Dazzled by her big soulful eyes and adorably destructive little children, I never even saw it coming. I suppose there were warning signs. Every morning, I leapt up at the crack of dawn to look for my new furry friends. On good days, I would be greeted by growls and hisses. On the dreaded hunting trip days, my walkway would be empty.
After the hunting trip, the weary ravenous felines would recuperate by lounging around my yard. One of their favorite spots was an old picnic table parked at the edge of a clump of woods. This was convenient because out the window I could covertly watch Mama training her children for the next hunt.
When I went on a human hunting trip to the market, upon my return, the feline family would be artistically arranged in wait on the front steps. Their baleful greeting stares always warmed my heart. Early on in the relationship between Mama and I, glaring philosophical differences in our child raising theories became apparent. According to Mama, cars were good and people were bad. To accommodate Mama's odd ideas, visitors' car windows had to be rolled up. And upon departure, visitors had to blow car horns until the coast was clear. I also had issues with Mama dragging her brood back and forth across our busy street. But since I couldn't get within six feet of her, discussions were pointless. If I could have gotten closer, perhaps I could have pointed out that it wasn't the damn cars feeding her. It was a human.
Before long, I was well-trained enough to forbid anyone to use the front door when my part- time cats were in residence. As a reward, on rainy days, the cats would allow me to step out the front door to place food on the porch. Naturally, they would copy their mother by growling and hissing at me.
There is just something so wrong about tiny big eyed balls of fur growling, hissing and spitting at you. But Mama wouldn't listen to reason. And since she wanted to play dirty...well, two could play that way. Thus began the meat games. Several times a day, I would go out and sit on the steps with a handful of meat. While Mama glared in disapproval, I would toss pieces of meat a few feet away from me. Kittens being kittens, they had to investigate the flying objects. Their curiosity would be rewarded with snacks. The thing is, after a few minutes, I would toss the snacks a little closer to me. Before I left, I would toss some in Mama's vicinity. By spying, I discovered she would investigate and indulge. But only after I left.
Progress was depressingly slow. One day as I sat out in the sweltering sun tossing meat, my husband came out to offer me some unwanted advice.
He said, "Why don't you give up? It's not going to work. You could be made of meat and those cats won't come any closer."
My grateful response to his encouraging words was, "Go away. You're scaring the cats."
And it was true. As long as I was alone, they would hover within a few feet of me. But if anybody else approached, those cats were gone.
Finally, one morning, there was a breakthrough. My feline family had just returned from a long hunting trip. I cautiously stepped onto the walkway. Three feet away, the growling hissing clump of cats hovered hungrily. As I set the plate down, the smallest black and white kitten, Emily, darted out of the group and lunged at my hand. Startled, I froze and waited. She put her little nose on my hand, backed away and sat down to watch me, just out of reach. Emily had kissed my hand! That was the first of many hand kisses and the beginning of a brief but beautiful relationship. For the rest of the day, I was walking on air.
No comments:
Post a Comment