Kitty Search
© Linda Eisele 2003
As soon as we returned from America in August, I announced, "Now we're going to find our cat."
I wanted a Swiss farm cat. Wednesday afternoon when Swiss
children have no school, I suggested to Mark and Micha that they go on a 'Kitty Search.' They ran for their bikes. "Which way shall we go?"
"Go to
the farmhouse behind the wooded hill where Stephan lives. I have a feeling you
will find kittens there." Two hours later, they returned. "Did you find any?"
"Yes,"
Micha answered. "We rode all the
way to Oberdettigen and asked at all the farmhouses along the way, but the only kittens we found were right where you said."
"But they're all black and Micha doesn't want a black one," Mark added.
"Only one is not promised and they told us someone is already interested in that one," Micha explained.
Thursday
afternoon I had the family car. "Let's go on Kitty Search." Mark had been misbehaving and didn't want to go. Fed up with
his shenanigans, I left with Micha. We stopped at the first farmhouse in the
countryside on the way to Meikirch. A young woman directed us to a farm on the
outskirts of Uettligen, beautifully-kept with an enormous new tile roof. An 'Open'
sign hung in the window of a small, stucco building attached to the main house. I
pushed open the wooden door and entered to the jingle from bells hung over the doorway.
In the medium-sized room, crates on wooden countertops held garden-fresh vegetables.
There were eggs and a few bottles of homemade schnapps or syrup. A little
old lady appeared from a side room. Plump with rosy cheeks and a bright smile,
gray hair pulled into a bun, she wore an apron with pockets over a print-cotton dress, thick stockings elderly Swiss women
wear, and comfortable shoes. If you tried to imagine who could possibly run this
little shop, it would be she: a Mrs. Santa Claus.
"Do
you know where we can find a kitten?" I asked.
"We
have kittens!"
"You
do!?"
"My
husband is not here so I cannot show them to you, now. They are in the barn."
"We will come back."
"Please
do."
"You
sell vegetables? Just a minute, I have to get my purse." I hurried to the car, came back, and looked around for anything I might be able to use. I had already shopped for groceries and our garden was filled with ripe vegetables waiting to be harvested. I took a cauliflower, a cucumber, a leak, some onions (which my family doesn't eat).
"I bake, too," she smiled. "Saturday
morning after 9 a.m., we have bread from a wood-burning oven. And we're open
on Sundays!"
"Very
good." I eyed the eggs, put the vegetables onto the table, studied the bottles. "What's this?"
"That's
peppermint syrup."
"And
you... add water?"
"Yes,"
she smiled. "Or you can put it on
ice cream. This one is made from lemon melissa."
"Five
francs? I think I'll try that. I
can try the other one next time." (We never drink syrup). Happily, Frau Stahli -- her name was printed on a nametag on her apron -- took my money and gave me
change.
Walking
to the car, Micha said, "Mom you were so obvious in there. Anyone could tell you didn't need anything. You just wanted
to buy something from her."
"Well,
that doesn't matter, does it? You could see she was happy to make a sale. Imagine, at her age running that shop and still baking bread!"
When
we returned home, we called to Mark, but noone answered. We searched but couldn't
find him. Was he hiding? "Mark,
we've found our kitten. Come and see," I lied. He did not appear. "Look and see if his bike is here, Micha."
A
moment later she returned. "It's gone."
I was about to climb into the car to go out looking when Mark rode around the corner, smiling.
"Where were you?"
"I
thought you had gone to see the black kitties by Stephan's. I went lookng for
you."
On
Wednesday evening, I phoned my friend, Shelly. She had told me she
knew a farmer who had thirteen cats who always had kittens. Her husband answered. I left a message. The next morning,
she returned the call. "I should have called right away. Do you know what happened? The farmer had three kittens. When you called, they were alive. This
morning, he put two of them to sleep. They still have one his wife wanted to
keep, but he says if someone else wants it, she has to give it away."
"I
wouldn't want to take it away from her."
"It's
alright. They always have kittens."
"Well,
we can look. She can always say 'no'."
Friday,
we returned to Frau Stahli's shop. It was a sunny day, the sky a beautiful blue. A young woman approached along a walkway. "We've
come to see the kittens," I explained.
"Oh,
I'm afraid there was a misunderstanding. You couldn't have one of these kittens. They're much too wild. I know of a farmyard in Meikirch. They have kittens and theirs
are much tamer. I will call and see if anyone is home." While we waited, a young man arrived. "We came to see the
kittens," I explained again.
"They're
in the barn. It's difficult to see them.
They hide. But maybe if we are lucky." We followed up a carriage-wide ramp through great wooden doors into the barn -- a wonderful opportunity
to see inside. Bales of hay were stacked neatly nearly to the ceiling. Sun streamed through high windows, columns of light filled with floating particles of dust slanting onto
the clean-swept wooden floor. He climbed onto the bales, calling, "Buez
buez buez, pss pss pss pss." No sound broke the stillness. "The mother just left. You may have seen her cross the road
as you drove in. Then they hide themselves.
Im sorry."
"That's
alright," I answered, cheerily. After all, our search had just begun.
The woman arrived. "There was
no answer but I got the phone number."
"Thank
you."
We
drove toward Wohlen. Behind a forest, a dirt lane led to the farmyard Shelly
knew. At an old-fashioned farmhouse, Mark pulled the pull-string of an old metal
bell. A little boy opened the door. "Is
your mommy home?" I asked.
He
stared, then turned and ran through the rooms crying, "Mommy! Mommy!" The kitchen was brand new and nicely appointed. An attractive, modern young woman with stylish, short-cropped hair appeared.
"We've
come to see the kitten," I explained.
