Friday, May 25, 2007

I'm Not 64, But Vera's Here Already.

My very aged cat died a few weeks ago and I've really been missing him. I gave away all the cat food, the extra flea drops, the cat toys, etc. Pretty much the only evidence the cat lived here, besides the nine million pictures, is all those smeary pawprints on the lower half of the French doors. I'm not sentimental about them; I'm just a lazy housekeeper.

People have offered us kittens and cats, but we weren't ready.

This morning, I heard what sounded like a large raucous bird on the front porch. I opened the door and there was a tiny kitten, screaming its head off. It took one look at me and ran for the shrubberies. (A Monty Python kitten; how cool is that?)

Later this afternoon, I heard the screaming again. This time, I went out and sat down in the porch chair and waited. The kitten peeked out at me from behind the azaleas but was too scared to come out.

A couple of hours ago, I heard it again. I went out again. This time the kitten climbed up my leg and nestled into my arms as if it belonged there. As I type, she's walking all over my keyboard. She's too light to type anything. She's loving and purry, and all black-and-gold-and-gray.

So far I've pulled about two dozen little burrs out of her fur. And two ticks, yuck. She hasn't poopied yet but it's just a matter of time. She can't handle any kind of solid food, and she was desperately rooting all over me so I knew she was hungry. I dipped a rolled-up paper towel in condensed milk and let her suck on it, and drew her mouth down to the bowl. She caught on fast, and was able to lap up the milk. I made a litter box out of an old paint tray (she won't have far to climb up into it) and we had a little digging session which I hope she remembers when the time comes, and it will come.

I wish I'd had my camera when I opened the door and saw this tiny black and gold screamer on my porch. She's so little, and her bones feel incredibly fragile. I think her mother was Hester, the whore-cat, but it's a moot point because Hester didn't look both ways when she tried to cross the road a few days ago.

I know it's ridiculous to be so happy over a tiny little kitten that just showed up at my door screaming, but it's been a lousy week and to be chosen by this innocent little ball of fur feels like such an honor.

Last week, I wasn't ready for a new cat. Today, I am.

Welcome, Vera, to my house. Please don't poop on the carpet.