It was a good life

Even now, almost a month after I said my final goodbye to this brave and wonderful cat, it is hard to look at her picture without a tug of emotion pulling at my heart.

I get a little choked up just thinking about her and the life she led. If she was human, we would say she was "special needs." She had much to overcome in her life, not the least of which was her name, Junior. I also called her Bug or Boo, which was much more fitting.

She was one of five kittens born on a hot summer day on the front porch on the 11th of July 2007. As near as I can recall, she wasn't the last born, but was third in succession. The litter turned out to be all female, a fact I didn't know when I named them all after my favorite NASCAR drivers. The runt of the litter, Rusty, lived only 11 days. And then there were four.

I was in love with them all and couldn't conceive of the notion of giving any of them away, though that had been the plan. We also had her mother, Timi, who made me so very proud that day.

I knew Junior was different right after her birth. She had a broken right front paw. I learned that sometimes kittens are born with a birth-related injury which can be overcome with proper care. So, when she was a mere kitten, I wrapped her foot, using a tiny splint to keep it straight. I soon learned that it wasn't just crooked, that her paw was indeed malformed. She had only two toes on that foot. It didn't seem to bother her though. She got around as well as her litter mates. She walked with a strange gait on her three good legs. She could run, jump, and do anything they did. In fact, she was a follower in those early years. Her sisters didn't have much to do with her, but she followed them anyway. She obviously wanted to be just like them. It was actually a beautiful thing to watch.

She was the last to be weaned. She found great comfort in being by her mother, but after the others were weaned, her mother decided she had had enough. Timi was a good mother, despite the fact that she wasn’t much more than a kitten herself. She was like the teenage girl who got pregnant on the first date. Finally, I had to step in to separate Boo from her mother who was growing very impatient with her. That relationship remained strained throughout Boo’s life. Timi was an inside/outside cat who had better things to do than play with her kids. That was my job. And, it was one I relished. I spent the first six months of their lives on my belly, on the floor. I grew to love these girls instantly.

When I took the kittens and their mom to the vet to be spayed, I learned that Boo’s entire right side was malformed. When I picked them all up after the surgery, the vet gave me Boo and told me, "This one has some parts missing."

And so it went with our little Boo. She was smaller than the others. She was often sickly, with respiratory difficulties. She often got a runny nose and gunk in her eyes, and labored breathing, like she had a bad cold. Sometimes, I would wrap her in a towel with a hot water bottle so she could sleep through the night. She developed a slight tremor, almost like a Parkinson’s patient, but she always soldiered on.

Sister Buddies - Ryan and Junior

Her sisters tended to pick on her at first, but not for long. Kenni and Kasey had little to do with her. Both are twice her size. In fact she and Kasey were like oil and water. Junior would often like to cuddle with one of her sisters. Only Ryan, the first born allowed it. The others growled and hissed at her. It didn’t sway her though. She would often walk right up to them sleeping on my bed, which they claimed for their own, and plop right on top of them. Boo was fierce, the toughest of the bunch. It got to the point that if anyone was sitting on my lap, even her mother, Junior would make them leave. She would growl and hiss until she got her way. Finally, whoever it was would leave while she settled in all proud of herself. She was definitely a scrapper. Only Ryan, admittedly my favorite of the bunch, would let Boo cuddle with her. Ryan seemed to sense when Boo needed a friend, and she was mostly always there. Boo pushed even Ryan’s limits sometimes.

Junior loved sitting in a basket

Junior wasn't necessarily a cuddly cat for most of her life. She would perch upon John's lap and he would pet her, but that all changed within the last few years. I'm not sure when, but she began to seek me out. I didn't just pet her like he did; I would pick her up and snuggle her close to me. She seemed to need that. She loved being held close, melting her body next to mine and purring as loud as any cat I've ever heard. She began following me around from room to room. She was always with me. She and Ryan became my two favorites. They were both snugly and cuddly, while the other two were more standoffish.