"Oh,
yes," she smiled.
"But
Mommy," the little boy tugged on her shorts,
"wasn't that the one you wanted to keep?"
"Shhh,"
she hushed him softly.
"If
you want to keep the kitten, we wouldn't think..."
"Oh,
no," she smiled, sadly. "Don't
worry about that. If we have someone to give her to..." She led us into the garden and searched the woodpile in a small shed.
Behind the shed, she lifted a tiny gray-and-white, long-haired bundle from a clump of tall grass and handed it
to Mark.
"Is
this the only one?" Micha asked.
"We
gave the others away," she lied.
Four
weeks old, the kitten's eyes were still blue and 'not quite all there' the way very young kittens eyes can be. Mark handed her to Micha. They took turns petting and cooing
over her, then put her down. The kitten pranced up to a large black labrador
and swatted at his nose. The dog sniffed her.
"He
won't hurt her?" I asked.
"No,
not at all." The woman smiled.
"He's
a very good dog."
"She's
not afraid of dogs then is she Mom?" Micha asked.
"We
have a few other kittens to look at," I told the woman. "We'll let you know by the end of the week."
"If
we take this kitten, we'll have to wait six weeks. Six weeks! Thats so long!" Mark moaned.
On my next trip to Berne, I bought an 'Animal World' magazine at a kiosk. Saturday
morning, I answered all the ads for free kittens. Most had already been given
away, but a woman from Kirchdorf said the family who was supposed to pick up their kitten hadn't shown. If they didn't come, she would call back Monday.
Saturday
afternoon, I phoned the woman at the farmhouse in Meikirch and told her we wanted to stop by.
We drove through the forest to the village. A woman wearing a dress and
an apron stood in the front yard waving. Cats and kittens were everywhere. There must have been twenty! Eight were
kittens; four maybe three months old and four just right, about eight weeks and cute as could be!
"You
may have any one you want," she said.
"We'd like a female. Do you know which
are female?"
"No,
but my husband can tell if he can catch one." The next hour-and-a-half, we tried
to do just that. We tried everything. The
woman scattered dry cat food across the concrete barn floor. Cats and kittens
came running from all directions. I noticed bits of crust dried on the back of
one adult female. The kittens gobbled the food, but when we approached, they
skittered away. Next, the woman gave Micha a large piece of bacon.
"Don't give it to them," I warned. Too late. Micha placed the meat on the ground. The orange kitten darted up, snatched the meat and ran between the planks of a picket fence into a
garden where it sat under a bush, knawing greedily. When Micha reached between
the pickets, the kitten growled, retreated to the far side of the garden, and hid. When
Micha approached again, the kitten growled and hissed. Tears in her eyes,
she said, "I don't want these kittens.
I dont want any kittens anymore." She returned to the car and huddled in the back seat where no one could see her crying.
We should have left, then, but I wasn't willing to give up.
The
farmer's wife gave Mark a piece of bacon. He tied it to a string and dangled
it in front of a cat. The wiry, cautious, frightened orange male rushed forward,
but Mark pulled up on the string and the cat spooked. We tried and tried, but
it was no use. Kittens huddled by twos beneath the bushes out of reach behind
the fence. We looked at them; they looked back.
The moment we reached out to touch, they retreated. At last, I gave
up.
Driving
through a small village, we spotted a fat white-and-tiger watching his master rake the lawn.
"That's the kind of cat we want:
a nice, tame, fat, friendly cat." I pulled into the driveway. "Excuse me, do you have kittens?"
"He's
been neutered, but my mother's cat sometimes has kittens. I'll call her," he offered
kindly.
We waited, watching the fat, comfortable cat walk up the driveway, sit down and gaze at us. "Sorry," he said when he returned. "She doesn't have any right now. You could try the farmhouse
just up the road." But we drove past it.
Sunday, we took Hubert to see the wild Meikirch kittens; no cats nor humans in sight when we
arrived. "I know where they are," I
said. We peered through the picket fence.
The black-orange-and-white nestled under a bush. The orange and the black
slept under another. I opened the gate and walked into the garden, reached for
the orange. He looked up, lay his ears back, opened his mouth, hissed, jumped
up and ran away. "Let's go home," I said.
After
school on Monday, I told Micha and Mark, "Let's go look at the little gray-and-white."
"Yeah!" they clamored.
"Let's
tell the lady we'll take it."
"Mom,
don't say anything like, 'If you haven't changed your mind,' o.k? She said we can have it. Lets just take it," Micha instructed. I parked by the barn. Mark tugged happily on the chain, ringing the old bell. A
moment later, the young woman opened the door. She wasn't smiling.
"We've
come to say we'd like the kitten," I said.
She
grimaced. "I was hoping I wouldn't hear from you again. I don't know what to say. My little boy's kitten disappeared
yesterday."
"Is
it still gone?"
"Well,
no, we found him in the forest." She waited.
I waited. If I were somebody else, I might have said, 'But you promised. What about my kids? They have their
hearts set on this kitten and you said we could have her.'
"Shall
I call you?" I asked.
"Give
me your phone number. Ill call you." With
obvious relief, she took the slip of paper, said 'goodbye,' and closed the door.
Walking
to the car, Micha and Mark complained loudly, "You let her keep the kitten! Why didn't you do something?" On one hand, I didn't want the woman to overhear;
on the other, perhaps she should. "I did not do this," I retorted.
"Yes
you did. You suggested exchanging phone numbers."
"I
refuse to take responsibilty for what happened here. She changed her mind. She wasn't going to give us that kitten. There
was nothing I could do about it."
"Yes
you could!"
"No
I couldn't. Look, that was not our cat.
