Three's A Charm

Three’s A Charm

{R & R for gift points}



He watched us from behind the scrub brush of Corolla’s Outer Banks – quietly, undetected, multiple escape routes at his disposal. At first, we were unaware of him on our early evening stroll through rambling Currituck Club. We stopped…we looked at the rosy glow of sand dunes bathed in the setting sun.

“There’s a kitty in there,” Diane spotted him first.

“Where? Oh, I see him. Hi kitty, kitty. Here, boy.” I assumed kitty was a boy. Any cat worth his salt was a boy. Our boy, Tigger, was home alone. More than once during our vacation I had thought about Tigger and wondered if he was lonely and rationalized that he was doing just fine all by himself which he often figured out a way to be when we were around.

I moved into the brush, “kitty”ing away, confident that all cats not only knew me, but also detected my ‘way with animals’ from the getgo. Kitty backed his steel-blue body into thick cover, only his big, blue-green eyes surrounded by a white mask visible, as he watched us.

Diane knows kitty talk. She hummed her “Me-OWWWWWWWWW-HERE-kittyyyyyyyyy-HOWWWWWWW-are-YOUUUUUUUU?” until kitty sounded it back at her. They sang to one another while kitty gingerly stepped sideways then hesitatingly forward until he worked his way as close as he would allow himself to get to us.

“He wants us to feed him,” I said knowing that the gist of kitty’s conversation was “feed me.”

Diane, not once looking away from kitty, answered, “Duh! That’s brilliant. Look at the poor baby – he’s nothing but skin and bones - a stray. Let’s go get some food.”

*****

When we came back, we figured out kitty’s favorite place, a clump of wild grasses, well concealed, shaded from the day’s brutal sun, near enough the road to watch neighborhood happenings and close to the protection of thick woods bordering the sound. Each time we called for him, he appeared in short order. We fed him every day, morning and night, the best protein we had in the refrigerator, milk and ham. The first few times we fed him, he ate so fast that he took a break midway through the meal to let his poor tummy catch up. We had never seen a kitty so hungry. Hard to tell what he liked best – he ravaged both milk and ham, then walked back into the brush, his belly full, to lay down, relax and take a nap, not bothering too much about us nearby – he came to know that we were not there to bother him, only bring food.

Although we referred to him as kitty, he was well on his way to adulthood. That meant he was past the point where he could be tamed as a pet. We wondered how kitty had become a feral cat – a question impossible to answer, what could we do about it and what were his chances for survival. Would he have enough food and enough cover during the upcoming winter?

“Let’s see how close he will come,” Diane said as she flicked pieces of ham toward our meowing kitty.

Two counterbalancing forces came into play: his reluctance to approach strangers offset by his need to overcome starving. Survival won out – we knew it would. He slowly worked his way toward the food, picking up pieces dropped closer to our feet, then on the tip of Diane’s toes. Poised as a most careful cat eater, he lifted each morsel, licking remaining ham juices from her skin.

Any noise and he recoiled – we started calling him “Jumpy” - jumping on all fours straight up in the air and then drawing back to the food as if tethered by an unseen rubber band. Noise did it for sure, but not necessarily movement. He brushed our legs with his tail as he whisked back and forth; Diane instinctively reached down touching his head – he hissed, but nothing more – that was it. Not a good idea to pet a wild cat.

“I’m not sure he sees us,” I wondered out loud. I had watched his movements carefully. Hearing and smell were his strong suits. Although “Jumpy” looked toward us, we questioned whether he looked directly at us. He sometimes smelled the food before he saw it. “I think he is blind, or, at least, has a problem seeing.” That brought up new questions as we talked about how kitty could survive on his own.

“Cats are tough customers,” I felt like Diane needed some reassurance. “There’s a lot of food here – salamanders, mice, an occasional bird.” Birds squawked incessantly, something they did to let each other know that a cat was nearby. It didn’t help that new homes, vacation homes to be built in the coming year, would steadily eliminate acres of habitat for our kitty.

*****

The middle of the week found us inland from the Outer Banks on Roanoke Island in search of the “Lost Colony”. As we strolled through gardens of tall trees, the kids spotted a white and black kitty, a lost kitty. He couldn’t have been more than six to eight weeks old. Reluctant, but playful, this kitty darted back and forth across our paths, first in front of us, then behind us, but always within striking distance. We were his. He was with us - not close enough to pet – that would no doubt come if we fed him.

He was so cute, full of youth and hope and not a care in the world save food. We wondered if we could add this kitty to the family knowing that there was no way – he was wild, not checked out yet, pliable, but still wild. He needed an “animal shelter”; he needed food soon, too.

Back to the gatehouse kitty followed us – we felt like the Pied Piper. He peered through floor-to-ceiling windows at us as we explained to the ladies in charge that the young fellow needed an animal shelter. We all stood there looking out at kitty; he calmly sat looking back as if to say, “Do something.”

*****

That day, Diane’s folks, on a tour of Corolla’s shops, came upon Cat Lady. Her latest rescue was five all-white kittens from under a barn in Columbia, now eight weeks old, looking for a suitable home – FREE – ready to go, shots and all.

“We have to go see the litter,” I nudged Diane. “Good things come in threes. We’ve got two kitties under our belt so far this week.”

“How would we ever get a kitten home in a car chock full? That’s an eight hour trip.” She had a point.

“Let’s just go see them,” I said knowing kittens are hard to resist.

We did the next day, and last day, of vacation. It was Friday night; we were packed up and ready to head home in the morning. We had fed “Jumpy” for the last time and said sad goodbyes and left him to hang out on his patch of Outer Banks sand dunes. The “Lost Colony” kitten was by now safely in his animal shelter, his tummy full, resting up to meet his new family.

Five white kittens romped and climbed and tumbled around Cat Lady’s home, two boys and three girls. Unique gray spots on their foreheads told Cat Lady the name of each one, names like Bianca for a girl and Casper…I got it; Casper, the friendly ghost… for a boy. She knew the boys from the girls – I couldn’t tell, but we wanted a boy companion for Tigger, our young prince at home.

Diane cuddled Casper first. He lay back relaxed, turned his motor on, looked up into her eyes and sealed the deal right then and there. All five kitties were cute in their own way… we wanted each and every one of them…there was only one, though…Casper was it.

The next morning it was on the road home, Casper quietly snuggled in Diane’s lap totally relaxed and ready for his first nap of the day. He had let us know loudly the night before that carrier confinement was out of the question. The bright morning light reflected off what turned out to be not a white, but a luscious creamy colored coat. We took Casper home to meet his new brother, Tigger, and new sister, Zinger the beagle. Three’s a charm.



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