When Dave and I went out on a scooter ride the night of August 5th last year, we did not leave our apartment with any intention of adopting two cats.
But life is funny that way.
It was 10'o'clock at night, and Dave and I we were driving past a gas station when Dave yelled, "I see kittens!" as he swerved sharply into the lot. "You what?" I bellowed through my helmet. And as soon as he cut the engine, I heard a wild scraping in the bushes by the road, and a jet-black kitten came shooting down from the branches. Paws splayed, he caught sight of us, froze, and then shot back into the shrubbery.
"There's another one!" Dave called out, pointing beyond the bush to an arch-backed kitten, this one grey and white, frozen against the back curb of the gas station lot. A car suddenly pulled into the lot, cutting my visual with the kitten. What already hit Dave finally hit me - if they stay here, they'll get run over. I lifted my face mask and crooned at the kitten as I walked toward her. But after a day of dodging traffic, she was a might skittish, and took her chances running into the road. Where a car was coming. I lumbered out over the curb, looking like a suitless astronaut, and snatched up the kitten, waving my apologies to the car. Once captured, the kitten succumbed without a fight.
After Dave had coaxed the hyper little black one out of the bushes, we looked at each other for a moment, then down again into our arms, dumbfounded. Now what?
We walked to the gas station clerk and spoke through the thick plastic window as he peered down at the kittens. When we asked if he knew where they came from, all he knew was that they had appeared in the afternoon at the same time as a grubby cat carrier shoved up next to the dumpster. We walked over, and found it, the wire door hanging open, a single can of cat food licked clean.
Dave tucked the black kitten into his arms, put the carrier on the back of the scooter, and drove the one block home. I walked, wonderstruck, carrying back the little grey-and-white kitten; she was quiet and alert in my arms, her small face peeked out over the bend of my elbow.
An hour later, the kittens were locked in our bathroom, and Dave and I were in the pet section at Wal-Mart, trying to figure out what to buy for them. Litter box, litter, pooper scooper, flea shampoo, canned cat food...
They were scratching and mewling at the door when we came home, and eager for the food we set in the tub for them. We sat in the bathroom with them, keeping them company as they ate to their heart's delight, and finally, they were calm, bellies full and thirst sated. The little grey-and-white girl curled on the cool porcelain of the bathtub, eyes closed; the black little boy settled down against the vanity between my ankles. He had a perpetual expression of innocent surprise.
We agreed to not name them. We lived in a no-pets-allowed one-bedroom apartment at the time, and the plan was to eventually-in-the-very-near-future find homes for them. I even called a friend of mine whose parents own a farm and a barn full of fifty-odd farm cats. What difference could two more make?
Well, that was the plan, until our neighbor across the alley put her upstairs 2-bedroom apartment up for rent. A comparitive Taj Majal, I fell in love with the spacious kitchen, the deep endless closets, the large sun-filled windows.
And it didn't hurt that she was a fierce animal lover. She owned four Shih Tzus, and responded with enthusiasm to our timid inquiry about keeping the two kittens.
The day that Dave helped the landlady pluck the FOR RENT sign from the yard, we sat down with our tiny nameless beasties. "I guess we should name them," one of us said.
Dave named the girl Emma. And I named the little black one Huckleberry.
(Part 2 - coming)
But life is funny that way.
It was 10'o'clock at night, and Dave and I we were driving past a gas station when Dave yelled, "I see kittens!" as he swerved sharply into the lot. "You what?" I bellowed through my helmet. And as soon as he cut the engine, I heard a wild scraping in the bushes by the road, and a jet-black kitten came shooting down from the branches. Paws splayed, he caught sight of us, froze, and then shot back into the shrubbery.
"There's another one!" Dave called out, pointing beyond the bush to an arch-backed kitten, this one grey and white, frozen against the back curb of the gas station lot. A car suddenly pulled into the lot, cutting my visual with the kitten. What already hit Dave finally hit me - if they stay here, they'll get run over. I lifted my face mask and crooned at the kitten as I walked toward her. But after a day of dodging traffic, she was a might skittish, and took her chances running into the road. Where a car was coming. I lumbered out over the curb, looking like a suitless astronaut, and snatched up the kitten, waving my apologies to the car. Once captured, the kitten succumbed without a fight.
After Dave had coaxed the hyper little black one out of the bushes, we looked at each other for a moment, then down again into our arms, dumbfounded. Now what?
We walked to the gas station clerk and spoke through the thick plastic window as he peered down at the kittens. When we asked if he knew where they came from, all he knew was that they had appeared in the afternoon at the same time as a grubby cat carrier shoved up next to the dumpster. We walked over, and found it, the wire door hanging open, a single can of cat food licked clean.
Dave tucked the black kitten into his arms, put the carrier on the back of the scooter, and drove the one block home. I walked, wonderstruck, carrying back the little grey-and-white kitten; she was quiet and alert in my arms, her small face peeked out over the bend of my elbow.
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| A picture of Huck the night we found Emma and him. |
They were scratching and mewling at the door when we came home, and eager for the food we set in the tub for them. We sat in the bathroom with them, keeping them company as they ate to their heart's delight, and finally, they were calm, bellies full and thirst sated. The little grey-and-white girl curled on the cool porcelain of the bathtub, eyes closed; the black little boy settled down against the vanity between my ankles. He had a perpetual expression of innocent surprise.
We agreed to not name them. We lived in a no-pets-allowed one-bedroom apartment at the time, and the plan was to eventually-in-the-very-near-future find homes for them. I even called a friend of mine whose parents own a farm and a barn full of fifty-odd farm cats. What difference could two more make?
Well, that was the plan, until our neighbor across the alley put her upstairs 2-bedroom apartment up for rent. A comparitive Taj Majal, I fell in love with the spacious kitchen, the deep endless closets, the large sun-filled windows.
And it didn't hurt that she was a fierce animal lover. She owned four Shih Tzus, and responded with enthusiasm to our timid inquiry about keeping the two kittens.
The day that Dave helped the landlady pluck the FOR RENT sign from the yard, we sat down with our tiny nameless beasties. "I guess we should name them," one of us said.
Dave named the girl Emma. And I named the little black one Huckleberry.
(Part 2 - coming)
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-Carli