Our cat is still looking for us. That family killed the brothers and sisters
of that kitten," I blurted out, regretting it instantly.
"Why
don't they just have their cat neutered instead of letting it have babies and then killing them," Mark asked.
When
we returned home, I called Kirchdorf. "Do you still have that kitten?"
The
woman's tone went flat. "The family picked her up."
At
lunch on Tuesday, Micha said, "A girl in my class, Anja, told me a woman
in her neighborhood has a kitten to give away."
"What
color?"
"Orange."
"My
favorite cat, Charlie Brown, was orange."
"We
know, Mom."
"When
can we see it?"
Micha
called Anja, but the woman with the cat was not at home. On Wednesday, at the eye doctor's, I noticed a sign for a veterinarian in the same building. An ad for kittens hung on his bulletin board. I
wrote down the phone number. A woman waiting with her cat gave me the number
of a friend who had kittens but lived an hour away. The receptionist said she
didn't know of any. I told the kids to spread the word at school. I called all the pet stores. "Pet stores in Switzerland don't sell kittens, Mom," Micha
said. I asked at the pet store in Berne. The
salesgirl told me newspapers carry ads for free kittens and dogs on Tuesdays and Fridays so I asked Hubert to bring the papers
home. I told Micha to call Anja again and ask if we could come and see the orange
kitten. Anja returned her call. The
orange cat had been given away. Thursday afternoon, the doorbell rang.
"Hello. I'm Anja," the pretty
girl said. "You're looking for a kitten.
There's one in Meikirch. Here's the phone number."
"Thank
you so much!" I felt like a ten year old.
She smiled, amused by my a-typcial enthusiasm, and said 'goodbye.' I
hurried to the phone.
"Steiner," a voice answered.
"Hello,
Frau Steiner? I'm the mother of Michaela.
She's a school colleague of Anja's."
"Yes?" She didn't have a clue.
"About
the kitten?"
"Oh,
yes!"
"We'd
love to come and see it. Is it a boy or a girl?"
"A
girl."
"What
color?"
"Well,
white and then sort of dark."
"White
and tiger?"
"Ye-es."
"Long
hair or short?"
"I
would say, rather short."
"Do
you have children?"
"I
have two. They play with her all the time.
She's very tame."
"How
old is she?"
"Ten
weeks."
"And
when could we have her?"
"Well,
I'd like a little time."
"I
understand. To say 'goodbye.' Maybe
next Wednesday?"
"Yes,
that should be o.k."
"When
could we come and see her?"
"I've
got someone coming at six. Can you come before that?"
"My daughter has a piano lesson until 5:30. How long does it
take to drive from Uettligen to Meikirch?"
"Not
more than ten minutes."
"We'll
be there at twenty to." Oh God! Every
detail perfect. A female! She could
have kittens! Short hair. Good.
Micha's first choice was white with tiger.
Ten weeks old. We'd only have to wait until Wednesday.
Mark returned from school at 5:25. "Leave your shoes on! We're
going on Kitty Search. Let's pick up Micha."
Already 5:30, we drove up our street to the schoolhouse. "Run through the schoolyard
to catch Micha in case she's on her way home."
"Where
do I wait?"
"Where
I can park the car."
I
drove the side streets to the main road and back to the schoolyard from the other side.
Mark was not there. Micha walked toward me carrying her music. When she saw me, she ran and peered in the window. "What's
up?"
"We've
found a cat. Get Mark."
"Where
is he?"
"He
was supposed to be here. I left him on the other side of the schoolyard."
"I'll
find him." She ran. Moments later,
she and Mark came running, side by side, over the top of the hill -- my children silhouetted by sky. They hopped in and off we drove. In the countryside, we passed
the first farmhouse we had visited. At a fork in the road, we
didn't turn right toward the wild Meikirch kittens, but stayed left. As we crossed
the fields headed toward the forest under a bright blue sky, I said, "I
told you our kitten would come to us and she did. She came right up and rang
the doorbell, in the form of Anja. I told you not to give up. This kitten has been waiting for us all this time; waiting to be old enough for us to take her home and
for us to know that she is the one we need. I had my mind set on a farm cat. Before we would say 'yes' to a house cat, I had to give up that idea. I had to learn what farm cats are! We want a tame kitty we can cuddle."
We
drove across a field, up a hill, and into the village. "Rennovated farm house. Red car. There's the car." I parked. "A broken gate.
This is it." I lifted the gate and pushed it to the side.
"Close
the gate," Micha said. Mark did.
"Into
a sort of courtyard." We wandered past the end of a three-story farmhouse into
a back yard with lawn, flowers around the edges. "There will be children to show
you where to go." No children. I
turned and looked up at a glass wall three stories high which replaced the original wooden end of the farmhouse. "Wow!" A woman appeared on the balcony on the second floor,
and smiled down at us.
"Frau Steiner?"
"Frau Eisele?"
"Yes!"
"Come on
up. The entrance is the door at the middle of the house." Inside, we passed through a large inner court with three-story-high glass walls on either side. We
climbed the wooden stairs. The old farmhouse had been converted into three modern
apartments. On the second floor, we peeked through a glass panel into a wide
entrance hall and livingroom. Micha pressed the doorbell. Frau Steiner opened the door, smiling. "Come this way."
"Shall
we remove our shoes?"
"No,
no, no. Not for this." We followed
her onto the balcony. An all-black cat reposed on a chair. On a second chair, looking up at us was a kitten.
"A
calico!" I exclaimed.
"Then
it's a girl," Mark said, wisely.
