Eight Lives

          Karen was alone in her room doing her homework with the door open. I heard her scream out, “Mom, come here quick!”

            I dropped everything I was doing and ran to her room. I quickly saw what had caused the excitement in her voice. As Karen lay on her bed doing her homework, the mother cat had found herself a place on the bed as well- a safe place to have her kittens. Before our eyes, we watched her give birth. When she washed her new-born kittens, it was obvious that one was still-born. But before us were three very much alive kittens.

          In the days to follow, each of my children chose their own kitten. It was the first litter born to our family. The children were thrilled. There were two male and one female cats of domestic tabby breed.

          Kevin chose the solid black female and named her T.C. Karen chose the short-haired yellow male and named him Tiger. Teresa chose the long-haired yellow male and named him Peanut Butter.

          As soon as I could, I got the mother cat spayed. There were to be no more kittens. Shortly after this was done, the mother cat went away and we never saw her again. Behind, though, she had left us her three kittens.

           As the kittens grew, T.C. was spayed. I kept putting off getting the two males neutered. The three cats, not kittens anymore, were allowed to be both indoor and outdoor cats. T.C. would never venture beyond our yard, whereas the two male cats went anywhere. T.C. was not affectionate. She would not allow the children to hold her, but the two male cats were very much cuddly. When home, they were constantly in the arms of the children. They even slept with them.  Peanut Butter, though, was the far better of the two. One day, however, he did not come home. Teresa took it hard. She was forever calling for him. As time passed, she gradually placed her attention towards Tiger. Kevin, too, began to place his attention towards Tiger. It took no time until all three children claimed Tiger as theirs.

          The children all grew up and the two girls left home. Kevin remained, but as his interests changed, Tiger became my responsibility. I live in a subdivision where there is not much traffic.  Yet, there is still enough traffic that requires one to stop and check both ways before crossing the street. I was always amused as I watched Tiger appear between the same two houses across the street on his usual journey home. As he came to the curve, he’d stop to check both ways before crossing. This was his always familiar place of sighting when someone went looking for him. A morning schedule of feeding Tiger before I left for work had me calling for him. Like clockwork, I would spot him between the two houses. And across the street he came to be fed. I always seemed to be in a hurry to leave for work, so I got to where I fed him outside instead of letting him inside.

It happened that I was on vacation one week. I was sleeping late and had not fed Tiger at his usual time. But it did not stop Tiger from coming home.

          I had fallen sleep on the couch watching television the night before. I awoke to a sudden scream from my son who slept upstairs. “They got Tiger!”

          Down the steps, my son came running. He threw open the door and ran outside. I ran after him. I saw five dogs scatter. An old Buick Regal was parked in the front yard awaiting a transmission repair. Tiger had managed to get away from the attacking dogs and crawl underneath. Kevin was now pulling him out. The car had been low enough in its body to protect the cat.

          “He’s not dead!” Kevin managed to get the words out as he cried. “What do we do?”

          It was still very early and our regular veterinary office kept only day hours. We called anyway and their answering machine mentioned a number available for emergencies. I placed the call and spoke to someone who gave me directions on where to bring Tiger.

          We found a doctor waiting on us upon our arrival. He instructed us to bring Tiger into an examining room. He was laid on a table. As Kevin held his hands on Tiger in assistance, the doctor administered necessary care. He informed us that it was just to stabilize him. We were to take him to our regular veterinary office as soon as they opened at 7 A.M.

          “Is Tiger going to make it?” We asked.

          The doctor never gave us a yes or no answer. Instead, I remember his words. “He’s already used up eight of his nine lives.”

          We were at our regular veterinary office at 7 A.M. They took Tiger in right away.

          The diagnosis was surgery to repair the dog’s teeth marks made in Tiger’s intestine. We gave the okay to do whatever necessary to save him. The expense was never an issue.

          During surgery, his intestine was repaired and a kidney was removed. Tiger had sustained a broken back and a broken right leg. We tried to save the leg. But another surgery would come later as it would require amputation. He was also neutered. If Tiger lived, he would be an indoor cat. He would never be able to make it on the outside again.

          The days to follow were like visiting a human in the hospital. As Tiger received his regular visits from Kevin, the staff laughed as a motionless cat suddenly became so alive. Daily, I would sit in the waiting room as Kevin went back. But when stories began to come up front about their love for each other, I had to go see for myself. On the outside of a cage I saw the name Tiger. A sign beneath it read,” Attacked by dogs.” And inside, there lay Tiger. Once Kevin called his name, Tiger struggled to get up. The purring commenced and it was so loud. As Kevin began talking to him, Tiger did too in his own way. If not for his injuries, I found this sight all so amusing. The cat wanted to live. One could feel the love.

