When I told Nathan we were getting not one, but two kittens, he was exasperated with me. Grumpy as well. I promised him that he wouldn’t have to clean up any kitten accidents and Amy and I would take care of the kitty litter. He rolled his eyes and refused to talk about kittens anymore. Then our kittens came home and he came to terms with them quite quickly. He’s a giant softy, really, despite his grumbling exterior.
Rosie and Alley have settled in beautifully and Nathan has stopped grumbling about them, which is nice, frankly.
This morning, as Nathan left to take Amy to school, I took Evelyn back to bed. Two minutes later, Nathan was home and worried. He’d seen a little grey kitten dart across the road in front of his car and was Alley inside and safe?
Yes, yes she was. Fast asleep on the couch, in fact.
But there was a grey kitten hiding in the hawthorn bushes in the corner of the paddock bordering our property. I followed him outside, and sure enough, there it was. Grey and skinny, the little kitten hid under the bushes, looking terrified. Nathan left, telling me ‘good luck with that.’
Five minutes later, I’d lost the kitten. Tangled in the bushes, I’d heard it dart through the fence, but hadn’t managed to see where it went. I gave up, feeling bad for the poor little thing, but figuring I could leave some food outside and see what happened.
Evelyn was crying and not sleeping when I came back inside, so I spent ten minutes putting her down, then I headed back outside with cat food and the dog, Maisy. You’d think taking a dog on a walk to find a terrified kitten would be a stupid idea. You’d probably be right.
Needless to say, I spent fifteen minutes walking around the hawthorn shaking the kitten food before Maisy got very interested in trail, presumably left by a kitten. She followed it to our chook shed and there it sat, cold and hissing at me. Moving closer, it panicked and tried to get into the roof of the shed, but found itself trapped.
This was, of course, good news for me, as it spat and hissed and freaked out, ten feet from the ground, above a tangle of blackberries. With no where to go, I stood on top of an old nesting box, stripped off my long-sleeved t-shirt and caught the kitten.
It fought. Oh Internet, it was terrified and it fought and hissed and scratched and bit. I had it by the scruff of the neck through my shirt though and a few moments later, it was bundled up tightly and unable to do much except shiver. It was cold and I could feel its ribs.
So, like any normal person, I brought it inside, just as Nathan got home. He hadn’t expected me to be able to catch it, but I am the woman who caught a rabbit with her BARE HANDS and I am amazing.
It’s sitting in a cat carrier in front of the fire now, looking discombobulated. I’m pretty sure it’s not a feral, because it didn’t freak out and hiss the moment it saw me in the hawthorn, and if it was feral, it ought to have been in a den somewhere, not walking through the wet grass and running across roads alone. Also it doesn’t seem nearly freaked enough by the dog to be feral.
I live on a highway and animals get dumped all the time. I think that’s what’s happened here. When I get Amy off the bus tonight I’ll ask the neighbours if anyone is missing a kitten, but if not, it looks like we might have a new family member.
Poor little thing.