The
kitten's fur had patches of pale grey and pale orange, the orange striped with white like a tiger's! She had a funny face with a muzzle of white that peaked in the middle of her forehead, gray over both eyes
with spots of orange. Half her chin was orange, the other half, white. One leg and shoulder were orange tiger, the second, gray, a third, white, and the fourth gray-and-white. Her tail was nearly black. A small child
knelt beside the chair and buried her face in the kitten's fur. "You see. It's like this all the time," Frau Steiner
explained
"May
we?"
"Of
course."
I motioned Mark to go ahead. He picked up the kitten
and cuddled her close to his chest. She was very calm. What a difference from the wild kittens! Yes, this was right. Obviously Mark thought so, too. Micha
appeared less certain. Frau Steiner left us.
I took the kitten and held her to my chest, feeling the soft, warm bundle of living love. "Well?" I looked questioningly at Micha.
"I
don't know," she hesitated.
"Hold
her. Then you'll know." I handed
her the kitten. She stroked its little head.
Minutes passed.
"Let
me hold her!" Mark pleaded. Reluctantly,
Micha gave her up.
"Well,
what do you say?"
"I
say yes," Micha smiled.
"Me,
too!" Mark beamed.
Frau
Steiner returned. "We say yes!" I
grinned.
"Oh
thank goodness. I was almost desperate.
I wondered if I would ever find a home for her."
'No
problem,' I thought, 'she was waiting
for us.' "Does she have a name?"
"We've
been calling her Chräbbeli."
Chräbbeli
turned her little head and licked her shoulder with a miniature pink tongue. "She
cleans herself. Oh, she's wonderful! A
cat should clean itself and bury
its poops." Swiss cats who visited our garden sometimes poohed and walked away. Mark set her down. She walked onto a
wooden plank that spanned the space between the balcony and a garden wall. "Does
she walk across that?" I asked.
"Yes,
thats how they come and go."
"Then
she is already an outdoor cat. That's good.
When can we have her?"
"As
soon as youd like."
"But
on the phone you said... How about Saturday?"
"I
work Saturday."
"Sunday?"
"I have to pick up the kids, but Saturday I get home at 4:30. I can call you when I'm back."
"Wonderful."
We
said 'goodbye' to Chräbbeli. Frau Steiner accompanied us down the stairs. Two woman sat in the sunshine watching their children play. "These are the new kitten-parents," Frau Steiner told them. They looked at us with curiousity, and smiled.
"We couldn't stop smiling!"
As
we approached the gate, Micha whispered, "Mom, the kitten is already toilet
trained. I asked."
"This is perfect in every way!"
"It
really is, Mom."
"Who
will Chräbbeli belong to?" Mark asked.
"Let
me put it this way: the one who doesn't own this kitten gets to..."
"I
know, I know, pick the baby we get to keep," Micha said.
"I don't know.
It's such a difficult decision," Mark said.
"What
does it matter? We're all going to share her.
One night she sleeps with Mark, the next with Micha, and when Daddy goes away on business, she sleeps with me!"
"Oh
sure," Micha answered. "I just bet."
"No
Micha, that's how its going to be. I promise.
Is that clear, Mark?"
"O.k.," he said. "I guess Ill take her. But two days! It's so long to wait!" How true! I never
knew two days could take so long, but it was good we had them; we had to get ready.
Back home, I murmured,
"Chräbbeli. That's a Christmas cookie."
"I
want an English name," Micha said. "We
could call her Cookie."
"Cookie. I like that."
"How
about Jasmine," Mark suggested.
"That's
pretty. Cookie or Jasmine. Write
these down, Micha." Micha got a note pad and jotted down names. "Melonie? Melli. Muffin? No, there was a Muffin in the family."
Mark
leaned back in his chair. "How about Diamond?"
"Diamond? Thats good. Thats really good,
Mark."
"Diamond. Yes, I like that." Micha winked at me as if to say, 'Let's do this for him.'
"Diamond
it is. Diamond..."
Saturday
morning while the children were at school, Hubert brought home a huge bag of kitty litter, two large cans of cat food, and
a cat toilet with a roof and a door which cost 24 Swiss franks.
"I
wouldn't have bought that," I complained.
"It's so expensive. And who knows if she'll use it."
"That's alright. They said if she won't go in,
we can bring it back."
At
four oclock, the serious waiting began. By five, the call hadn't come. "What if shes changed her mind?" Micha asked.
"That
can't happen to us twice." But I was scared.
Why didn't Frau Steiner call? At six, Micha called her.
"I'm
sorry I didn't call sooner, but the kitten was gone all day. I thought there
was no point in calling until she came home. She's here, now," Frau Steiner explained.
"Well
be there in fifteen minutes," Micha told her.
Driving
through the forest and over the fields to Meikirch, I sang, happily, "We're going
to get our kitty. We're going to get Diamond!" We
parked in the familiar space. Micha carried the kitty-litter house through the
gate. We entered the entrance hall, climbed the stairs, and rang the bell. Frau Steiner opened the door. She smiled
in welcome and looked curiously at the kitty-litter house.
"Well
just use that if we need it."
Mark
handed her the bottle of red wine we brought to say 'thank you.'
In
the livingroom, Diamond slept curled up on a chair. "Here she is," Frau Steiner said. Mark lifted Diamond. Micha reached out for her, but he held her close, burying his chin in her fur.
"Thank
you, Frau Steiner," I said.
"Thank
you," she smiled.
We
carried Diamond down the stairs, through the courtyard, and to the car. "Shall
we put her in the house?" I asked.
"Let's
try just holding her," Micha suggested.
"I
can always stop the car." Mark and Micha sat in the back, Diamond curled on Mark's lap. I started the engine. She barely noticed. I backed up, pulled
out onto the road, and drove down the hill toward the forest. She sat up and
looked out the window, meowed once, and curled up again.
