High Energy Stray Rescue Kitten
High Energy Kitten
HIgh Energy Kitten. That’s my face book moniker. Or it would be if I went on Facebook, but I don’t need to. You see, I am a cat. We have all sorts of telepathic communication and mind-reading skills. We don’t need anything as primitive and crude as writing.
My foster mom worries about me. She sees things from her human perspective, poor darling. When mom learned that the neighbors who were temporarily watching me were going to take me to the “Shelter,” she couldn’t allow that to happen. The Shelter can be synonymous with the crematorium at Auschwitz for us strays.
Of course, it is expected that mom deeply loves me. After all, I am quite attractive – I sport a sleek, muscular, seven-month-old athletic body and I am as curious and friendly as all get out. My friendliness led to the neighborhood’s discovery of me. One day the humans heard my wonderful trills as I raced to be near anyone working outside: humans working on their huge conveying boxes, humans carrying plastic barrels to the edge of the street, or humans doing carpentry outside. The carpentry person at mom’s house interested me very much. He used a fascinating VROOM-VROOM toy to change pieces of wood. Naturally, I settled right in at his feet to learn all about this. When I wanted a break from watching him, I would race up and down the old maple tree in mom’s front yard.
The neighbors across the street let me live in their garage every night and put food there for me. They were making inquiries, trying to determine if I belong to a human family (due to my perfect comfort with people) or if I truly am a stray. Although they are animal people, they could not adopt me. As days passed, mom kept tabs on the search for a family for me and also tentatively started talking to me and petting me. I crawled into her lap to show her how charming and loveable I am. I love to be in a human’s arms in that position they use to hold their newborns.
Hug and Cuddle
Mom is not materially rich. She is what the humans call “a struggling writer.” Silly humans. She is SO rich in gifts of the spirit. When she gets to heaven, the angels will set her straight. Anyway, she was not planning to have a third cat and she is well aware of what she calls “costs” of adopting a cat: veterinarian bills, food, and litter. As the decision to adopt me was wiggling its way to her conscious mind, she asked her accomplished, witty, kindhearted boyfriend for his opinion of the idea. Her prediction was that he would gently talk her out of the notion, citing economic reasons. Maybe a part of her wanted him to talk her out of it.
“Of course, you should take him,” was his advice. I’m telling you, I am a very likeable boy, and being brilliant, the boyfriend recognized this. So, mom made arrangements with the neighbors to take me.
Mom is a planner. She negotiated with those kind people to keep me a few more days until her schedule cleared enough to give the time needed for making a place in the basement for me, getting me to a veterinarian, and giving extra attention to her current kitties. She knew that for me to live with her and her precious cats, I would need to clear a few hurdles. No way would she endanger her current babies by bringing in a cat (who me?) with a contagious, fatal feline disease. So, she made a quarantine area for me in her basement until I passed the critical tests. She carried me through her house, with her guard cats hissing all the while, and shuttered me in a very interesting-smelling cellar.
That cellar has great play areas. Although there aren’t other critters such as the voles, birds, and skunks of my recent outdoor life, it gave me plenty to explore. I took apart everything which can be taken apart – my scientific mind needs to examine all the components of everything I find. Fabrics, lumber, paint cans, tools, plants… you name it, I “smell-igated” it. There was a plastic bag full of white fluff. I clawed it open and started carrying pieces of it to decorate every nook of the cellar. It was easy to do. Also, I conducted experiments on durability by knocking over anything which can be pushed to the floor. It’s a public service which I offer.
As I say, mom knew that a kitten with as much personality and energy and cuteness as I have should not end up at a shelter where there is a good likelihood of losing my life. How can a busy boy like I show off my skills and charms to a prospective family inside a little wire cage? And my fur must be extra-special. Humans use the words “So Soft” and “Angora” when they pet me. But, who could touch me inside a shelter cage? I’ve got lots to offer a family of humans, even though I have other perhaps less than wonderful qualities…
Ok, I was a stray, living in the woods, fighting with raccoons and woodchucks, climbing trees, drinking from creeks, eating anything and everything. Naturally, I am home to fleas and worms. Mom worked on eradicating the fleas with stinky water pushed into the hair behind my neck. She also combed me a lot and commented on the black flea bits showing up in my white fur. Worm medicine came from the vet. Happily, the vet determined that I don’t have feline leukemia, distemper, or rabies. That finding led mom to allow her heart to fully embrace me and to permit me to live inside her house with her other two cat-kids.
We joyfully came home. I was glad to escape that little box she used with me. Mom was glad that she could really start momming me, which included, to her, giving me a thorough bath. Mom is no fool. She is experienced at cat bathing and knows many tricks for accomplishing that nasty business. Without trying, however, I foiled her.
As she drenched my wrestling, fighting body and drenched herself, she stopped mid-bath and left. Of course, she locked me in the bathroom. She came back and finished the rinsing, then dried me and left me in the basement.
The nice boyfriend arrived. He and mom talked and mom cried. I traveled in the little box to his house, in which there were other cats and other humans, but that did not turn into my long-lasting home. I came back to mom’s and terrorized her Scaredy Cat. That’s what HE thought I was doing, but I was just racing up to smell his butt. It took a week before he would leave his hiding place in the roof joists of the basement ceiling. The other cat is a cool cat. Gray and black-striped tabby Skeeter Man has a sassy walk and is the official greeter of the household for humans and animals alike. He and I started sitting together during the few times that I need to take a rest. Skeeter Man and, surprisingly, the Scaredy Cat started following me as I engaged in my usual dashing around and knocking things down and drinking water from the dirty dishes in the kitchen sink and chasing my tail and following mom whenever she moved and gnawing the cloth mice and sprinting after jingling balls and subduing the leaves of houseplants and looking for drips in the bathtub and emptying wastebaskets for hidden treasure and hogging up the cat food in all three dishes and trying to jump inside the washing machine. We three got to be real pals.
Stray Kitten Explores Living in a House
I will always think of them as my brothers and think of mom as one of my best moms. But, I knew there was a bigger job ahead for me. There is a place in the world which needs all the talents and strength and personality that I have.
I was born to be a working barn cat at a living history museum. All these other experiences were my training classes. I have comfort with all sorts of animals and survival skills that would put an Eagle Scout to shame. My charm with people was reinforced and homed in mom’s neighborhood. Now, I can roam around a rich Pennsylvania reserve and keep the horses, cows, sheep, and chickens in line when visitors come to learn about the farm. Since I am such a friendly feline, the rangers know that visitors will be safe with me. I will even get to eat any mice that dare approach our territory. This is where I am meant to be, hot diggity!
My Foster Brothers
Mom is a good prayer and an optimistic believer. I know that she has me on her permanent prayer list. I hope that I did some good for her and the two kitties while I was there. We don’t need to realize all the good lessons learned just now. The hidden messages will percolate and become known at the right time. In the here and now, however, I know that I am a life that she saved, and we will never regret it.
A Very Curious, Special Kitten
Photos and text copyright 2014 Maren E. Morgan.
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