So once upon a long ago my daughter had this kitten we got from a girl in my brother’s office whose cat had just had kittens, name of Fearless. As she grew, she of course came into heat for the first time (Fearless, not Madeleine), got herself knocked up straightaway after escaping from strict-but-not-strict-enough quarantine, had her own litter of wee bairns, and successfully brought them to just past the weaning phase.
Then came the terrible, terrible day Fearless escaped from the house as I was leaving for work and immediately ducked under brack’s Mustang, where I couldn’t possibly retrieve her. After several minutes on hands and knees trying to coax her out verbally, I gave up and went on to work, thinking she’d do what she always did when she managed to dart out the door between my legs, which by then she’d gotten pretty good at: climb up on the roof and lie up there in the sun waiting me for to get back, whereupon I would call for her and she would carefully make her way down to the gutter pipe, then leap into my waiting arms to be carried back inside.
Alas, that was not to be on this black, bleak day. Little did I know as I left that it would be the last time I would ever see or speak to Fearless; most likely, she got nabbed by the coyotes with which the area was and is rife, the poor, doomed little thing. I can hardly bear to even think about what an awful fate that would have been for her, it just breaks my heart.
But she did leave behind a wonderful legacy, in the form of the kittens she had given birth to almost exactly nine weeks before. The runt of the five, a sweet grey tabby, was adopted by brack’s sister, where she remains all fat and happy to this day. After weeks of unsuccessfully trying to find good homes for all but two of the others (my original plan had been to keep two of ‘em anyway, at Madeleine’s behest), I finally had to admit defeat and just keep all four of the little critters myself. After getting to know them, no way could I have carted them off to the animal shelter, where they would almost certainly be euthanized in short order. Might as well just shoot me in the head and be done with it, instead.
And it’s all worked out wonderfully in the end, both for them and for me. In fact, I really don’t know what I’d do without my beloved feline companions, I’d be lost without them. During my dreadful ordeal in hospital last year, I worried frantically about the small cohort of four-legged chums which will forevermore be known to Madeleine and me as simply The Kittens, knowing that they would be traumatized by my sudden disappearance from among them.
Now, my then-roomie and lifelong friend brack being a cat-lover of long standing his own self, bless his big, generous heart, I knew he would feed and care for them, no problem. Which was a great comfort to me, the only comfort I had at the time. Even so, for their entire lives I had been Daddy to them, then one day all of a sudden Daddy was gone and didn’t look like ever coming back. How could they NOT be bothered by such a grievous loss? I mean, seriously now, who wouldn’t be?
But in the end all was copacetic, we all got through it and came out the other side okay. The Kittens were born on Easter Sunday four years ago, so in celebration of the auspicious occasion I thought I’d run some pics of them here.
NOTE: The rest of this post I’ll tuck below the fold so as not to slow down main-page loading for those not interested in looking at purty pitchers of incredibly cute aynimules.
First, we have a birthday pic of proud mama Fearless with her newborn Easter Miracle bundles of furry joy, all laid out at the foot of my bed.
The grey and white male bicolor Bunny Fluffster, a real affection-junkie so named by Madeleine because when he was little he was fluffy and had, and I quote, “big bunny feet,” which was and is true. Bun-bun is one of the sweetest, most loving cats I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. Here he is when he was a tyke, doing one of his favorite things: driving the lawnmower, with brother Sluggo catching a few Z’s on the hood.
The aforementioned Sluggo the Thuggo, a male whose disposition and personality are perfectly representative of orange tabbies (domineering, voracious appetite, outgoing, feisty), eating out of one food bowl whilst standing in another.
Precious, who y’all will doubtless remember from her recent celebrity-turn over at the AoSHQ Saturday Pet Thread, enjoying herself a pleasant wriggle in my lap—back when I still HAD a lap worth wriggling in.
Lastly but by no means leastly, Wuzzle (orginally Fuzzy Wuzzy, as in the old children’s rhyme/song about a bear who had no hair, later becoming Fuzzle Wuzzle, and now just Wuzzle or even Wuzz), a truly unique female Tuxedo with all the usual bag of Tuxie tricks: highly intelligent, independent, playful, EXTREMELY vocal. Another lap-kitty shot:
Ironically enough, the plaid flannel jammy-pants I have on in the above photo happen to be the exact same ones I’m wearing right now, albeit with the left leg tied off in a knot nowadays—a cripple-trick the hospital folks taught me early on, intended to keep the excess from getting in the way or entangled in something.
And here’s Wuzz as she looks today, all growed up and relaxing right next to me in the computer chair she’s lately commandeered from me as her preferred sleeping spot, semi-patiently awaiting yet another tummy-rub even as I type this up from my accursed wheelchair.
Wuzz has the amusing habit, when I’m a bit too tardy with dealing out the rubbing of the tummy to suit her exacting taste, of grabbing my hand with her front paws and pulling it over to where she thinks it ought to be. A real go-getter, is my little Wuzz, and quite fancy too, as I tell her all the time.
And there you have ‘em one and all, folks: my Easter Miracle kittehs in all their glory and splendor, on the occasion of the fourth anniversary of their birth. Happy Birthday to The Kittens, and many happy returns!