I never liked cats. I wouldn’t touch one, much less own one. My two best friends from school (KB and PO) loved cats. I’m surprised that friendship endured. One of my more serious boyfriends, who I envisioned of marrying one day, loved cats. That sunk that deal. My kids never asked for a cat. I figured they didn’t like cats either, or was it because they knew their momma would explode if they asked for a cat.
And then………grandkids come along. My oldest grandson has persistently asked for a cat. My persistent reply was, “No, no, no, let me think about it, no.”
He’s 12….he now owns a cat, several cats.
You see….while I was busy living my life like I thought it should be…..God was working another deal. On Easter Eve, a very pregnant cat showed up on our porch begging for food. We live in a rural area with only two neighbors (who did not own this cat). We have 300 empty acres behind us. Where did this cat come from? But we had to feed her. We couldn’t turn away a pregnant mommy. I called the SPCA about bringing her in. They said, “We don’t like taking pregnant cats.” My reply, “Neither do I.” They replied, “Well you have to make an appointment to bring her in, or it will cost you $20 to drop her off, and we don’t have any more appointments open today.” My thought was, great, come Monday, I will probably have a herd of cats to drop off.
We fed and watered her. The two grandkids living with me kept vigilance over her that day. And guess what happened that night? Yes, she went into labor. The grandkids kept running to me giving me updates. I would not go outside because I did not want to see. My husband stayed up with her until 3:00 a.m. until all kittens were born, making sure momma cat was okay (Dear Husband doesn’t like cats either).
Easter morning. I wake up to a basket of momma cat and 6 babies. Good grief. I started that moment preparing the kids that as soon as the kittens were able to go, go they would, and the momma would go too. The momma cat didn’t like my Frank the Faux Pug. Frank is king at my house.
And then……we named her. Momma cat was now named Clara, after Dr. Who’s last companion. We even said it with a British accent. I posted pictures of Clara and her brood asking who wanted kittens in a few weeks. One friend, a non-cat owner, immediately claimed one. Thank you so much RHK! The kitten would be named Begniet.
And then……one kitten died. My grandkids had dubbed it Runt. Runt was buried with ceremony on our property – which is turning into a regular pet cemetery.
The days were passing and the grandkids had a name for each kitten. 12 year old named one Whiney because it was vocal and full of meows. I was furiously posting on FB for people to adopt these kittens.
And then…….I noticed my grandkids were outside more….off the computers…..off the tablet…….off the TV…….outside laughing, cuddling kittens. I started looking at the kittens. They were so darn cute with their antics. We were quite entertained. And the kittens were tolerant of Frank the Faux Pug. 12 year old resigned himself to the fact the cats would leave and asked me if I would only give them to someone we know because he wanted to know how they grew up and to make sure they were treated right. My mind conjured an image of someone adopting Whiney, driving away, and 12 year old waving goodbye. Broke my heart. I spoke to Dear Husband (DH) about keeping Whiney and letting the 9 year old pick a kitten for herself. It was agreed upon and we broke the news to the kids. They were super excited.
I started noticing a change in my grandson. 12 year old is severely ADHD, a label I never believed in. I always thought people who medicated their children were just lazy and didn’t want to discipline their child. While that may be the case in some, God showed me that was not an attitude to take. We, as his family, always saw a compassionate side in this child, but his wild streak dominated, wreaking havoc in home life and school. My grandson’s compassionate side was growing beyond belief while nurturing these kittens.
Begneit was adpoted and is happily living with the RHK family. No one asked for the other cats. DH admitted defeat and said we will keep them all, including Clara. Next order of business, spaying all the females.
While my skin still crawls when a cat brushes up my leg, and I go into orbit if one wraps its tail around me, I have resigned myself to the fact that I am now that lady – The Cat Lady. (I liked it just being called The Avon Lady – what the deal?)
We dropped the British accent and now Clara is just plain old Clara, the American Calico Cat. But I added a middle name. She is now Clara Grace. By the Grace of God, Clara showed up on my porch, pregnant and hungry. By the Grace of God, Clara has pulled us away from our busy lives and we now sit on the porch all together laughing at Whiney, Skittles, Rae and Nix. By the Grace of God, my grandson is becoming this nurturing, sweet little fellow. By the Grace of God……..