The Madonna
Technically, we didn't rescue her. She rescued herself. We were just fortunate enough to be there to provide for her needs.
It was a cold and snowy Christmas Eve in 1995, and we were having our first party as a couple to celebrate the holidays. Jimmy (her name is Janet, but her father stuck her with the nickname because, the story goes, he wanted a boy) was having a rough year financially; her ex-husband was behind in his support payments and she had a limited income. We did the best we could for her boys that Christmas, but we both felt that the youngest son, Elric, hadn't gotten his fair share.
At the time, we had five cats in our little home: Fuzzbutt, a purebred Persian, Bacall, a Siamese mix that you'll read more about later, their two children Steve and Frost, and a stray named Maverick. (You'll hear more about all these cats in later columns.) We tried hard to keep our heads above water, but I was going through an extended illness at the time, and we were living from check to check.
The party was in full swing at nine o'clock that evening when a friend named Ryan showed up. I was in the kitchen fixing some snacks, and Ryan stayed with me to keep me company. We made the usual small talk until he asked me, Brian, when did you get another cat?
We didn't. That's Frost, I responded, and then I looked at the cat to which he referred. Frost is a Himalayan mix, and the cat in question was a dirty calico. I called out to Jimmy and asked her to come in the kitchen.
We examined the cat together and found that she was in good physical condition, though pregnant and hungry. She made herself quite at home, eating from the food dish and drinking enough water to drown a rat. As far as we could determine, she slipped into the house with Ryan, and none of us noticed. Jimmy looked at me and gave me a smile I have come to know quite well in the last six years. It communicated, without words, her intent to increase the number of cats in our household. Brian, she's pregnant. How can we turn away a Madonna on Christmas Eve?
At this point Elric, age seven, finalized the decision. He had come to the kitchen get a refill on his soda, and he laid eyes on the cat. She's beautiful, he cried. I knew that this year you were going to get me a cat for my very own. And I was stuck. I was dragged, kicking and screaming, into the world of cat rescues.
Jimmy and I called her Madonna, but Elric, who had final say, gave her the name Baby. We gave her a bath that night, which caused us many scratches, but she calmed down and spent the night in Elric's bed. A few weeks later, she gave birth to a liter of five healthy kittens, four boys and one girl, whom we were able to find homes for with the assistance of our veterinarian and his office staff.
Baby is quite the cat. There was never any question as to her staying; that was decided the night she came to our house to escape the snow. She has provided us with many amusing tales - at one point, she escaped our house, went outside, killed a crow and brought it back to the granddaughter's crib because, as far as we could tell, she thought we weren't feeding her enough. Baby also took great exception to the dog that our daughter-in-law decided to adopt. Every other cat in the house ran for cover when Spaz was brought home, but Baby stood her ground, hunched and hissing. She is one of the toughest cats I have ever met, but around Elric she is so gentle and loving that she seems to be two different cats.
Elric is living with his father right now, and Baby is with him. She serves as a reminder of his mother and I, and how much we love him. She's also the secret sharer of his dreams and aspirations, his fears and concerns. We think it is the best Christmas gift we have ever given him, including the electric guitar that he received this past holiday. And he agrees.
We had taken in a stray or two before Baby, but she was the turning point. After her, we knew that we were able to take in and rehabilitate strays. We were able to find homes for the kittens that came our way and we began to make a difference. And it's all because Baby was willing to come into our home and make us love her. We owe her for that.
Brian Baker is a writer and animal rights proponent. He has been published locally and nationally, most notably in Chicken Soup for the Cat Lover's Soul. Currently, Baker spends his time working with a local organization (www.safehavenforpets.org) that not only operates a shelter for animals but also does extensive work with feral cats. To exchange correspondence with the author, write to brianpbaker@hotmail.com or bbaker563@aol.com