By Sheila Carr–under the close supervision of two kittens :: ©1994
Early summer. That's when it was. Early summer in Sacramento. Bright and warm, a bustling day of errands and shopping. I had pulled into the parking lot of the co-op, intending to make this a quick stop for just a few items, then tear home to finish a free-lance job I had pushed to the end of it's time. But there was more to this stop than I could imagine, and I wouldn't have believed them, had anyone revealed the radical change I was about to begin.
As I approached the entry, a small girl and an even smaller boy smiled that winsome smile children give adults when they are up to something. Being a curious adult, I stopped to see what the children were up to.
"They're free," she said as I bent over the towel-lined cardboard box. "And they come with their own toy." With that, she waved a stout branch adorned with blue yarn, a three foot ribbon and a small fuzzy ball all arranged in the classic cat-fishing manner. The mother grinned, "They're the last ones."
It couldn't have been any cuter, two kittens snuggled together, one on his back, both sleeping the heavy sleep of the played-out young. The one on his back was a smoky grey with darker grey stripes, one white foot and the pinkest nose. I touched his pale grey-pink belly. He sighed and wiggled one ear. The other I can't remember. It was grey guy that caught my imagination by the corner and wouldn't let go. I made short pleasantries, sensibly declined ownership and went into the store. Thirty minutes later (this was a ten minute stop), I still hadn't been able to shake the picture of grey kitty. I had tried to distract myself with all the co-op could offer, even spending time in the vitamin isle reading labels, all to no avail. Fur and purring and play had lodged in my heart. Finally, I left the store nearly ready to have a kitten.
I can't decide if the relief was larger than the disappointment when I found no mom, no children, no box, toys or kittens outside the store. With a wry grin I congratulated myself on the narrow escape. Had they been there, I probably would have become a cat mom on the spot.
Over the next two months, I became more and more aware of an empty spot. I live alone and do free-lance graphic art from my home and though I have ample friends and acquaintances, there was a magnified space. The corner of imagination that grey guy had grabbed was growing and seemed to fit that space. I argued. I resisted. I snorted at the thought. After all, I hadn't kept a warm blooded creature in thirty years. The large fish tank in the dining room was enough responsibility; besides, fish stay put and don't pee on the rug or vomit hair balls.
One day toward the end of July, I snapped. It was sudden and complete. What I needed more than anything was two kittens. Two, so they could play together and not be lonely when I had to leave the house. Without consulting friends (they had all smiled knowingly at my story of grey guy and my waffling heart), I called the local SPCA and inquired about adoption. I was given the phone numbers of two recent cat moms. I called the first and was at her house in less than forty five minutes.
She was a nice lady, slightly rotund with a partially harried look. Working full time, taking care of aging parents and dealing with numerous assorted animals was taking its toll. After shutting the yapping little dog in the kitchen, she led me to the back yard where the kittens were housed in an old rabbit cage. The space was too small for the ten or so kittens and the litter box in with them hadn't been cleaned in several days. The kitten's mother was semi-feral and hadn't been seen for some time. They had been found about a week previously under some stuff in the shed and I had to commend the woman for trying to take care of what appeared to be a rather large problem for her available time and current situation.
My heart melted; I wanted to rescue all of them. But innate good sense prevailed and I set about the business of choosing one kitten. The picture of a grey striped cat was very strong and I picked out a small female that came close, even though she seemed a bit timid. Packing her into the Coleman cooler lined with a towel and leaving the lid open just a crack, I drove home very carefully, talking to my new charge all the way. She was, after all, just a kitten.
Home at last, I closed us into the bathroom, sat on the edge of the tub, and opened the cooler. I waited for the kitten to decide that it was ok to come out. It took a long time. She mewed and meowed, calling for her siblings in a most distressed manner. The least sound or unexpected movement sent her trembling to the nearest hiding place. The next morning was more of the same. No attempts to explore, no curiosity, nothing but terrible distress. I took stock of my own attitude and decided that this kitten was not a wise choice for my personality and the inevitable coming and going that would be happening in my house. I called the lady and asked for an exchange. She was understanding and patient.
Feeling inadequate, and totally mean, I returned girl kitty that afternoon. She was so happy to be back with her family that she immediately began to tumble and play. When I saw her delight, I didn't feel like such an ogre after all. After about forty five minutes of holding and watching kittens, I settled on an orange and white male that seemed to be a lover-cat by the way he laid on his back in my arms without struggling. (Grey striped dreams would have to be fulfilled elsewhere.) He, too, got the Coleman cooler ride, the bathroom introduction, and my watchful evaluation. He passed with flying colors, pushing into my heart, poking into every corner in the house, and bounding back to my lap with satisfaction and purring.
For a little over a week we lived alone while we waited for his cousin, the grey striped male I had chosen from a litter of three born in an apartment closet. The mom-cat was amulti-colored, fine boned cat living with a nice lady and her boyfriend. Grey cat was about two weeks younger than orange and white cat and needed to finish weaning before he was ready to come to our house. A friend gave dire warnings about having two male cats in the same household; territorial rights and all that. Thus, I was cautious, and had some second thoughts, but grey cat was just what I had dreamed of for two months.
The day came bright and warm (hot, really). I was full of the sort of excitement
I hadn't felt since I was a kid. I scooped up grey cat from his apartment
home, stuffed him in the Coleman and brought him into his new home. Shutting
orange cat out of the bathroom, I sat and talked with the new resident as
he lounged in the bottom of the Coleman, seemingly in no hurry. I left him
to explore in the bathroom, and 
went out to comfort orange
cat, and let him smell the new kitten smell. Letting the curiosity on both
sides build, I left grey cat in the bathroom for several hours, with occasional
visits to let him know that I wasn't going to leave him.
At last, while orange cat was at the other end of the house, I opened the bathroom and let grey cat begin to extend his realm. The first encounter was less than encouraging. Grey cat fuzzed up, arched his back, danced away with that stiff-legged step, and began to hiss. Orange cat was merely curious and wanted to exchange smelling, but it was a stand-off. I watched carefully, waiting for any signs of actual fighting. But it was all big-tailed bluff. The arching, hissing, dancing and fuzzing went on for about twenty four hours, then broke into wrestling, chasing madly from one room to the next, and mutual licking while purring, finally collapsing into deep kitten sleep while curled together in a bundle of grey and white and orange legs and tails.
Over the last few months, there has been much learning on both sides of the human-feline alliance. I am probably the first human to actually domesticate kittens, and thus have many strange fears in the night, a few pictures, and lots of cute kitten stories. I am sure the cats have their stories, too. By the way, I have learned their names, but that is another story.