"She's perfect!" Micha exclaimed.
"She
really is perfect! Think of that: a car cat!"
At
home, Mark carried Diamond downstairs to the family room where Hubert watched television.
He set her down. She sniffed cautiously. Watching her, Hubert smiled. "She's a real interesting cat." Micha and Mark set up the kitty-litter house, filled it, and placed Diamond inside. She tried to leave but weighed too little to push open the door. Micha removed it. A little later, Diamond walked from the
family room to the bathroom. Everyone followed.
She walked into her litter house, started scratching, then squatted over the indentation in the gravel.
"Good
kitty! Oh such a good kitty!" Micha
cooed.
"She
really is so perfect. Imagine, using her litter box the very first time," I sighed. When she finished, Diamond
scratched the litter toward 'her duty.' She sniffed to check that it was completely
covered. It wasn't, so she scratched more litter and sniffed again.
"Shes
just too perfect!" I cried.
As
soon as she emerged from her house, we all reached to grab her and stroke her and pet her.
"Good Diamond. Good good Diamond."
She
was very cautious about new things. Whenever we took her into a room she
hadn't been in, she stepped as though walking across eggshells, first sniffing, lifting a delicate foot, placing it down. Once she got used to a room, she raced around it, hopping in the air, forelegs stretched,
claws bared, or skidded across the slippery, polished wood. We followed her everywhere,
picking her up, cuddling her, stroking her. Our world was no longer the same. It was filled with Diamond. After only
a few hours, I could not imagine how we had been able to live without her. It
was like having a new baby. She was everywhere, and we were filled with a new
love I had not anticipated. With a person, love usually takes time while you get
to know them. With Diamond, love was instantaneous and all-compelling. In the kitchen, I snuggled close to Hubert. "I never thanked
you for letting us have a kitten."
"I
like it, too," he said.
I
opened one of the large cans of cat food. Mark, Micha and I got down on our hands
and knees and watched Diamond eat. I poured a little milk into a plastic lid. As she lapped it, she became all stiff and shivery.
Micha put her hand on her back. "She's trembling."
"Maybe
it reminds her of her mother. I'll bet it's the first time she has drunk milk."
Two
days later, Micha said, "Mom, I think there is blood in Diamonds milk."
"Show
me!" Floating on the surface were dark specks which left tiny trails of red as
they dissolved. I imagined tuberculosis. Practical as always, Micha examined
Diamond. "She has fleas, Mom. I
saw one. And she has little brown specks in her fur. I think thats where the blood comes from." That would
be good; better than if it came from inside her. As we watched, a big flea scurried
through white and disappeared into dark fur.
Monday evening, Mark and I drove into Bern to pick Hubert up from work. When we returned, Micha stood outside on the walk. As we climbed
out of the car, she moved toward us, trembling visibly, her eyes red with tears. "I've
lost her. She got out. Shes gone!"
she wailed, dissolving into tears.
"What!
What have you done?! How dare you!"
She
sobbed, "I don't know. I don't know. Oh I want her back! How could I have
done this?"
"Tell
me exactly what happened. Where were you?
Where was she?"
"We
were downstairs watching TV. The doorbell rang. She
followed me upstairs. It was Adrian and his mom.
When I closed the door, she was gone. She got out and she's gone!"
"We're
wasting time. Show me!" Micha retraced
her steps. On the stairs, she stopped and started shaking, a wild look in her
eyes. I slapped the side of her face, not hard, but like they do in the movies
to hysterical women. She calmed down slightly, but kept crying and mumbling.
"How long? How long has she been gone?" I demanded.
"I
don't know," she whimpered. "Not
long."
"We've
got to hurry. The longer she has, the farther she can go, the less chance we
have of finding her." The territory was completely unknown to her. If we couldn't find her, I felt convinced she would never find her way back to us; we would never see her
again. I raced through the house calling and searching every room. "Did you check under all the beds?"
"Yes,
everywhere. She's not here." Micha
dissolved again into tears.
I
hurried outside. She might be in the house.
If she were, she wouldn't go away. As I descended the patio steps, a curious
thought-feeling enveloped me: She was only ours for two days; not long enough
to really care. It felt like she had never really been, like I didn't have to
care. There was nothing we could do, so why worry? It felt like amnesia.
Mark
opened the family room doors and stepped out onto the walk, looked up and down the garden walk, then went inside leaving the
doors wide open. "MARK!" I screamed
so the whole neighborhood could hear. If she is still inside... "CLOSE
THE DOORS!" I circumnavigated our house, searched behind the neighbor's and into
the endless meadow beyond. Which way would she go? Across the field behind our house, I approached a group of teenagers by the schoolhouse. "Have you seen a kitten?" At first they ignored me. I made eye contact with one boy and repeated my question directly to him. He shook his head. Some of the girls looked at each other
as though I were nuts, shook their heads and murmered 'no.'
"If
you see a small kitten, she belongs to us. We live in that house just down the
hill." I pointed. "With the tin
roof."
Mark roamed the field, calling softly. Let's go to Adrian's I called.
As we walked down their drive, I imagined never seeing Diamond again. Tears
welled up. I couldn't cry in front of our new neighbors. Mark rang the doorbell. His classmate, Adrian, opened the
door. "Did you see our kitten? Did
she get out when you came to our door?"
"I
didn't see anything. I would have, too; I was looking at the ground the
whole time." His mother appeared, a worried look on her face.
"Hello,
Marianne. When you came to our house, did our kitten get out the front door? She's disappeared."
"No,
thats not possible," she stated emphatically.
