“So, this is a fun development,” my husband Eric said to me on the phone.
On his way to the car, he saw a grey cat’s tail wiggling out of the front of our green plastic storage tent. We’ve got a few cats roaming the house (and living and fighting and lovemaking under it). The grey cat wanders here and there, but when Eric approached he scampered off. Then he heard tiny little “wee wee” sounds coming from inside the tent.
We investigated.
There, at the base of the tent, in the back, in the darkness, on top of white button-down shirts purchased for a production of Voldemort and the Teenage Hogwarts Musical Parody… wrapped in a nest of cotton and a Ravenclaw-blue necktie… five mewling, meowing, blind little kittens. Wondering where their mother had run off too, shuffling about for warmth and looking for milk.
We did our reading… essentially: leave them alone. The mother will return, fully wean them, and then we can gather them up to bring to a shelter, or offer them up, or have them neutered and set free.
Only: there were actually six kittens. I thought it was a ball of fur in the corner, but the shape took form and I realized it was a grey mass with legs and a tail. It wasn’t moving. One of them was stillborn. We had to get it out as soon as possible… leaving it there was not an option. (In situations like this, Google is a good way to freak yourself out with it’s infinite ramifications.)
“Do you think we could lift it with some tongs? Do you have any tongs you don’t want to use anymore?”
“Well, rationally, we could use them and then wash them… really they would be just as safe to use as any other.”
“…”
“I’m guessing you want to use them and throw the tongs away?”
“Kind of!”
I found a pair of barbecue tongs that I always hated. I leaned my head into the tent with a cellphone for light. I nudged cotton away from the little one, removed a camera bag that was blocking my approach, and as gently as I could, took light hold of the kitten and lifted it up and into a plastic shopping bag. I tried to mechanically perform the action and not think about it, or the kitten, or its siblings, huddling up waiting for Mama to return. The surprising heft of the kitten made me sad. I handed the bag to Eric to dispose of.
“Don’t look inside,” I said.
The mother cat approached from around the corner. Wary, frightened of our involvement. I backed away. Eric consoled her.
“We’re leaving now, you can go back in. It’s okay.”
The mother watched us as we left. Hopefully she went back in just after, warming her children, and sustaining them.
Mark the date: in six weeks if you would like to adopt a kitten in the Los Angeles area, contact me by replying to this or any email you get through this newsletter subscription (I’ll remind the community as well).
If you don’t live in Los Angeles, start driving here now and they’ll be weaned by the time you get here.
Where are the photos?!?!