The last few months, Boo developed some neurological issues, perhaps from a stroke or seizure. One day, she was near her water dish, crying. It was a sound unlike anything I had ever heard her make before. Then she became quiet and lay on the floor. She didn’t move a muscle; she didn’t even move her eyes. I thought she was dead. For several long minutes, she just lay there. Then, she got up like nothing was wrong and was her old self again. Then she began to develop severe respiratory issues. I took her to the vet on a Thursday in February. She got three shots, an anti-biotic, a steroid, and a vitamin shot. She wasn’t eating and she had sores on her tongue. That Saturday, I observed that she hadn’t eaten anything all day. She was weak, was losing weight, which she could ill-afford and just lay on a rug in the kitchen. I tried some canned pumpkin and warm milk, but she wouldn’t eat any of it. Then I gave her some liver sausage. She gobbled it up, like nothing was wrong. The next morning, she was feeling better. When I got up she came to the hallway to greet me. She appeared fine, like her old self. I fed the girls and Boo ate as she always had. She was her old self again. I called her my miracle cat. That lasted for a couple of weeks, but then her health began to deteriorate again. I made the decision to do the humane thing, so I took her to the vet for a last ride. I put her into a wooden picnic basket with a baby blanket that my late Aunt had crocheted for my daughter, about 40 years ago. And, I said my last goodbye.

I will never forget my Boo. It was a joy and my distinct pleasure to know her. There will never be another cat like her.

How I came to love cats

Happy Birthday to my girls.

My four kittens have grown up

Seven years ago, was a day I will always remember--such a happy event--the birth of five kittens on the front porch. One of them, the runt of the litter and last one born didn't make it. Rusty, is buried in the cedar grove just west of the house along with my most beloved feline companion ever, Emily. Ironically, she died just three years ago on this very day, one of the worst days I've ever experienced. There was no celebration for the girls that year--just tears.

But today is about them. 

My love of cats started long ago, despite my family always having dogs; not cats.

When I was a youngster living on a dead-end street in a Chicago neighborhood, there was a lady down the street who we kids in the neighborhood mockingly called Crazy Annie.

Everyone knows someone like her, the quintessential old spinster who always had lots of cats and kittens. Annie was certainly a little quirky. I laugh a little, because I think I have become her.

My memories of Annie are pretty vague. The one thing I remember about her, other than the cats that followed her everywhere, was that Annie used to reward us neighborhood kids for retrieving seeds from her Four O’Clock plants. I suppose she saved them to plant the following year.

When we followed her inside to collect our pay--pennies for whole jars of seeds, her house was always dark – blinds were always drawn. There was a kind of glow in her living room as the sunshine tried to blaze its way through her heavy velvet drapes.



As an adult, I've almost always had a cat. My first experience was an old tom cat that wandered into the courtyard of my apartment complex. I used to put milk in a saucer for him, so he kept coming back. I was smitten with him. 

There have been many subsequent trips to the humane society.

About 8 years ago, it was a stray cat that appeared--my husband John and I named her Timi. 

Timi, who was a small, obviously young Calico with muted colors. She seemingly appeared out of nowhere one night. Apparently she chose us. It was almost like she was stalking us. She knew which room we occupied because she peered in the window at us, pacing back and forth on the brick ledge just outside the glass, always meowing. When we were outside, she followed us and was always affectionate. She showed up in the morning at whatever door we opened to let out our dog Sam. It was almost as if she knew. And, Timi was very vocal about her desire to become friends.

We put food out for her. It wasn’t long before she won our hearts. She never went too far from the house. Finally, it started getting colder outside, so we decided to let her come into the house. She even made friends with Emily, who was about 10 at the time.

In the spring, we noticed a change in Timi. She became restless, and wanted to go outside. While we debated about what to do, Timi made the decision for us. We awoke one morning to find the screen broken out of a back porch window. Timi was gone.

But she soon reappeared. Only this time, she wasn’t exactly alone. It was apparent that Timi was pregnant. She was always very affectionate, especially toward John. But he wasn’t as quick to embrace the idea of little kittens as I was. I couldn’t wait. Timi must have sensed that too, so during her pregnancy it was my lap she wanted to claim. I was more than happy to oblige. I can’t resist baby animals, but I am most fond of kittens.

I read all I could on the Internet about the feline birthing process. Timi was a very young cat and I hoped her instincts would guide her. But if not, I was ready to help. I sensed when she was very close to giving birth. I was afraid she might want to have her kittens in private, which is customary for cats. But, she actually came to get me when the time had come. I was at my computer when she jumped up high latching her claws into the window screen. She seemed frantic.