"I grew up with animals. I would have noticed her. We were only there a few seconds. No."
"Thank
you!"
We
walked toward home peering beneath every bush.
"A
rainbow!" Mark exlaimed. A perfect
double rainbow arched across the sky touching the fields on either side.
"It's
a sign. She's home, Mark. You don't
get something beautiful like that happening right after something terrible. Let's
go!" We hurried passed our garage and into the house. Hubert was combing the hillside. Once inside, I crossed the
living room, walked over to the dining room table, lifted the tableclothe and peered beneath it. There, on the first chair I looked at, slept Diamond.
"There
you are, you little precious." I picked her up and carried her to the front door,
stepped outside. Hubert stood at the edge of the meadow above the steep slope
down to our road.
"Here
she is," I said quietly.
"Where
was she?"
"Sleeping
inside."
"Don't
you think you could have checked that first?"
I
reentered the house. "I found her!" Micha
rushed to the top of the stairs and hurried across the living room, a frightened look on her face. When she saw Diamond, she crumpled to the floor in a heap, hid her face in her hands and broke into uncontrollable
sobs.
All my anger had vanished as though it had never been. I carried Diamond
to her, put my hand on her shoulder. "Once, Poppy was on his way home from Morocco. He didn't arrive and he didn't arrive. All night long,
we never heard from him. When he came in the door the next morning, I started
crying just like you and I couldn't stop. It's the relief. I thought I would never see him again. Take her." I pushed Diamond against her.
"No!"
Micha shrieked. "I don't want her. I don't ever want her again." She straight-armed
Diamond and me, averted her face and ran down the stairs. Her bedroom door slammed.
Mark
came upstairs. I handed Diamond to him.
He petted her, holding her to his chest, gazing down at her. "Where was
she?"
"On
the chair under the table, sleeping."
Later,
I took Diamond to Micha's room. Micha sat on her bed staring down at her hands
on her knees. I placed Diamond onto her lap.
"Here she is," I said, gently. This
time she petted her.
On
Tuesday as Mark left for school, he asked, "Why did Ramus have to die?" Suddenly, I missed my dog. This is how
it was when we had him. I was never alone; Ramus was with me in the living room, in the kitchen, trying to follow into the bedroom.
Now it's the same, only she is so little!
Walking
to the grocery store, I asked my neighbor, Frau S., to recommend a veterinarian in our village. "Dr. R.", she said. "When
you get your cat immunized, have Dr. R. do a blood test to check if she has cat aids.
Don't let your kitten out until she has been vaccinated. If she sniffs
where a cat with aids has sprayed, that's enough for her to catch it. Take this
flea powder to rub into her skin, and spray this where she sleeps."
When
I returned home, I called Dr. R. for an appointment. "I have flea powder. Shall I use that?"
"I would rather prepare a shampoo for you. Come
by this afternoon to pick it up. I'll also give you medicine against worms. Come after two." At 2:30, I walked to Dr. R.'s house. The office was in her home. A young man
opened the door.
"I'm Frau Eisele."
"Mom," he called.
"I'll be right there, Frau
Eisele. Just five minutes."
After
a few minutes, a woman exited carrying a cat in a cat carrier. Dr. R. handed
me a small box and a plastic bottle. "This is for worms." She removed a syringe and a bottle from the box. Inside the
bottle was yellow goop.
"I
give her a shot?" I asked, dismayed.
"No,
no." There was no needle, only a plastic tip on the end of the plunger. "Put the medicine into her mouth or mix it with her food. This is the shampoo. Dampen her fur with a wet clothe, rub
the shampoo into her skin, then rinse it off with a damp clothe."
"And
if she licks herself afterwards?"
"That
doesn't matter. You can return what you don't use."
When
Micha came home from school, we took Diamond into the adult bathroom for her flea bath.
"We won't do this in the children's bathroom where her litter box is. After
this, she may never want to come into this room again." We knelt beside the bidet
running lukewarm water. I held Diamond.
Micha wet a clothe and rubbed it over her back and belly. Diamond squirmed,
meowed, tried to wriggle away. I held her tighter. "Now put the shampoo on her." Micha squeezed some on. "More."
"How
much?"
"I
don't know. We should have read the instructions." Diamond squirmed, fighting and meowing, pitifully. "Read it
now."
"It
says five to fifteen squirts."
"That
can't be right. We've got to make her wetter."
We filled the bidet with an inch of water. "Scoop it onto her." Poor Diamond, wet to the skin, clinging fur revealing her tiny frame.
"More shampoo," I commanded.
"This
is terrible," Micha moaned.
"Rinse
her." Micha did. We wrapped Diamond
in a towel. She trembled. "A flea!"
We peered at the black speck lying motionless on the white marble floor. "It works!" As we watched, the flea wiggled,
becoming more active until it hopped away. "It didn't work. We need more."
"No
more," Micha pleaded.
"Don't
loose your nerve, now. Weve come this far.
Get her wet again." I held Diamond while Micha drenched her from neck
to paw. Diamond squirmed and struggled, twisting, trying to scratch and
bite. Micha squirted shampoo onto her belly, an enormous amount, at first
yellowish, then clear. "Stop! We
should have shaken the bottle! Dont do anymore."
"But
it says five to fifteen squirts."
"It's
enough. Rub it in. Dont get it in
her eyes! Now rinse her." Diamond
stood still but trembling, sopping wet, and miserable in the inch-deep, lukewarm water.
She turned her head and licked her shoulder, reproachfully. "A towel!" Micha grabbed the small one we use to dry the floor.
It was wet in no time. "Another!
A bigger one." She grabbed Hubert's bath towel. We wrapped Diamond in the great towel so that only her face was visible.
