Chapter 54

Although I haven’t missed him since he died ... a Flintkote needs a cat ... maybe more than one ... so.

In Austin, there exists a restaurant ... with a chef who made a mistake. New to the job, he fed a stray ... and the stray multiplied. The restaurant has become ‘the cat rescue’ ... or the ‘kitten dump.’

Any unwanted cat is let out of the car. The car speeds away ... and Voilà ... there it is. A couple of times a year, Animal Control raids the place. Some few ... generally the same ones every time ... escape ... hide or ... by way of subterfuge ... always return.

Animal Control is a ‘No Kill’ shelter. On the Saturday following the raid, the shelter has a ‘Caterday.’ Most of the kittens and young adults find new homes and the $40 dollar fee supports the next batch of cat food.

Want a cat? Have a good soul? Sit in the Lotus by the dumpster and chant quietly, “Omh ... or Ohm ... or Amps ... or even ... Watts.” As long as you’re quiet about it ... the cats don’t care. “Kitty kitty here kitty kitty,” has been known to work. Don’t whistle. You want a cat ... or cats, and whistling will produce the neighborhood wolfpack.

I, however, cheat. Tuna water. Cheap canned tuna. The cats won’t eat the tuna ... but they will drink the water. I opened a bucks worth ... four cans ... and placed them at my feet. I collected a bunch of interested cats ... and THEN sat down.

I will not try to ‘suspend your disbelief’ and tell you cats read my mind ... and I theirs. But ... I believe it ... the cat of choosing ... believes it. I do not choose ... the cat does. Normally, a spark generates when human head and cat head bump. The knowledge passes between. No spark? I am not their human ... they are not my cat.

And I don’t give two farts for your disbelief.

Three days I grieved, in constant sorrow, lamenting, some wailing, a little weeping, heartfelt anguish and despair. A black dress, a little sackcloth and some ashes. The shovel of ashes was from the sauna stove.

And I’m over it.

Three days found me surrounded by tuna water in the parking lot next to the dumpster.

The Maine Coon jumped on my lap and head butted me ... well ... heck ... no spark.

I heard in my head...

‘Well EXCUUUSE Me, I thought ... but no.’

“Hey.”

‘Nope. No spark.’ He crawled under the dumpster and shoved out a kitten. He scruffed it and plopped it in my lap. A huge spark ... minature lightning.

‘Here ... try this one.’

The kitten was as big as the Maine. Her eyes were barely open ... less than 3 weeks old. I picked her up and she peed all over me.

“Eww!”

‘Mom?’

Well ... at least I have big cat catfood.

I took her to my Vet.

“What happened to Oci?”

“He got old and died.”

“How old?”

“Maybe... 20?”

“Let me check,” Sandra said.

I got a wet washrag and rubbed her butt ... she shit ... and shit ... and shit ... and had a bowel movement.

Doc Sandy came back ... reading a file.

“What is that sme ... Selene! What did you do?”

I had a washrag full to overflowing. I was looking for a place to dump it ... I thought I found one.

“No!” Doc held out a ziplock bag. “In here.”

So ... yup. In the bag.

Sandy said. “Let’s see what crawls out.” She put the bag in cold water and the pot of water on the stove. She turned on the heat.

The things that crawled out of the shit will give me nightmares.

So ... kitten wormer, and shots. I had to wait until she flushed herself out.

I had a thoroughly tired out kitten when the ordeal was over.

“Can I keep her overnight?”

‘No, mommie, I want to go with you.’

Sandy said, “I heard that.”

‘You did?’ “You did?”

“Yes, I did.” Sandy said. “Three weeks ... back in three weeks.”

‘Is that Ok with you?’ she was asking the kitten.

‘Yes ma’am, three weeks. I’ll make sure she brings me.’

I left with kitten formula, double seal baggies and a nipple bottle ... and instructions.

“If she refuses the milk, call me. We’ll try something else. What I don’t know ... I’ve never seen a newborn that big. We’ll figure it out. You saw what I did with her bowel movement ... first time you see worms bring her back.” She mauled the kitten. “That’s probably the type of love she needs. Gimmie 50 bucks and get out!”

‘I’m glad I drove. I don’t know how I’d get home on my bicycle.”

We went. The next little while is going to be interesting.