Cats and Kittens Part One

Cats and Kittens Part One

My favorite hiding place as a child was in the barn in the middle of the hay bales that were stacked nearly to the barn’s roof. Unaware at the time of the danger of sliding myself between the bales, it was where I felt safe. I loved it there. Quiet, peaceful, the sweet clean scent of the alfalfa, and best of all, I couldn’t hear mama screaming from there.

The barn was cool and dim, even on the hottest of days. Mice and rats made their home there, and so did the barn cats. We had a lot of them. They were all either black or gray and feral. Not that I knew what a feral cat was at the time. I just thought they were cats that needed love and attention, so they wouldn’t be afraid of us. I believed I was just the person to provide these critters with both.

The mama cats would hiss and scratch me when I got close to their babies, so I would sneak food from the house, and after a few days of feeding them, they began to trust me, and I could pet their little kittens.

Of course, I gave them all names but told no one. I began sneaking food from the house for the cats trying to earn their trust. I knew Mama would kill me if she found out I had been stealing food and giving it to the cats. “They eat mice and rats,” she would yell when I asked for scraps to feed them.

They were so thin that I knew they were hungry. After a period of time, the mama cats began to trust me. I would sit with their sweet babies while they would presumably go hunting for rodents.

Eventually, I could gather the kittens into my shirt and take them with me to my hiding place inside the haystack. I wanted to feed the kittens too, but I didn’t know what I could give them. Then I remembered daddy squirting the cats with milk sometimes while milking, and the cats loved it.

I brought them milk daily, and they lapped it up, becoming plump and robust. Although, I now know you never give cats or kittens milk, so please don’t do it!

My children and I had many cats over the years, all of whom were loved and mourned long after they crossed the rainbow bridge. My husband and I didn’t have any cats for years. We had our precious Shih Tzu, Chloe. She was my constant companion for thirteen years until one morning in October 2017 when she suffered a stroke and needed to be put to sleep. My heart fractured into a million pieces that day and, quite frankly, has never fully healed. I swore we would never have more pets; I couldn’t bear the heartache.

Then in December 2018, on a very rainy night, a small ball of fluff showed up on our deck. A calico cat, soaking wet and miserable. I opened the door, and she ran away. Not sure what to do, I searched the pantry for canned tuna, I didn’t have cat food. Placing the food by the door, I called the cat to come back to no avail. Later that evening, we could hear a cat yowling so loudly that it was kind of spooky. I figured she was in heat.

At this point, my husband grabbed a flashlight, and I grabbed the umbrella. We looked everywhere we could but couldn’t find the cat. Disappointed, we vowed to try to find her in the morning.

The next day I picked up Meow Mix, also known as crack for cats, at the grocery store and decided to ensure this cat would be fed at the very least. We also set up our wildlife camera to record what time of night she was stopping by.

She ate every morsel of food I left and yowled every night. We started noticing a pattern, and as the days turned into weeks, she stopped by to eat in the daylight. I felt we were making progress.

Daylight also gave us a better look at her. A long-haired calico. Her fur was matted, and she had the biggest paws we had ever seen! I took pictures from inside the house and sent them to my daughter. “Mom, you have to catch her. You guys need a pet!”

I began to leave the doors open when I knew she would stop by, and each time I would move the food dish farther into the living room, enticing her to come in. She wouldn’t come close, but I had become determined to save her.

Callie was a feral cat, and as an adult, I knew precisely what feral meant. But, I was bound and determined to turn her into my lap cat despite all odds against it.

I bought a litter box, litter, and cat toys and decided it was time to keep her inside. My husband kept saying, “you’re going to bring a wild animal into the house?”

That night when the cat came into eat, I closed the doors. All hell broke out. She went crazy, yowling and throwing herself against the doors. She wanted out. Feeling like I had failed, I let her out. My husband kept reminding me that she was a feral cat. Honestly, I didn’t care what he thought, this cat was mine, and she would live in the house.

The next day, I cleaned out the garage and set it up as a safe room for her. I thought if she was going to pitch a fit, she could do it out there where she wouldn’t hurt herself or us. It just meant I would have to pick her up and put her in there

That evening she showed up on schedule, and I grabbed her and ran to the garage. She didn’t even struggle. That night, she didn’t yowl or carry on. The next morning I went out and found her hiding under the tool bench. I set up a folding chair and sat there talking to her for hours. Finally, in the late afternoon, she came out from her hiding spot, I opened the back door, and she’s been inside ever since.

The vet said she was about a year old, just coming into her first heat. She weighed just seven pounds, and she’s polydactyl. Twenty-eight toes on the little ball of fluff. After she was spayed, she settled into our lives pretty well. She wouldn’t come near me but would let my husband pet her. Then she began to bite me. Hiding under a bed, she would pounce on me as I walked by, biting me in the leg and drawing blood. Now, what to do?

“She needs a friend Mom” my daughter advised. I didn’t want two cats; I just wanted this one.

Jeff and I started visiting the shelters searching for a companion for our calico cat. We saw dozens before we found the perfect kitten. Agnes. She and her sister were sound asleep in their kitten hammocks at the feed store. A domestic shorthair. Intuitively I knew she was the one. We adopted her that day, and Julie, the woman in charge of all cat adoptions, gave us a how-to on introducing Agnes to Callie. We followed all of the directions but were quite nervous about introducing the two. After all, Agnes was just a baby, and Callie was so big. So, my daughter and her boyfriend came to help us just in case.

As it turned out, they loved each other. From that day forward, they became best buddies, and Callie stopped biting me.

After a challenging start, Callie is now a very relaxed lap cat for my husband. She allows people to pet her when she’s in the mood, just don’t try picking her up; she will hurt you.

And then there is my precious Agnes kitty. She is my lap cat. And loves everyone.

Both of them are plump, happy cats—more like dogs. Agnes chews everything in sight, electrical cords, shoes, and furniture, and she likes to play fetch. They both love belly rubs and sleep primarily on their backs.  The only thing they don’t do is bark, but they do let us know when someone is coming to the door.

We’ve been living peacefully with these two for nearly four years. We see lots of stray cats cruising by our deck. And then two weeks ago. . . (Stay tuned for the next episode of cats and kittens)