My intentions, as I was headed out to this new job alone, were to get a cat to keep me company in the evenings and during the winter months. My brother had raised a great protest against this saying, “Awww, don’t get a cat, that’s like saying you want to be single for the rest of your life. You don’t want to be the single cat lady teacher. Get a man and a horse.” After assuring my brother that I would not be “that single cat lady” forever, and that horse costs too much and men are too much work, I stuck to my decision. It would be nice to have something in the house to blame the noise on, and something to talk to, even if it couldn’t talk back. The housing situation for the first few weeks had proved difficult and I was glad I hadn’t brought a kitten with me. However, now that I had my own space, even if it was just a camper, I was ready to get my own cuddly companion. Trent had told me that they just had a new litter of kittens, and that the black male I was looking for was included in the bunch. I made plans to come down to their house and check the little guy out.
There was a swarm of kittens all over the kitchen when I walked in the door. They were all attacking a single bowl of food, walking in it, falling out of the bowl, chasing each other’s tails. It was a lot of fun to watch. The little black kitten wasn’t too interested in me, but a cute little tortoise shell with seven toes on her front paws kept sniffing at me, and decided I would be fun to climb. Trent’s girls and I sat on the kitchen floor and played with them and cuddled them. “They’re about four weeks old, “ Dahlia, Trent’s wife, said. “You can’t really take them from their mother until six weeks, but they’ve already begun eating solid foods, so I don’t think you’ll have to wait much longer.” She scooped up the black kitten and plopped him in my lap. The tortoiseshell didn’t think much of his being there, and neither did he. He clambered over my leg and scampered back to the shelter of the table, eyeing me for a minute and then walking away with a disinterested air. The kitten in my lap stared up at me as if to say, “See, he doesn’t care about you, but I do. Pick me?” I had already made my decision. I wanted a kitten that looked like the cat I had when I was growing up, black with a white splotch on his chest. The disinterested kitten fit the bill, and as lovey-dovey as this other one was, I wasn’t about to change my mind. “Oh, she likes you!” one of the girls exclaimed. “You could take two kittens, if you want.”
“Oh, no thank you,” I replied. “One kitten will be quite enough work. It’s been a while since I’ve had a pet, and even then he wasn’t really my responsibility. I think I have enough work cut out for me without adding another to the mix. Besides, “I continued, “the camper doesn’t have enough room for one cat, let alone two.” I finished my visit, setting the affectionate kitty on the ground and promising to return in two weeks.
A fortnight later, little Zuriel cried himself to sleep in the makeshift house I had made for him. He had crawled all over the car on our trip home, and then crawled all over the camper. I was so afraid he was going to pee on the carpet that I kept throwing him back in his box where the cat litter was. “I can’t have you wandering all over the place while I’m sleeping, “ I said as he tried climbing up my pant leg. “Ow, hey, stop that!” He’d managed to get halfway up to my knee, his sharp little claws catching my skin. “I’m just going to have to make you a nursery.” I found a cardboard box that could hold the catbox and left him a little room to lay on a towel, away from the litter. I gently set him inside with a bowl of water and food, and placed a towel over the top of the box. He immediately began to wail. I tried to ignore it as I got ready for bed, brushing my teeth as loud as possible to drown out the noise. After a few minutes I didn’t hear any more crying. Peeking around the corner, I could see the towel on top of the box moving. It had developed a lump on one end and the lump was moving and twisting. A couple of seconds later, Zuri came tumbling out of the box, landed on all four, shook himself, and then unsteadily wobbled in my direction, mewing away like anything. He was too cute to be mad at, but after five more of the same scenario, I was done being nice. “I have to get some sleep, cat, and you aren’t helping.” I put him back in the box and looked around to see what I could keep him inside with. Hmmmm. I need something heavy that he can’t push off the top. Well…that space heater is pretty heavy. Let’s see…yup, that’ll fit across the box without falling in. Now, something else…After trying several things, I concluded that a cookie sheet weighed down by a pair of my shoes and the space heater were the only things that would keep the little explorer in his box. “It’s just temporary, “ I assured him through the towel. “I’ll have a real home soon, and you can have your own room, and you’ll be litter box trained by then. Hang in there.” I fell asleep to the sound of his cries and worried all night that he’d be squished under one thing or another, but all was well in the morning.
