Blinking forgiveness

After three days of being completely freaked, the kittens finally settled down a bit on day four – enough to eat baby food off my fingers, and let me touch them lightly (recoiling throughout). I asked Caitlin, ace cat rescuer with http://humanimalconnection.com, to come and check them out. They seemed healthy but I was curious to know their sex, since it was getting tiresome to call them androgynous names. And it looked like it would be a while before I was able to get them “fixed” – the wonderful vet in town who gives me a price break on surgeries said they needed to be at least four months old, and I estimated these babies to be at maybe 8 weeks.

Caitlin confirmed my suspicions, and proclaimed them 8 or 9 weeks old. She also put them through the indignity of a genital inspection – the first time either of them had been held – and said Baby Blue was definitely a boy, and Frankie was almost certainly a girl. Interesting, as Frankie has emerged the unquestioning alpha in their tiny pack – hissing avidly (tho it’s more like a “hey how’s it going” hiss than a “I would tear your eyes out if I were bigger” hiss), and grey baby has spent most of his time hiding behind her in the carrier. She said they both seem thin, tho healthy enough, and suggested another vet on the Peninsula who would take them younger than four months so I can get about finding them home(s). (I’m praying someone takes them together.)

I have some leads already, which is amazing. And I’ve decided to start calling my beautiful little Russian blue boy Mischa, after my favorite Russian ballet dancer, Mikhail Baryshnikov. Today they are letting me hold them, if reluctantly, and my heart is full with gratitude for how well this is gone so far.

All but one thing: Mama Grace. I was anxious to see her the day after I trapped her babies, and amazingly – and for the first time after seeing another cat trapped by the ravine – she was there. She usually vanishes for a few days to even a week, leaving me to feel guilty to have busted up her cat-family yet again. But this time she was there. I could see her below in the bushes, looking up at me with big eyes that didn’t show much fear. I called to her. Still holding my gaze, she blinked once. (What ferals do to show recognition and trust.) And then twice. Then she turned tail and disappeared. And I haven’t seen her since.

Gracie is among the world’s most independent of creatures. I’ve thought more than once that she must have been killed, because she would be gone for so many days, only to have her show up like nothing had happened. So I have faith that she is not gone for good, but because she feels like my cat now – no, she is my cat, just one that has never let me touch her – I miss her and worry when she’s gone. And I also pray that she does truly understand why I do what I do. I don’t break up her family because it’s fun, but to prevent more suffering.

Her blinking was a small wonder. It almost felt like she came to give me atonement, before going on a kitten-free walkabout. (Thanks for the babysitting! I’m outta here!) As one friend noted, she might have been relieved that I did what I did. Defending kittens from predators is a full-time job – one that caused her a wound in her neck about a month ago. So maybe she’s feeling grateful, rather than bereft, that her kittens are in my arms now. I can only hope and trust.