I held her so tightly she couldn't struggle away. She shook violently. "She hates us. Shes never going to forgive
us for this."
"Oh
no!" Tears welled in Micha's eyes.
"Another
towel." We changed towels each time the new towel became wet. Diamond shook for forty
minutes. At last, her fur was fluffing out.
Finally, she stopped shivering. We let her go on the bed. Rather than run away, she sat down on the bedspread, turned her head to lick her shoulder with her little
pink tongue.
"I
don't ever want to do that again," Micha said.
"Me
neither." In no time, Diamond was frolicking in the living room. She purred when we picked her up, playfully biting our fingers. "I
think she has forgiven us."
"She'll
forget," Mark said. "She won't
forgive."
As
Diamond gained confidence in our house, her play became wilder and wilder. She
skidded across the wooden floor, jumping into the air, legs spread wide. "Have
you seen how fast she is?" Hubert asked with admiration. Diamond hopped and skidded backwards on the landing at the top of the stairs. 'That cat is going to fall,' I thought. 'I should remove the clay lion statue. If she lands on those
pointy ears...' But I didnt.
That
very afternoon, Micha was leaving the computer room, I was crossing the livingroom, Diamond was on the landing in play-mode. "Don't play with her," I warned. Micha stopped in her tracks. She called
softly, "Diamond." Diamond hopped
and skidded backwards. I closed my eyes, opened them, rushed to the railing. Three meters below, managing, shakily, to stand, Diamond looked up at me. She took a few wobbly steps. "I told you not to play with
her!" I snapped. "Never play with
her when shes on the stairs!" Hurrying down, I saw the blood on her foreleg. Was it from her mouth or nose or from the leg?
I picked her up carefully, examining her for the wound, but I couldn't find it.
All afternoon, we watched her. She recovered and played a little, but
without her usual vigor. Then she fell asleep, and she slept and slept. Micha's best friend was visiting. The
girls kept Diamond in Micha's room asleep on the bed. Every so often, I checked. "Has she been sleeping this whole time?"
"Yes,
but she's not unconsious. I woke her up just recently," Micha said.
The fall left no visible trace. I moved the statue and placed thick blankets
on the floor. We had had Diamond for a week, but it seemed like she had been
with us forever. After a week and two days, I told Hubert I needed the car to
take Diamond to the vet. "No problem. You'll
need to take a box to carry her in."
"I
thought I would try letting her ride on the seat."
"That
could be dangerous."
"I'll
take a box just in case." Hubert left to catch the bus for work; the kids left
for school. I checked that the car windows were rolled all the way up. Carrying Diamond to the car was no problem. She cuddled in
my arms, purring. I climbed in shutting the car door behind me and set her onto
the passanger's seat where she lay down, chin on paws. I turned the key. The engine sprang on with a growl. Diamond
stood and looked toward the sound which must have seemed like a large dog. She
meowed, pitifully. I touched the gas. She
crept onto the floor in back and crouched. Every few yards, she meowed. I stopped the car, reached back, picked her up, and placed her back onto the passanger
seat. This time she stayed. I drove
slowly and cautiously, steering with one hand, petting Diamond with the other the short distance to Dr. R.'s. So far so good.
How
would she react? Ramus hated going to the vet.
He always started shaking. 'They smell the fear of the other animals,' I thought. Diamond seemed fearful, so
I became fearful. Carrying her up the drive, I held her too tightly for fear
she would escape and be lost forever. I rang the bell.
"It'll
be a minute," Dr. R. called from behind the door. I waited. I must control my fear or Diamond would sense it. I rang again. "I'll be right with you,
Frau Eisele." I put Diamond under my sweater the way Henry did in the children's
book, 'Henry and Ribsy.' I placed
my arms under her to support her and to keep the bottom of the sweater closed. The
neck fit snuggly. She climbed up my chest and poked her nose against the opening. I placed a hand so she couldn't wriggle out.
She became calm. 'I think she likes it in there,' I thought, happily. Dr. R. opened the door. She smiled when she saw the bulge in my sweater. "You don't
have a cat carrier?"
"I
brought a banana box just in case." I followed her into a small office with
a large examining table and two chairs. She closed the door. I took Diamond out and held her, paws resting on the edge of the table.
Dr. R. wiped the surface with a damp clothe. I set Diamond onto the
table. To my surprise and pleasure, she didn't seem frightened, just curious. "My dog was always so nervous coming to the vet.
Shes not scared at all!"
"They
know." Dr. R. petted Diamond and peered into her little face. "Our animals find us."
"Do
you think that, too?! That's what I told my children."
"Oh,
yes. Much of what happens has already run its course long before. My dog? I got him to sell.
The first woman took him home. When I went to visit, she picked him up
and broke out all over in a red rash. She asked, 'Why
doesn't he want to stay with me? Everything in me says, 'yes'.' But the dog didn't want it. The second people came to see
him and he wouldn't wake up. They came again.
He opened one eye and looked at them. He didn't pick them. The third time I tried to sell him, he brought me my favorite book -- a big thick book about life
and death. He found it upstairs on a pile of books, lugged it all the way down
the stairs and put it onto my lap. Everytime I thought of selling him after that,
I thought of him bringing me that book, and I couldnt do it."
"I
have a story like that!" I told her about the rainbow. The phone rang. By the time she hung up, she had forgotten
my story. "...so I told my son, something beautiful like that can't happen when
something bad has happened."
"That
was a nice experience, wasn't it?" she replied absent-mindedly while she examined
Diamond. She picked up a scrap of paper and held it above the top of Diamond's
head in one hand, feeling her own wrist with the other. She moved the paper back
and forth over Diamond's back a centimeter from the fur. Diamond sat upright
and perfectly still like an Eygyptian statue of a cat-god.
