We first discovered Misty, a lovely long haired pastel calico, coming to the food bowls set out on my mother-in-law’s back porch. She would appear occasionally and then disappear to whatever kinds of places out door cats find to be at when they are not in sight. One day, however, she climbed a tree by the driveway and stayed up there. Buddy attempted to coax her down but she would not budge. Because the tree was in a safe place and she could be watched, everyone agreed to give her a chance to descend in a natural way.
Several days later Buddy’s mother called frantically to say that as she came out of her side door and looked across her driveway, there in the well of her neighbor’s basement window was Misty with newborn kittens. Pregnant Misty had been in the tree for safety or maybe because she had watched mother birds nurturing their young in nests, But now Misty had deliberately picked this spot knowing full well that she would attract attention and help. Outdoor cats usually pick hidden areas for birthing. Nancy and I hurried over and took them all back home. The only space available for them was in Nancy’s bedroom where Kitsey and her family had been staying. So Kitsey was out and Misty was in. But Kitsey’s kittens were partially weaned so she grudgingly accepted the situation.
So now there was a new batch of kittens to be raised. Misty tended to them. She was a diligent and caring and when they were old enough three went to new homes and we kept two. Shara was a torte and Smootzie, a tuxedo. Both had long fur. We all knew who the father was because Smootzie was an almost identical copy of a handsome black and white male cat who supped at the daily buffet at Buddy’s mother’s back porch.
After Misty was spayed, motherhood was abruptly forgotten. This is usual in cats but Kitsey was different. She was always aware of her children and would chastise or protect as the occasion demanded. Year’s later I would learn that I was totally wrong in my assessment of Misty. She settled into an indulgent existence with good food, soft pillows, and restful napping. Every morning when I washed and renewed the water bowls she would sit on the sink counter waiting to be the first to drink. I held a bowl for her as she daintily sipped. She was warm and plump, always purring. Her fur felt like soft eiderdown. There was no rough and tumble for her. She was a true glamour queen, the embodiment of the poem “Princess.”
Futie, who had been an accomplished cavalier during his outside life chose this most beautiful of cats for his indoor companion. His true love had been a glorious outdoor calico, most probably Misty’s grandmother, but he lavished his attentions upon Misty and they spent many pleasant hours playing together. He was a big marmalade, battle scarred tom-cat, not very attractive at first sight. But she accepted him readily, knowing that he embodied qualities of strength and intelligence that could be passed on to kittens, increasing their chances of survival. This would not happen, of course because of the spay and neuter process but certain instincts prevail.
Shara, the kitten, of the sea green eyes, was very gentle. She possessed a sweet temperament and was somewhat shy and retiring. Her fur lay in silken waves against her body, the coloration being dark calico with white boots and underside. She would become traumatized easily and one time my attempts to give her medicine caused her to disappear in the house for a few days. It took a long time to track her down since she had burrowed in behind some heavy and bulky things and to have pulled her out would have increased her trauma. So I waited and when she felt the medicine danger was over she came out and did not need the medication after all. Years passed. She interacted joyfully with everyone and seemed healthy. She started coming to me at night, cuddling closely and purring. It was gradual and I attached no special meaning. One afternoon in the kitchen as she was lying under the large wooden table, Misty came from the other side of the room and started hitting her with a paw like a battering ram. This was startling, but upon investigation something was obviously wrong with Shara. Her mother knew this and had always been watching her children in her own way. She had been trying to revive Shara.
Tests showed heart trouble. This time medicine was really necessary. Shara was weak and as she tried to walk she meowed piteously. To be a helpless observer was not easy for me. Several evenings later she was sleeping peacefully, wrapped in a baby blanket. When I checked on her and touched her. I knew she had just left even though she was still warm and her body had not yet stiffened. I scooped her up in my arms and my cry of sorrow must have echoed into the Heavens. All the furry folk came running to us. I have encountered death in many guises but this experience had been especially painful.
Misty had lost Futie and now Shara. Misty had become much more openly affectionate. I would brush her fur each day and softly talk with her and continued to offer her first water in the mornings. She started losing weight. This was not very apparent because of her thick coat but then her fur started to get thinner and form mats because she was neglecting her grooming. This was a slow continuing process that did not improve. Tests were negative and since she did not seem to be suffering pain, we kept her happy and comfortable until she left us for her journey into the light. Every morning as I fill water bowls I can sense her presence next to me on the kitchen counter. Smootsie is still with me and is the dearest of creatures and one of the bravest. His story is unique and inspiring.
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