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Like any kid at kindergarten age, Jesse would play all day going from
toy to toy with a short attention span and ton on inquisitive nature
and make believe imagination. From time to time he would focus on
Barney during his play (you could watch Barney's eyes go wide when he
realized what was about to happen). Jesse was always very gentle with
Barney, petting him or talking to him, but Barney was already like a
grandparent in their 70's or 80's, kinda grumpy, very set in his
ways, and just wanting to be left alone. We decided it was time to
get a second cat, "for Jesse", to relieve the strain on
Barney's privacy.
 As
we looked around, we hit immediate paydirt. A woman at our church
had taken in a stray that just had a litter. She lived only a couple
blocks away, was looking for a good home for the kittens, and they
were getting to the age for them to leave the nest. The cat had four
kittens, and two were spectacularly beautiful. One was jet black,
just like Barney, and the other was completely gray. They were both
short haired and had clear eyes and the soft velvety nose to match
their fur. We were sure it was a marriage made in heaven. Of course,
we were completely deluding ourselves.
All the warning signs were there, but we completely ignored them and
followed our swirling emotions instead. We wanted kittens for Jesse
(the house could hold a hundred cats and still have room), for
Barney, for us. These cats were siblings and absolutely beatiful.
They would grow old together like a matched pair, twins that were 4
shades apart. What a disaster waiting to happen.
When we called to visit, we were surprised that the cats were not in
the house, but the basement, and not in the living area or even the
laundry area but the dark and dank mud-room / storage room off the
back of the house. It had not light, no heat, no toys and no human
contact. The cats were essentially living in a cinderblock 10 by 14
cave with one small muddy window to the outside. Their litter was ill
prepared and poorly tended. They had no food bowl and a dirty water
bowl.  These
kittens were not played with, did not have names (she called them
'the black one', 'the gray one') and never ventured from the room.
She opened a can of 9-lives, pulling back the lid like you see in the
cartoons, and walked us down to her feline dungeon. As she opened the
door and turned on the one light, the cats scattered in fear and
peered out as their eyes acclimated. She did sing-song for them, but
really for us, 'heeeeres you supper', then put the can down on the
floor. No bowl, no paper, no dining ritual. The kittens dared each
other to come out, and in shear hunger overcame their fears and slunk
to the bowl, jittery as zebras at a waterhole, while she told us and
young Jese how happy we would be with our new darling kittens. How on
earth we could not see is a mystery to this very day.
Of course it was a disaster! We carried the two kittens upstairs to
acclimate to them and they had never seen the main rooms. One darted
about while the other crawled under the couch to a place it could not
be retrieved. We had brought the Barneys travel suitcase box for his
trips to the vet and we eventually caught one and got it into the box
when the unmistakable smell said the other had laid one somewhere on
the carpet (actually under the couch). I need to physically lift the
couch while Lyn captured the squirmy bugger and our hostess began to
clean the mess and we body slammed the second into the carry box. We
were soon home, showing them their litter, their food bowls, and
where they might sleep on Jesse's bed. Jesse immediately began to
carry them about like new toys and they instinctively slung limp for
him, exactly what we had hoped for. This time, unlike in Denver,
Barney opened one eye, nodded his head, and went back to sleep. No
problem, the little human has little cats. I just hang out here. |
I
encouraged Jesse in to name the cats "Paws" and
"Play", after deciding which was more sedate (the gray one)
and rambunctions (the black one). We bought them some catnip toys and
a small feather wand toy to see if they would bond with us. They were
always skittish when placed in our large oversized rooms, growing
agrophobic (alone with feral) during their first four weeks of dark
and dank solitude. The gray one was a 'mean drunk', capturing the
catnip mouse and slowly releasling a low, satanic, growl. The black
one went from playful to wired, completely out of control. Oh boy, is
this fun!
Out
of self defense, we put collars on them (we hate cat collars) and
installed leashes on the 2x4 studs in the basement. This way they
would be forced to be near the litter while we were out running
errands. We would come home, singing and praising them, only to see
them sitting serenely; one on the floor, the other literally curled
up in the litter box, and did not recognize that this was EXACTLY
were they sat the first evening we met them.