Here they are on the very evening of the day we brought the Fab Five home. That's the cardboard box and that's the towel. One kitten is hiding under the rest. They had just stopped shaking.
When I saw the news tonight, the puppy whose leg has been amputated due to his shotgun womb, I naturally thought of that day over four years ago.
There they were in that hot plastic playhouse, doors and windows shut, panting and afraid and shaking and dying.
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| Lennie Mathews |
"Can we keep at least two, Granny?" I had gone to the rescue after Jack and Tom's frantic phone call. "I want this one," Tom picked up the black and white kitten. I'll call him Lennie. L-e-n-n-i-e." "Yes," I answered.
Jack picked up the kitten who was hissing. "I like this one. He's feisty. I'll name him after me. Jackel." I eventually told the boys the story of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde but that was later. Hyde wasn't named for quite a while. Although, even in the box in the picture above, he is hiding under his brothers.
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| Dr. Jekyll |
"Are you going to keep one, Granny?" Em had already smelled my fingers. The M on his forehead was distinct and beautiful. He was a con-man and a lover-duck sidling up closer and closer to my hand. I held him in my arms and nodded.
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| Sweet, sweet Em |
I looked at the little girl. She was cowering, shaking, peering around, "Meow." She suffers from anxiety, not the brightest candle in the window. Sometimes she chases her tail for what seems like hours. Sometimes she chases around for no reason that I can understand. We would say that she is academically challenged.
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| Sissy Emma Woodhouse |
If there were schools for cats she would fail all her classes, and be bullied, and not asked to the prom. She spends some mornings sitting in a pine straw basket that she has grown out of. Who knows why?
Her body markings are much like Em's. I took her in my arms with Em and named her Emma Woodhouse AKA Sissy. I told Em that he was her twin brother and he should look out for her. He didn't understand.
And there was the tiny little boy hiding under the blanket. Terrified and near death. (He's still the smallest; a sometime nervous wreck, and when he got over hiding anywhere and everywhere, he began to sleep up against my back. Unlike Emma, even with his hangups he is still working on socializing.) He will only eat up high on the kitchen cabinet. I still feed him with a spoon. The other day, my phone rang and I noticed that he was continuing on with his breakfast. A major victory. Also, the toy basket is full. He no longer takes all the toys for himself in his secret lairs. (Hence, he became Mr. Hyde. I sometimes look for his hiding places. I sometimes find them.)
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| Mr. Hyde |
When I saw the little four month old puppy on the news tonight, it all came flooding back. How can people be so cruel to animals? The dog will be recovering for weeks, but has a long list of people anxious to adopt him. I doubt if they stand a chance to take him home with them. The staff at the animal hospital has first dibs and there's someone at the television station who has volunteered to pay his bill and give him a home.
I felt the same way that sunny day standing in the grass packing kittens into a cardboard box.
"Which one, Granny? Which one is yours?" Tom and Jack were literally jumping up and down. "Ours," I corrected the boys. "All of them." I smiled. "Can we do that?" "Yes, we can. We can do anything we want to." And so we did.
