Claude continues on his journey – one day perky (even sassy) and other days, like today, he looks tired and refuses food, as if to say let’s get on with things. His cancer has had a ripple effect on the rest of the brood, who occasionally lose their patience with the lessening of my time and attentions by refusing the food they loved only yesterday, or chewing plants and decorating the carpet. The joys of being a zookeeper!
But one little angel is always the bright spot of my day: wee Skeeter, who after almost four months “in custody” is always so happy to see me, never wreaks revenge for my inattention, and eats what I give her. Imagine! The moments I spend lying on the carpet of my walk-in closet with her are like a class in meditation: I feel my heartbeat slow when I touch her little paws, and when she purrs it’s like a day at the spa.
She is SO READY for her own home, and so deserving of one. Fingers crossed that a new lead will pan out.
When I think of what she endured in the ravine it brings tears to my eyes. She showed up still a kitten without a mama, then eluded my trapping attempts for months. During that time (in the winter!) she lost almost all her fur, and yet didn’t die from exposure. She became very regular, and would be there, shivering in the shadows, every morning. She’d look at me with a very steady gaze that seemed to say yes, I’m suffering, but I really want your help. I really want to be safe, and warm, and have a full belly for a change. I want to know humans and see if I can fit into their world.
Every morning I’d tell her, “soon. Just go in the trap and I promise your life will be better.” She finally did. Perhaps she was so sick with the upper respiratory infection that she sensed she could die if she didn’t let herself be vulnerable.
A year-old feral kitten usually takes a while to tame down, but Skeeter showed right away she wanted affection. By day two she was rolling her head to the side when I reached for her. She didn’t rebel against the habitation in my walk-in closet (my usual bathroom for rescues was occupied) and when she got whomped on by Pokey, denizen of my bedroom, who is normally docile with kittens, she was cheerfully right back in his face afterward.
It took some time to clear up her various ailments and get her to stop being so jumpy. (If a feral cat is NOT jumpy, they become dinner.) And I know whomever adopts her will have to build trust as I have. But it’s a joy to see how a battered, sick kitten can rebound – almost sensing she has a beautiful, full life ahead of her. When I’m tempted to break down about the too-soon passing of my Claude, I just look in these eyes and know life has more joys in store – not just for me but for the critters I love. Thanks, Saint Francis, for the reminder.