It hasn’t been that long since I swore that our household would never have anything to do with furry creatures again, no matter how cute. Now we have six kittens—and a big grumpy mama cat—in the back of the house. Of course it’s not like we had a choice on the matter. The mama cat chose Gab’s toddler bike carrier still mounted on her Papa’s mountain bike as her personal LDR (Labor and Delivery Room). I guess it looked ideal because it was relatively high up from the ground and had a black garbage bag as cover. Her kittens kept on falling off their nest though and she had to carry them back up every time. So I laid some layers of old newspapers on the floor under our mountain bikes and now that’s where the mama cat and her six kittens are housed.
Since they are more or less our responsibility now, we give food and milk to the nursing mom. (Do I need to explain how I feel for her? As a mother, I nursed only one baby; she has to nurse six noisy, demanding kittens!) She begrudgingly accepts our generosity under very suspicious, very wary eyes. She’s a stray cat and we figure she doesn’t associate human beings with kindness.
Now Gab’s all pumped up with excitement and curiosity. Every day when she comes home from school, she would drag a chair to the kitchen back door and peer through the screen at the kittens. She is not allowed to go any nearer. First, there’s the issue of allergies. Second, fleas. Third, the mama cat’s dagger looks and growls are sufficient warning to stay away.
Gab insists that I interpret the mama cat’s surly meow-ing every time.
Meow.
‘What is she saying, Mama?’
‘She says I’m hungry.’
Meow.
‘What is she saying now, Mama?’
‘She’s saying Why are you staring at me and my kittens?’
Meow.
‘What did she just say, Mama?’
‘She said Leave me alone.’
Gab loves singing to the kittens and her song goes:
Oliver, don’t be scared
Although there’s no one there
Keep your dream alive
’Cause dreaming is still how the strong survives
Once upon a time
In New York City.
It’s a song from the Disney cartoons, Oliver & Company. It’s a rather lame adaptation of Charles Dickens’ Oliver Twist. In the cartoons version, Oliver is an orange orphan cat in Manhattan. And Dodger is a street-smart stray dog. Gab loves to sing Dodger’s song too:
Why should I worry?
Why should I care?
I may not have a dime
But I have street savoir faire.
It makes me laugh to think that not too long ago, Gab would sing loudly to stray cats from our upstairs bedroom window. “I was just shooing the cats away,” she’d explain when asked why she was doing that. Her song was a praise song too: Father, Heal Our Land.
Now she sings to them for a completely different reason although in the exact, same fashion—at the top of her voice.
Crazy kid.
This morning I asked her what names she wanted to give the kittens.She quickly answered, “Oliver!” I told her that they can’t all be named Oliver. There are six of them. And how about the girl kittens? She’s stumped on this and insists that I name them instead. Frankly, I don’t want to give them names because doing that would be like giving them the final stamp of approval for permanent residence. And I would rather treat them like… well, like refugees seeking temporary asylum.
But their being with us now is not without purpose. They help quench Gab’s eternal longing for a furry, lovable pet.