I played midwife to Timi’s five kittens who were born in a newspaper-lined box next to the swing on the front porch.

John wanted no part of this process, but was just inside the house. 

I was in awe as Timi knew exactly what to do. I gingerly moved the first kitten to another box, while Timi gave birth to the next one. This went on until there were finally five in the litter. I put them back into the box with their mother. I didn't know what I would do with seven cats in the house but I was pretty sure I wouldn't be able to part with any of them.

Since John and I had difficulty agreeing on the names for our own two children, I figured it would be really hard to come up with five more names. So, we decided to name them for NASCAR drivers.

The first born was Ryan, named for Ryan Newman, our favorite driver. The others were Kenni (Kenny Wallace); Junior, (Dale Earnhardt, Jr.); Kasey, (Kasey Kahne); and Rusty (Rusty Wallace).

The birth went well, taking about three hours. Timi did great. She was very attentive and caring – showing signs of being an excellent mother.

We were not without issues, however, as Junior was born with a deformed right front paw. Turns out, that although she is smaller than the others, she is also the toughest. Rusty, was probably the prettiest one--with markings not unlike her mother--lived only 11 days. The others are all variations of grey and white.

We guessed that Ryan was the only male in the bunch, but were surprised to learn that she too was a female. All of our NASCAR-named kittens are girls! Too late now, they know their names.

It has been an absolute joy to experience the development of these little critters. Kittens seem to develop on an accelerated schedule, with visible changes almost daily.

Each has a personality all her own. Ryan has stayed true to her early beginnings, as the sweet, cuddly one. She is also similar to her namesake, known as the Rocketman. Ryan is happiest when she is 'flying' around the house. She loves to roost in high places, like the top of the entertainment center, on top of the book case, or perched on the top of the bedroom door. Kasey is the scaredy-cat, who jumps at any unfamiliar sound, though jumps first and with all four feet. She seems to be taking on the characteristic of alpha cat, or top dog, which to me, is just another word for trouble-maker. Junior is the tough one, a fierce competitor with her siblings. She isn’t afraid of anything, despite her disability. Early on, she worked hard at keeping up with the others, doing what they did, even if it wasn’t always graceful. Kenni is the biggest cat who loves mealtime. She is the most mellow one, who goes along with whatever the others do, but would never consider doing it first.

It has been such a joy to watch these siblings interact with their mother and each other. Timi, who started this as a youngster herself, has grown into a mature and protective mother, using her instincts to teach. For a time, she played with them. Timi is content to stay outside now, except to eat. She is definitely an outside cat. The others are inside cats. 

She is friends with raccoons, runs with the deer and is a good mouse and snake hunter. 

We are comforted to know she won’t have more kittens, despite the affection we have for these. It just wouldn't be responsible to allow her to be outside without having first been spayed. They all went to the vet together to get spayed.

Because Timi was a stray cat, our local Humane Society helped with the cost of spaying. We will support them in the future, any way we can.

Had we not given Timi a home, she might be having a second litter. And since her four kittens are females, they would likely have had kittens of their own as well, had we not intervened. And on and on it goes. It is hard to imagine that so many unwanted cats are born each year. It is even harder to imagine how many of them have to be killed because there is no one to take them all in.

As I look around the house, a cat in nearly every view, I think back to my younger days, and of Annie, the neighbor with lots of cats.

This was a woman who was kind to young children. She paid us pennies to collect seeds from her perennials that would probably have reseeded themselves anyway. Her action taught us that work paid rewards and that we should be diligent in our endeavors. I remember carefully picking only the ripe, plump, black seeds and leaving the rest for another time.

Annie befriended us. She brought us into her home. Those were days of innocence when neighbors were not to be feared. And, she let us pet her cats. In doing so, she showed us she trusted us. They were obviously very important to her. That first feeling of silky fur on my hands must have made an impression.

I’ve thought of Annie from time to time, wondering what ever became of her. I never even knew her last name. Sadly, there was much I didn’t know about her. I think if I knew her now, I would like her. There is one thing I know for sure; Annie wasn’t crazy.