It's been a long time since I did any mothering, but I haven't forgotten how.Walking the dogs with a friend Friday evening, we passed a house that was locked up and vacant for the season. I heard an insistent cry in the patio, and looked through the iron gate to see a tiny kitten with a big voice. She looked about two weeks old, and when she came toward us she tottered as though she had just learned to walk. She came out to the street and was obviously all set to follow us, but we had to keep her away from my dogs, so I scooped her up.
I might have put her back down, tried to shoo her back into the patio and walked quickly away, except that I knew she was in danger. Right next door live a pair of Samoyeds notorious for attacking feral kittens and killing them. They corner a kitten, grab it and break its neck or spine while their owner stands there at the other end of the leash; maybe he thinks he’s improving the neighborhood by removing another feral feline. I saw his little Samoyed Death Squad in action once, and have heard of two other young cats they killed, one feral and the other a beloved pet. This baby, not yet able to run, wouldn't have had a chance if they went after her. So we took her home.
My next neighbor turned away when I passed her door with the kitten, as if to say, “Oh, here comes Bliss with another feral cat. When will she learn?” But later when I was attempting to feed it with the syringe from a Visine bottle, my neighbor turned up with a better syringe. I opened a can of tuna and used a bit of it diluted with warm water to make a tuna soup for our orphan. Probably half of it ended up on her fur, but she had a good appetite. I nicknamed her Tuna Breath and allowed her to clamber over me, marveling at her vigor and energy. I tucked her into bed on a towel in a cooler box, added Chica's old orangutan toy for company, and got up a couple of times in the night to feed her again.
By morning I had located a woman whose daughter fosters kittens, and they came by to pick her up, along with a couple of boxes of “cat milk” I had bought. That afternoon the new foster “moms” took the kitten to the vet for worming, and accepted another kitten waiting for fostering. So now Tuna Breath has a safe, temporary home, and a foster sibling to play and sleep with. Eventually, with luck, someone will adopt her and she will live the life of a domesticated cat.
A very different prospect than the one she was facing before I took that fated walk. I’ve been messing with Mother Nature again, and many would say I should have just let events take their course. Perhaps TB’s mother was moving the litter and was already on her way back with another infant, and TB became impatient. Like Angelina Jolie and Madonna, I may have disrupted a family in my need to play rescuer.
But if I had it to do over again, I’d do it again.
P.S. Speaking of mothers, I heard from mine today and was thrilled that she can talk on the phone again, walk without a walker, eat without assistance and meet her friends for lunch every day. Quite a change from last year.