After that, I went to see my potential kitty, Jagger, every few days. I knew I was done for after the first time I sat alone with him. I posted pictures of potential Yeager/Jagger/Whatshisname on Facebook. Was Mike going to discover my hard intent on Facebook? I was going to have to pretend I was still negotiating before he sat down to cyberstalk my friends and the community through my account.
The staff at the vet clinic had come briefly into the room with my kitty and left me with a few toys, a blanket, and an offer for a cup of coffee. I just wanted to see if this wild kitten would warm up to me or would he forever scrabble to get away from me whenever anyone handed him to me?
How old was this guy? Had the window of opportunity passed? While he ran from one corner to another, staring at me, I googled 'taming a feral kitten' on the Internet. I wanted him to feel my calm. After ten weeks, the article said it could get really hard. Between eight and ten weeks, it could take a month or so.
Whew!
I needed to pick this guy up, about a thousand times.
So, I put down my phone, rolled onto my belly, and crawled over to the table he hid behind. He hissed, then skittered over to the doctor's stool and tried to hide among the wheels. I army-crawled to the doctor's stool. He bolted to the door. I slithered to the door. Boy, I hoped no one was watching. He shot past me to the table again. I rolled over and sat up.
I needed another plan, a less friendly plan.
I stood up, grabbed two corners of the blanket, picked up the table he was hiding behind and put it on top of a chair, and I dropped the blanket over him like I was kidnapping him in a Bronx parking lot.
The poor creature writhed in the blanket and I rolled it like I'd worked at Taco Time on the pinto bean burrito station for thirty years. I folded the blanket back to expose his face.
He looked at me as if I were about to eat him. I put one finger behind his ears to pet him. He hissed but then calmed down a little. I stayed silent and nearly still except for that one finger. His eyes squinted a little and I could feel the tiny heart beat under his bony ribs slow just a little. I tried not to stare at him as if I were a predator.
"I've got you," I breathed. He settled. Then, he tilted his Yoda head and stared up at me with huge hazel eyes. I loosened the burrito a little and petted him further down his back. He stared. I stared.
Then, something popped in my soul. I could swear, it felt like a bubble. And suddenly tears spilled onto my cheeks. He continued to stare at me and I looked through the blur until I realized his fur was wet from my own tears.
I petted him with that one finger, wiping the tears until his fur was evenly damp. I wondered at the look on his face, if he too thought of that mother who had, until five days ago, licked him and loved him with her tiny tongue.
And I knew he was mine, my tiny baby kitten.
Thank you for listening, jb
The staff at the vet clinic had come briefly into the room with my kitty and left me with a few toys, a blanket, and an offer for a cup of coffee. I just wanted to see if this wild kitten would warm up to me or would he forever scrabble to get away from me whenever anyone handed him to me?
How old was this guy? Had the window of opportunity passed? While he ran from one corner to another, staring at me, I googled 'taming a feral kitten' on the Internet. I wanted him to feel my calm. After ten weeks, the article said it could get really hard. Between eight and ten weeks, it could take a month or so.
Whew!
I needed to pick this guy up, about a thousand times.
So, I put down my phone, rolled onto my belly, and crawled over to the table he hid behind. He hissed, then skittered over to the doctor's stool and tried to hide among the wheels. I army-crawled to the doctor's stool. He bolted to the door. I slithered to the door. Boy, I hoped no one was watching. He shot past me to the table again. I rolled over and sat up.
I needed another plan, a less friendly plan.
I stood up, grabbed two corners of the blanket, picked up the table he was hiding behind and put it on top of a chair, and I dropped the blanket over him like I was kidnapping him in a Bronx parking lot.
The poor creature writhed in the blanket and I rolled it like I'd worked at Taco Time on the pinto bean burrito station for thirty years. I folded the blanket back to expose his face.
He looked at me as if I were about to eat him. I put one finger behind his ears to pet him. He hissed but then calmed down a little. I stayed silent and nearly still except for that one finger. His eyes squinted a little and I could feel the tiny heart beat under his bony ribs slow just a little. I tried not to stare at him as if I were a predator.
"I've got you," I breathed. He settled. Then, he tilted his Yoda head and stared up at me with huge hazel eyes. I loosened the burrito a little and petted him further down his back. He stared. I stared.
Then, something popped in my soul. I could swear, it felt like a bubble. And suddenly tears spilled onto my cheeks. He continued to stare at me and I looked through the blur until I realized his fur was wet from my own tears.
I petted him with that one finger, wiping the tears until his fur was evenly damp. I wondered at the look on his face, if he too thought of that mother who had, until five days ago, licked him and loved him with her tiny tongue.
And I knew he was mine, my tiny baby kitten.
Thank you for listening, jb
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