Sylvia and the Kitties: Part 3

I folded. I felt so bad for the two of them, screeching their little baby screeches and climbing all over the crate looking for an escape. They were diminutive captives seeking escape from this massive crate. So, yeah, I folded.

I figured that they would run all over the house and I would be chasing them for the rest of my life. As soon as I opened the crate, the screeching stopped and they both jumped in my hand. I’d never seen kittens so small and I was more than transfixed, I had fallen in love.

I got myself settled on the couch and Martina decided to sleep on my chest, her face on my face. Clarice fell asleep with her tiny bottom in my palm, her head and front paws resting on my fingers, her back paws up in the air. My hand was close to Martina. Soon, Sylvia ran down the stairs, jumped on me, and curled up, as Martina had. Both spent the night smacking each other’s black tails. Martina would bite Sylvia’s tail and Sylvia would growl, but she was gentle.

They took over, running up and falling down stairs, climbing up curtains and flying on people, furniture, and Sylvia. Martina would run down the stairs, up Joel’s body, and settle on his chest to nap. Clarice would nap next to him. He fell in love, too.

For the next two weeks, at night, the kittens would sleep in the dog crate in a spare room. We turned on a night light and put on soft music and they would sleep all curled into each other. Sylvia got her rest at night, sleeping with her head in my hand, content for the first time for a long time. We were back to five in our little family and, while we never forgot the kitties that came before them, Martina and Clarice helped the three of us find our joy again.

The second week, we kept the door open at night so Sylvia had the opportunity to watch them; she did. The third week we moved them to our room. That lasted about five minutes. The screaming was hideous and showed no sign of endin. All three of them slept on my feet and, if one kitten annoyed Sylvie, she smacked her off the bed. Undeterred, the punished kitty climbed up the blankets and settled in again.

*****

Sylvia’s litter box was upstairs in the apartment we lived in then. Since the kittens arrived, Sylvia took to sneaking up the stairs to use the box. The kittens had a litter box on the ground floor filled with pellets, but they thought of that box as more of a toy and played games with the pellets. They did use the box in appropriate ways and they often used it together, which was adorable, but then, they would each bat scores of pellets out of the box and run all over the house, spreading them like their happiness and good cheer.

We heard Sylvia shriek—a noise we’d never heard her make. It was an angry plea that was going unanswered. We looked around. No kittens. We both bolted up the stairs in a mix of adrenaline and fear.

What we found. What we continued to find for the next couple months was Martina and Clarice in the litter box with Sylvia. They were on top of her, under her, behind her. They were crawling all over her, rapt. They were watching and learning; trying to make this into a game. They played in their box, why wouldn’t she play in hers?

We would each pick up a kitten as Sylvia gave us a look that I can only describe as grateful. We would tell them “no,” put them down, and pick them out of the litter box again. And again and again.

*****

Tune in next time. Until then, the Tribe and I wish you love, joy, and health. We hope you consider: Are you the rescuer or the rescued?