Erica: On How a Kitten Saved My Life

It was 2009, and everything had changed in just a few months. The person I thought I would be at the age of 36 was nowhere in sight. I had removed myself from an emotionally abusive relationship, and then proceeded to torment myself for ever having been with him, so much so that I could not even see, let alone be in, any other relationship. The cats that had kept me company for fourteen years, and had been my children and best friends and support systems all in one, died within months of each other. First, Bogart died of kidney disease, then his twin sister, Marilyn died. Also of kidney disease, but really of a broken heart.

Within a few months, things got much worse. I began to give up on ever “being” a writer. And I had a stalker related to one of my freelance jobs. I lost all motivation. I just kept seeing pictures of Marilyn and Bogart, and comparing myself to every human being within two years of my age group, and crying. The couch and TiVo became my best friends as I drowned my sorrows in endless episodes of Law & Order and Cold Case with impossibly sad endings.

Then one day, I began to look on the Internet. I didn’t know what I was looking for, but after a few days, I found it.

I found a woman that worked with an animal shelter, sheltering some of the animals in her home. She had an adult cat that she wanted to find a home for. I figured that was perfect for me, because then the cat and I could have company, yet still leave each other alone.

On my way to pick up the cat, she called me and said that she couldn’t catch him. Of course, I thought, the cat knows it’s coming to live with me and doesn’t want to! She asked instead if I could take a cat that had given birth to kittens six-weeks prior, and take one of the kittens too. I thought that sounded like a good combination and agreed.

When I arrived, Mama Cat and Kitten were waiting for me in a cage provided by the woman. Mama Cat was howling, and so were her other two little girl kittens from the corner of the room. Boy Kitten meowed at me, and then tilted his head to look at me. I tilted my head to look at him. And I smiled.
It was my first non-forced. actual smile since Marilyn died.

Of course, kittens don’t smile, but he stopped meowing so I figured that was just as good.

I took them both home, and since neither of them had names, I dubbed Mama Cat “Caddy,” and Boy Kitten “Quentin.” Quentin happily played in the apartment, and chewed on everything he could find.

His mother just looked at me and cried.

And cried.

And cried.

All night.

The next day, I called the woman, not wanting to give up “Caddy” but also feeling like I was keeping her in misery. To my relief, she said that the kittens had also cried all night, and confessed she thought it would be better if the mother came back to the kittens, saying her children were hoping Mama Cat would stay with the family anyway.

So I waited until Quentin had passed out from play-exhaustion, and I grabbed Mama, and took her back. She stopped crying as soon as we got to the car and looked at me. “Don’t worry about it,” I told her, “I understand.” I could tell she was happy to be going back, and sure enough there was joy in Kittenville at their reunion.

As I drove home, it occurred to me that Quentin might be afraid if he woke up and discovered Mama was gone, and he was all alone.

I got back to my apartment as fast as possible, and as I fussed with my keys at my front door, I heard Quentin crying on the inside.

And then, I started to cry. The poor little kitten! His mother didn’t even want him, she would rather be off in the suburbs with her girl kittens, and here he was, all alone, for the first time in his six weeks of life. Poor little thing!

I went inside and found Quentin the Kitten on my dining room table, standing there with tail and back fluffed up, ready to attack if he needed to. He had been the first thing to make me smile in a while, and now here we were crying at each other, staring.

He looked at me and waited for me to do something.

“Um….hi,” I said.

And he tilted his head at me again, disarmed.

And I smiled again. “Want some food?” I asked, and motioned to the food bowl.

He jumped down, happily, and I gave him kitten food.

Then we played for the rest of the afternoon, until he passed out again, and neither of us cried for a long while.

- by Erica