“I wish people would realize that animals are totally dependent on us, helpless, like children, a trust that is put upon us.”

James Herriot

We’ve had so many animals, that I’ve come to connect certain years with the animals they brought to us.  2004 was the year of Mr Paws, a starved orange cat with double paws, who found his way to our barn amidst a winter storm.  2003 was the year of Chance, a huge grey Thoroughbred we rescued and rehabilitated, and who changed the way I think of horse racing and how animals heal.  There have been cats, dogs, horses and even sheep.  And 2019 was the year of the kittens.  

Last November was unusually cold in Texas, and I’d begun feeding a feral cat who was coming around more often than usual.  Dallas has a terrible problem with homeless cats, so I fed her and was worried because she seemed both exhausted and agitated.  I walked door to door asking if anyone owned her;  my plan was to try to catch her, but I’ve been known to mistake cats who actually belonged to neighbors as homeless, so I was covering all bases.  No one claimed her, so I kept a close eye and made sure her bowls were always full.

It was late on a Saturday afternoon when our neighbor texted me to tell me that she’d found four newborn kittens under her front porch and, as it turned out, my feral friend was their mom. We ran over, and there were four tiny, cold and hungry fluff balls huddled in a little home their mom had made for them.  They were impossible to get close to and no amount of our reaching towards them was going to work. The daylight was waning and so we decided to leave them food for the night, and so as not loose them, we placed one of our dog crates in front of the opening where their mom had dragged them in.  We added some towels for warmth, made sure mom was inside with them, and waited for morning light.  

I barely slept, being both worried and excited.  The promise of a new animal has been better than Christmas morning for me, ever since childhood.  I knew how difficult it was going to be to reach these kittens  - all they had to do was retreat a few feet and we might never catch them. What was ironic, is that a few weeks earlier we’d said goodbye to our 16 year old cat. She’d lived a long and happy life, starting in our Vermont barn and moving first to New York, and then to Texas with us.  In her last year she struggled with most cat foods, and human baby food was all I could get into her - a trick a vet taught me years ago.  We had tons of jars left, and so early in the morning I headed next door, armed with baby food and giddy with anticipation.

Their mom hopped out as soon as we moved the crate away, and anxiously paced around.  She was incredibly trusting of us, I believe she knew we were trying to help.  But the kittens were terrified.  We placed the dog crate over the opening and lured them one-by-one with the baby food, which proved to be the golden ticket.  My husband and I had readied a room for them in the house, and after a few crazy hours, we captured one by one.  They were hysterical, spitting, and frightened, but safe.  My neighbor was able to catch their mom and take her to the vet for care and spaying. 

I had to fly to Boston the next day, so with the help of our pet sitter and my husband, we worked out a schedule for their round-the-clock care.  In all honesty, they were so tired and hungry, all they did was eat and sleep.  I couldn’t wait to have family around for Christmas so we could all enjoy and nurture them.

It didn’t take long for the plan to go from “lets get them healthy and adopt them out” to “let’s name them and keep them.”  After a visit to the vet that revealed fleas, giardia and round worms, my daughter and I drove home and named them on the way.  Hester, (from The Scarlet Letter), Homer (from John Irving’s Cider House Rules), Hugo (for author Victor Hugo) and Helen, (from Greek mythology).  And that was it, they were ours.

This year has been a trip.  I had no plans for more cats after Addy’s death, but I couldn’t imagine life without these four.  They are so attached to us and incredibly engaged — I suppose because we found them so young.   The first month was tricky — we had to wear gloves to handle them because their knife like claws came out whenever we picked them up. And we had to handle them constantly for daily flea baths and cleaning (done by hand, because they were too small for any of the topical treatments).  They squirmed and fought when we had to medicate them, but day by day they improved and eventually the gloves were no longer needed, and they began to settle in.  

One year later and they own the place.  They have formed bonds with our dogs, Chloe and Zara, and each kitten has their own distinct personality.   Homer is the leader and the engineer.  He is brave and bold, and smart, and was the first to allow us to touch him.  Hester is the diva.  She is sassy, and skeptical, and I thought we’d never win her over.  But now, she sleeps with us and screams to be brushed, at least four times a day.  Hugo is the baby.  He is sensitive and loves nothing more than to be held and cuddled.  He follows me around all day, and my husband calls him “a once in a lifetime cat.”  And Helen.  She was the last to be caught and has been the last to adjust.  She is so different from the other three; still skittish and very difficult to catch.  I used to worry about her, but I have come to accept this is really who Helen is and she’s content to hang on the edge of the action. 

With every animal rescue, I learn something new.  The kittens confirmed for me that there is more need than we can ever meet.  As soon as these four were settled, more cats showed up.  We now have a feeding station on our porch, feral houses for them in the cold weather, and with my neighbor’s help we’ve been able to TNR (trap/neuter/release) a few.  But I know that this is not a problem we can solve, we can just help the in our own small way.  If we encourage just one person to adopt an animal because of our stories, it’s a win.  And we now have four of the sweetest little creatures who add soul and sass to our home, and for that I will be forever grateful.