Pet Stories
A Special Calling
Submitted By: Stephanie J. Miller
Sparks hissed and sprayed in the pouring rain as lightning struck the transformer outside my home. As I rushed to my door to see the display, movement beneath the patio chair caught my eye. In another flash of lightning, I could make out a ball of gray-and-white fur trembling under the lawn chair.
Oh, no! was my first thought. I had cared for stray kittens before. It can be a tiring and thankless task—not only the feeding and veterinary care, but then also finding a home where they will be properly cared for and loved. At the next bright flash of lightning, I took another quick glance. The now-soaked ball of fur quivered in a rapidly deepening puddle of water. I put on my raincoat and went outside.
Muttering to myself about what a fool I was, I hoped this was really a kitten and not some other toothy creature. I wrapped my fingers in the wet hair and pulled. There, in my hands, was a mass of cold and shivering kitten, so small and wet it looked more like a baby rat. A tiny face looked up at me, opening its mouth in a silent cry. Holding it against my body for warmth, I hurriedly opened the patio door and dashed inside, dripping water all over the living room carpet.
The kitten appeared to be barely alive. It was a poor risk; wet and cold, too small to be weaned and probably unable to eat. Hastily grabbing a large towel, I rubbed the kitten to dry it. Its only objection was a weak attempt at a cry, followed by silence. I feared the worst; then, suddenly I heard the unmistakable sound of purring. I dared to hope it would survive.
Clutching the kitten against me, I frantically searched beneath my cabinets for the kitten formula I had used in the past. I mixed it up quickly, and with a baby dropper began the tedious task of getting it into the tiny mouth. Eventually, with a satisfied sigh the kitten fell sound asleep.
After that first traumatic night the kitten proved to be of sound stock, a true survivor. Before long she was eating her fill, as well as shredding several curtains and many pairs of my nylons, and otherwise doing what kittens do. She proved to be brave and daring, and very loving when in the mood. Her greatest delight was stalking me. She would slink beneath the tables and chairs, and then leap out. My screams would scare both of us half to death.
As soon as she was old enough, I began the search for a loving home for her. I was successful, and when the people arrived with the carrier to take my little charge to her new home, I smilingly waved good-bye and gave her one last kiss on the nose. I packed all her toys into the carrier, and, with a final wave, closed the door.
Then I wept.
It is hard to say good-bye to something we have cared for; hard not to love something that has needed us so much. I moped a little, and then called a friend. Knowing my tendency to take in strays, my friend asked why I had gone through the whole process yet again, knowing it always makes me sad in the end.
“I always remember what a neighbor once told me,” I began. “She was an old lady, who, cradling my face in her hands, had said, ‘When you care for these little animals, it is pleasing to God—and a blessing—not only to the animals, but to you, too.’”
I humbly agree. I will continue to take in the strays who find their way to me and I will keep on doing so as long as I am able.
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