          Once home, Tiger faced a lengthy recovery. But each day, he got a little bit stronger. He soon adapted to having only three legs. As he became a definite inside cat, he became a definite member of the family.

The whole house now belongs to Tiger. Occasionally, we take him outside, but only if we are there to watch. If, during his brief time on the outside, a stray dog comes into sight, Tiger panics. The memory of the dog attack has stayed with him.

          Tiger is getting along in age. He is now fourteen. I shiver at the thought of Tiger one day being gone. I used to wonder how pet owners cared so much for their animals. I don’t wonder anymore. I know firsthand that a bond of love can exist between a pet and an owner. I frequently find myself saying to Kevin, “Tiger is mine, too!”

          My son replies, “We’re his, too!” 

Squeak and her kittens:  Tiger, Peanut Butter, and T.C.

 

The Strays

It was a cold and wintry morning.  It had snowed through the night.  Beside our house, inside the hedge, lay a mother cat and her three kittens.  She shielded them from the weather the best way she knew how.  My son, upon observing this, came into the house to get cat food for them.  We already had two cats of our own inside the house, so we had plenty of cat food to spare.  He laid food on a paper plate and placed it a short distance from them.  He knew he could not get real close since she and her kittens were wild.  This incident became the start of something that has lasted for three years now.

That mother cat and two of the original kittens have long since disappeared.  I like to think that they moved on to another home.  Only one female kitten remained from that litter.  Since then, she has had litter after litter of her own.  Unable to put a hand on any of them, we still continue to feed whatever strays come.  Even though many of the strays end up disappearing, the number of them has still increased.  We name every one of them.  This mother we call “Calico.”

There is another female from across the street that we call “Likes ‘Em Green.”  She comes over with her kittens when it is time to eat.  I never realized how many strays existed out there.  How they feed themselves is a mystery to me as they become more reliant on the food that I put out.  It has become quite an expense and there are many times when I think I will stop.  But I know that they need me.

Each day, the strays seemed to come a little closer.  But I can never put a hand on a single one of them.  I laugh in jest as they truly would bite the hand that feeds them.  I still love them, though, and think of them as mine.

One time, I saw one that I really wanted.  It was still a kitten and I thought I could probably introduce him to my two male indoor cats.  He was a gray, long-haired tabby.  Most of the cats I feed are either tabbies or calicos.  I named this one “Wolf.”  I told my son that I wanted that particular kitten, so he sneaked up behind him and grabbed him.  It scared the kitten so bad that he scratched my son several times before he let go.  That was it as far as Wolf was concerned.  He would not become anyone’s indoor cat.  But I had wished for it so.  There is an old saying, “Be careful what you wish for, because you just might get it.”

Our garage door remained open all the time once we started feeding the strays.  We never expected one of the cats to move her kittens into the garage.  It seemed appropriate that it would be Calico who would move her kittens into the safe place.  She had been with us from the start.  She was such a pretty cat- her calico pattern was diluted.  She always had a variety of colored kittens.  We weren’t sure how long the kittens had been in there before they started venturing out.  Their little meows were weak and they came under our feet.

“But these are strays,” I said.  “This shouldn’t be happening.  Where’s Calico?”

My son replied, “She’s out there eating.”

I was puzzled.  “Why isn’t she coming to feed her kittens?”

          We knew they were hers because we had seen her with them on a few occasions.  But now, here they were in the garage and she was not making any effort to come close to them.  At night, it may be a different story since we wouldn’t be around, so we left them.  The next day, though, it was obvious that she still hadn’t come to them.  Although their cries were constant, they were getting fainter. We broke down and took the kittens to the vet before they could get any weaker.  I called the vet before we got to that point and we were assured that we’d only be charged one fee- called a litter fee.

“Why would Calico abandon them?” I couldn’t understand it.  We’d seen her with litters before.  Since then, we’ve seen her with two more litters and she didn’t desert them.

When we got to the vet’s office, she said, “These kittens are four weeks old.  She stuck a spoon with food on it to each of the kittens.  “They are starving.  You have three females and one male.  If they are given the best of care, three of them should survive.  I’m not sure if this little one will make it through the night.”