Zuri quickly learned to like his new home. He would follow me around the camper, talking away in his little cat voice, blue eyes wide as he ducked into corners chasing imaginary mice and dust balls. The students loved him and it was hard to get them to focus on their work when they saw that tiny tail waving like a flag as he trotted past their desks.
He seemed to be fitting in well, but I was a little concerned. Life out here was busy and there seemed to be something going on nearly every evening. Sunday morning and evening we had church, Monday was free but now and then we had movie night. Tuesday evenings I spent at Dave and Betty’s watching tv and eating supper. Wednesday night was church again. Thursday and Friday were always tricky, because card parties and hanging out would crop up, and Saturday’s were when we went to town. Plus, there seemed to be extra church activities, bazaars, and various other things. My mom told me, “You’re busier there than you ever were here. How is that possible?” But it was, and I was quickly becoming the pet owner that neglected their pet. He hadn’t been too much trouble to train, and really wasn’t much responsibility beyond feeding. I thought about the little tortoiseshell again and wondered if I should give it a try. “Dahlia, “ I said when she answered the phone, “I think I need to borrow another kitten. I want to see if they’ll do well together, maybe give each other some company?” She was only too happy to give me the kitten. Ranch cats multiplied themselves all too quickly and the ranch wives were always looking for ways to get rid of them. That weekend Dahlia and her girls drove down with little Arabella and we put the two of them together to see how they’d do.
It was not love at first sight. They seemed to have forgotten that they were brother and sister, or that they’d even met before at all. A series of hissing, spitting, and back arching began as Bella attempted to eat out of Zuri’s dish. Unfortunately for Zuri, she was the bigger one and when it came to wrestling, he always ended up on the bottom.
The kids were thrilled to find another kitten in the classroom on Monday, and by the following weekend, I was sure that I would keep them both. They’d stopped spitting and hissing so much, and would occasionally fall asleep curled up on one another. When I left the house I didn’t feel so bad. They’d chase each other around the room, stop to groom one another, wrestle, and then chase some more. Bella had the unfortunate habit of sucking on clothing or anything soft, leaving the material drenched in cat spit. She liked to sit on your lap and be petted and scratched, but she wouldn’t let your face near hers. Zuri, on the other hand, felt that if you weren’t looking at him he wasn’t getting your full attention. He’d sit on my lap face to face, staring into my eyes, and if I stopped petting or looking at him, he’d reach a paw up and stroke my face, or nuzzle his nose right under my chin.
I kept the cats indoors, for fear that a hawk would swoop down and snatch them up, or that a skunk or coyote would attack them. The students ran into the classroom one day in an excited flurry, “Miss Cook, Miss Cook, “ they yelled, “a baby fox, a baby fox is in the yard!” I rushed back out after them to see what they were talking about. A baby fox? Surely not. I rounded the corner of the old trailer to see a mangy, matted, full grown fox skulking in the corner of the schoolyard. The students advanced toward him and he made no effort to run away. “Kids,” I said, “come back and stand behind me. That’s a full grown fox and he doesn’t look very healthy.” They all came to stand behind me and stared in fascination as I yelled and ran at the thing. It stood for a moment, apparently unconcerned with my presence, and then loped off into the field. I told the students they’d done the right thing in letting me know right away that it was there. Talking with one of the parents later they said, “Sounds like that animal was sick. Mighta’ had rabies or sumpin’ worse. Let us know if it comes around again.” I saw it a couple more times, always when I didn’t have a gun handy. We found it dead under my trailer a couple of months later. “Most sick animals crawl into a dark place to die, “ Todd said as he examined the carcass. “It’s a good idea to keep those cats in the house and keep an eye out for any other sick animals. There’ve been quite a few of ‘em lately.”
No comments:
Post a Comment