"What's
that?"
"I'm
checking the pulse to see if there is anything wrong with her."
"With
your pulse?"
Yes. She put down the paper and repeated the procedure with a scrap
of aluminum foil, then with a piece of wood. Diamond held perfectly still. 'Maybe the hair on her back responds to static electricity and she holds still to
feel it?' I thought. A look of mild
concern played across Dr. R's features. Had she discovered something? Worms? A tumor?!
"Now we
will do the blood test. Please hold her."
I held Diamond while Dr. R. carefully and gently cut hairs to expose a small patch of skin on the foreleg. When she stuck in the large needle, Diamond struggled, trying to bite and scratch. "That's the farm cat in her. She's really a very sweet cat,
but farm cats know how to protect themselves." Blood flowed into the syringe. Diamond squirmed and clawed, trying to wriggle away. Dr.
R. removed the needle and pressed a square of white gauze onto the leg. "Hold
that there to stop the bleeding."
"Oh! There is a lot of blood." The white square
was half covered and more blood was on the leg.
"It's
an important blood vessel. It likes to bleed."
"How
long until we know the results?" I was thinking, How many days.
Dr.
R. placed the blood into a plastic device. "By the time I write the immunization
information into the record, we should know."
"You
mean today? Now!?"
"Yes." She prepared the immunization. I had
not thought of these tortures when I brought Diamond here. I had not pictured
the large needle, nor blood. Immunization had sounded harmless. Now we must give my kitten another shot!
"Hold
her by the back of the neck. When I stick her, don't let her move!" Oh God! Don't let her move?
How do I prevent that? I felt completely incompetent, but I had no choice. 'Don't loose your nerve!' I told myself.
Dr.
R. stuck the needle into the shoulder. Diamond struggled violently. My grasp was slipping. The needle lodged in her moving shoulder
-- how that must hurt! -- came out. Half of the
liquid was still in the syringe.
I held the skin at the back of Diamond's neck with increased resolve, concentrating to kill all emotion, to become
detached, impersonal. Dr. R. stuck the needle in again. Again Diamond fought, tried to bite, scratched and squirmed. What
an impossible business! After some moments, it was over. Diamond bit and licked at the wounded shoulder. I felt horrible,
like a child who wants to be someplace else.
"I'll
have to clean her ears. She has ear milbe.
She has been scratching her ears since she arrived." Like 'blood test'
and 'immunization,' 'clean her ears' sounded harmless enough. I had the bad stuff
behind me, or so I thought. "This is the worst horror in a cats life. Its the curse of the farm cat: fleas, ear milbe, worms. But
for all that, even as young as she is, she has probably already eaten a mouse." Dr.
R. smiled as though that was something yummy! "You'll have to hold her again. By the back of the neck and don't let her move!" Doctors! Demanding the impossible! I took a firm
grip. Dr. R. wrapped the end of a metal stick with cotton and stuck it deep into
Diamond's ear. "This doesn't really hurt her."
Diamond scratched and squirmed in vain. "It's just that she isn't used
to it." The instrument plunged down in the ear hole, Diamond's little head tugging
violently in every direction around it.
"Will
that make her deaf?" I meant the instrument.
"No,
no." She meant the milbe.
The
proceedure went on and on, first one ear, then the other. Repeatedly, Dr. R.
removed the tool. Each time, the white tip was covered in icky brown goo. She replaced the cotton and attacked again, cleaning, cleaning, cleaning. It was disgusting how much brown stuff came out of those little ears.
"That is the fecal matter from the milbe." She deposited drops of medicine
into the ears, held them flat onto Diamond's head, rubbing gently.
"You'll
need to clean Diamond's ears regularly."
"I'm
afraid I will puncture the eardrum."
"Good
heavens, you must not use metal! Use a q-tip."
"Wet
or dry?"
"Dry
is alright. And after eight days -- I'll give you a little of this medicine
-- put one or two drops in each ear, not more, rub the ears down and see what comes out.
Eight to ten days after you de-worm her, de-worm her again. Two weeks
after that, if she goes outside, do it again. Give her another flea bath eight
days after the last one to kill the fleas we couldn't kill last time because they were in the larva stage."
"Before
they can lay eggs?" I asked, trying feebly to sound intelligent. My mind was in a muddle. I felt numb and shell-shocked. I couldn't listen properly.
"I'll
write it down for you."
What
am I doing here? Why have I come? Then
the good news. Dr. R. looked at the plastic apparatus. "She doesn't have cat aids."
"Hurray!"
My mind cleared.
"I'm
really glad she doesn't. She's a special cat. We've had to do so much
to her today, poor thing. I don't want to give her another shot. I'll give her the first cat aids injection when you bring her for her second immunization shot. Then I'll clean her ears again."
We
were done! Dr. R. wrote the times of my next two appointments into her agenda
and filled out a card with dates and times. She wrote down the proceedures for
me to do at home. I picked up my poor kitten, wondering, 'Will she ever forgive me?' "And letting her outside?"
"When
it's nice weather and you hold her, why not?"
I
carried Diamond to the car, put her in, closed the door, and returned to the house for my banana box. When I returned, a woman carrying her cat in a cat carrier asked, "Is
that your cat? I've never seen anything so cute."
"Why? Is she sitting on the passenger seat?" I
hurried to the car. She was not just sitting, but sitting up straight and proud,
looking me right in the eye as if to say, 'This is my place.'
"You
do forgive me!" I set the banana box onto the back seat, climbed in beside Diamond,
turned on the engine, and we drove home.