She was talking about the little gray and white female.  She was much smaller than the rest.  The vet and her assistant took the tiny kitten into another room.  I never got charged for anything extra, but I suspected that they must have given her a shot or something.

The vet returned with the kitten.  “You’ll be able to give the kittens away.  You should find homes easily, but wait until they are at least six weeks old.  Besides, you can’t give anyone a sick kitten,” she advised.  “Get them healthy first.”

We left the office with some special kitten food and formula.  We were given advice on how to care for the four.  We really had no desire to keep them beyond two weeks.  As the small one would need added attention, we were instructed to use a heating pad for them to sleep on.  We closed up our garage and made a large box to enclose them in.  We placed a litter box at each end.

They were too little for flea medicine, so we bathed them in baby shampoo and used a blow dryer to dry them.  Since they were little and learning to eat from a dish, they got filthy.  Bathing became a routine requirement.  We didn’t seem to start out as good parents.  This was all new to us. Despite our inexperience, the little gray and white kitten lived.

The time for them to reach six weeks of age came and went.  We couldn’t imagine separating them from each other, much less from us.  We weren’t sure of what a good home was.  We began to think that we would require references from anyone who wanted them.  But we had already made our first major mistake.  We had named them.  By doing so, we had made them ours.

The little gray and white female remained small, so we called her “Runt.”  The orange tabby boy became known as “Tiger.” We called the solid gray female “Blossom,” and the diluted female calico “My-a.”  My-a acquired her unusual name because my daughter wanted her. When she visited, she often referred to the cat as my-a cat.  Still, I found it impossible to give the cat to my own daughter.  She only lives across town.

          We were no longer leaning toward giving them away.  We decided that we would simply release them back to the outdoors when the cold weather passed.  But we couldn’t do that until they were spayed and neutered.  We’d have our garage door open again and they’d be certain to bring us more kittens.  At four months of age, I made appointments to have them spayed, neutered, have their shots updated, and get a general health check.  If I decided to give them away after all, they’d be ready.  However, it was the receptionist at the vet’s office that helped me make my final decision.

“You’ll have no trouble giving any of these kittens away, even at four months old.  They’ve been spayed and neutered and given all of their shots.  They are tame kittens.”  Then she added, “They’ve already got the best home they could ask for.”
When she said that, there was no more talk about giving them away.  Instead, we would go on with our plan to release them outdoors.  Spring was approaching.

When spring came, we couldn’t release them.  I had continued with feeding the strays outside.  Life for the strays was not easy.  I observed a constant turnover among the strays as some disappeared and new ones were born.  How could I release my four kittens into the wild and constantly worry which one would disappear next?

The two males that we had in the house would not accept the four.  I don’t care how many times we tried introducing them.  I had no choice but to close off the two floors.  I gave the four the house downstairs.  We put a cat door in the door going to the garage.  They could go “home” to the garage any time they wished.  The two male cats would remain upstairs.  The house was big enough that the upstairs would be more than enough room for them.  They would get enough attention from us since our sleeping quarters were up there. It was a good solution and it remains that way still.

It has been a year now and the kittens are now grown cats.  They have gotten big; all except for Runt.  They each have their own personalities.  One day, Runt brought my son a ball in her mouth.  She dropped it and he threw it.  She fetched it and has been playing fetch with him ever since.  Tiger tires easily and sleeps a lot.  We laugh at his laziness.  Blossom wants to play all the time and when we get tired, she ends up biting us!  My-a is more human than the rest.  She comes to people, always wanting to lie in their arms.  I hold her upside-down and stroke her stomach, and this makes me realize how much she trusts me.  I’m really like a mother to her.  I have never been a cat person, but I am now.

Introduction

I see numerous cats that try to make it out there in this world.  I hear people say on a personal level about how hard it is to make ends meet.  But has anyone ever considered how hard it is for our four legged  feral cat?  He may not have been lucky to find a good home with a kind master.  He relies on his wits to survive.  The food may not always be available.  But with myself collecting and saving aluminum cans with the help of others, I have fed many cats for the past three years.  The food I pass out has become something they rely on.  They do multiply as many say.  But the world is a hard place for even their survival.  There's old ones that go and new ones that come.  My numbers seem to stay around the same because of this.  I find feeding cats a very rewarding experience.  I wish I could do more.  Inside are stories of personal cat experiences.  As the feeding continues, I hope to add more personal experience stories.  Every cat out there has a story just waiting to be told.  Hopefully through this blog, I can tell many of their stories.