Tuesday, August 7, 2012

17 years living with a stray

Seventeen years ago she showed up at our front door, dirty, gaunt, hungry and pregnant (though we didn't know this at the time), just a pathetic stray. But you know how kids are about  strays -- they want to adopt them, and we gave in and let them make a bed for her in the garage, and  Sarah the cat joined our family.

Jessica was five at the time and I suppose if the cat belonged to anyone it was to her.  She convinced us to  temporarily move Sarah's bed from the garage to the room with the washer-dryer and refrigerator. There she gave birth to a litter of kittens who soon acquired names -- Phantom, Precious, Uno, Pop Tart, and Runt.

Three soon found homes and we were left with Uno and Pop Tart.  Then came tragedy; I ran over Pop Tart, killing him.  The following Sunday I was greeted by several church members who had  attended early service with a puzzling statement, "I'm sorry about the loss of your cat."  It seems Jessica had asked that Pop Tart be added to the prayer list.  Sure enough, at the ll o'clock service as requests were made for prayers, Pop Tart was included.

Sarah had a visit with the vet and he convinced her it would be best if she didn't bring any more kittens into the world.  Uno became the Lothario of the neighborhood but failed to return after one of his romantic pilgrimages. 

I don't want to give thought to the amount we have spent in 17 years on vet bills and cat food. Every few years Sarah brings a little dead bird  to the house, depositing it  on the mat in front of the front door.  I can only believe she thinks she is repaying us for the money she has cost us, but it is a habit I wish she would give up.

After 17 years, though, I don't expect  Sarah to make any changes.

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