was spending repeatedly before he actually received them. He made the first two payments, and I’ve paid ever since. Christopher is now 21.
Facebook has made the extortion even worse. People repost pictures of cats and dogs from all over the place, telling you they are hours from death. Too many nights I’ve calculated how long it would take me to drive to California or North Virginia to save an ever-so-slightly aggressive bull terrier or a 15-year-old cat from some shelter’s kill policy. I don’t like slightly aggressive dogs; I already have two cats. And even I can’t drive to California in 9 hours.
When the boys were young and wanted a cat, I told them we’d get a sign when it was the right time. They thought the sign was Pet Store. A year or so later, I saw a Free Kittens sign on the way home from work. The next day, I parked and walked down a long driveway towards a bizarre noise coming from the backyard.
Three drunken men in their 20s were playing with two chainsaws, surrounded by empty beer bottles. They yelled and stumbled over the noise of the saws that would roar to life periodically before sputtering out again; it took them a few minutes to notice me standing there. I did consider leaving, but the tableau before me was simply too hypnotic. When they finally looked up, I could utter only one word: “Kittens?”
As if remembering for the first time that a stranger would approach this scene only with a very good reason, one lurched toward the house, beer in hand. As there is little conversation to make with drunks waving chainsaws over their heads, I remained quiet as they went back to their small engine repair.
A few minutes later, a tiny ball of fluff was stuffed into my hands; her ears were bigger than her head. The boys had asked me to carefully check through what they imagined would be a box boiling over with kittens and pick the best. Instead, I’d been handed a calico I didn’t know would make it through the night. I took her and ran.
She had ear mites and fleas; she cried for 3 straight nights, stood with her feet in her food bowl, and the boys’ stepdad had to make her a tiny custom ramp so she could get into the litter box. Maggie is nearly 12 now, and she weighs 6 pounds.
I’ve watched that tiny cat work her magic on this household over the years. Nobody can stay mad with a purring little furball curled up on their lap. When you stroke her under the chin, she trills, and I tell the boys my dad used to call this singing. He told us cats could sing, and he was right.
I still want to save a world I can’t save, but now I’m wise enough to know sometimes the thing you save ends up saving you, and it’s usually right in front of you.
I lost my best cat, a calico named Plato (one of the boys was learning ancient Greek history at the time) to cancer two years ago. We ended up with a new kitten named Emlsey (she has that M on her forehead that tabbies usually have) who is a lovely cat, but every now I think I slip up and call her Plato. Plato was brought to a shelter after someone witnessed her being tossed out of a moving car on a country road. She purred her way through some major crisis in my life and was the best tonic ever.
Our last 3 cats have been strays or from the Humane Society. Each has had a unique personality and each has taught us things about ourselves we might not have discovered without them.
I’ve reread the part about the chain saw wielding drunks 3 times now ……
Did you hear banjos ? The theme song for deliverance ?
Hurray for the poor sod !
We have a cat and a dog. Both brought home by the same girl. Both now under parental care as she lives the life of wild freedom.
Love both animals dearly but would really like to get another cat as we had to say goodbye to one after she had a stroke last year.
Problem is, the one that is gone, was the queen of the house and had arrived first. The remaining cat is a big orange barn cat who will attack any other cat that comes in range of our house. He came in as a kitten and gave the queen her space. They tolerated each other but there was no affection. He would sit patiently and wait for her to finish eating. She would saunter away and hiss at him with all the venom that her five pounds could muster. He would step up to the bowl and take his turn, knowing full well that his 15 pounds could take her out in a heartbeat, but he never touched her.
He tolerates the dog because he has no choice. She tries to play with him, she is much younger and full of energy but he has no use for her.
I have looked at kittens and would love to bring one home with me, but we are pretty sure that he would just see an appetizer and attack it at the first chance he got.
Doesn’t sound like you got your cats at the same time. How did it go when you brought the second one in?
JoJo came 2 years after Maggie, and the first week wasn’t pleasant. Maggie was small (and destined to say that way) yet mighty; JoJo was small (that kitten optical illusion) and unsure why Maggie hated her so much. By the end of the week, they were sleeping in a ball together, and Maggie would put JoJo in a headlock to groom her. JoJo grew and grew, Maggie didn’t, but Maggie was boss.
Everybody knew it. The kids want another cat, but right now I’m aware we’d have 2 queens in the house (JoJo has a pretend crown she puts on when Maggie isn’t looking) and I’d fear for anything but the tiniest female kitty, hoping some MaMa instinct would kick in again.
Yes, I think I just have to wait out my kitten yearnings.
When the time comes that our mini-lion is gone, I may get a pair of kittens but for now I have to hold off.