Little Cat

I didn’t expect to be writing this when I woke up this morning. Hell, I didn’t expect to be writing it 5 hours ago. And I’m a mess, and really in no state to be writing at all. But I need to process, and this is the best way I know of to do that. So write I will.

Let me start at the beginning, I guess.

I emerged from my apartment this morning to head to work early, as I normally do on days where I teach first hour (spoilers: it’s all of them). I like to arrive early enough to settle in, check my email, and have a cup of coffee before I’m in front of students – I hate walking in and having to hit the ground running. It was a bright, clear morning, with cool temperatures and a nice breeze. The spring birds were singing, and most of the city was still asleep so the noise of people and traffic had faded. Apart from the birds, in fact, it was quiet.

So quiet, in fact, that I heard a weird chirping – it sounded like a really insistent bird, in fact. It was loud and sounded very close by. As I looked around, I saw, practically at my feet, a small orange blob crawling around in the street. It was easy to miss – it was less than the size of my hand – and even as I watched, a sedan raced by down the street, its tires coming within bare inches of striking the thing. Notwithstading that, the thing lurched even further out into the street, where the next car to come – at any moment – would surely spell its end. I came over, baffled, and squatted down to find – well, a kitten.

He was small, very small – again, he could fit in one palm. His eyes were closed, his legs didn’t really work yet, and he was still slick with afterbirth. In fact, he was so newly born that he still had an umbilical cord trailing off him (do cats have umbilical cords? I had never thought about it, but I guess they do. I’ve seen young kittens but never one this young). He was constantly mewling, small, tiny chirps demanding food, his mother, I don’t know. I dithered, momentarily – was it bad to touch a newborn kitten? Again, I wasn’t sure, but then a car rounded the corner on the end of the block and I decided. I certainly couldn’t leave him lying there in the street to be squished. He deserved a chance, at least.

I bent down and gently eased him onto one palm, keenly aware of how fragile he felt. I carried him only a short distance to a nearby bush. Cradling him in my palm, I patted out a small nest in the grass there under the branches, where he would be warm and safe, but still within a few feet of where I found him, so his mother could find him. Then I went searching for mom.

Now, I have a number of alley cats who live near my building, and I hear them every night brawling and singing alley cat songs. Naturally, this morning, there were none to be found. I paced around the entire block, peering into their usual hideyholes in the various nooks and crannies of a Korean apartment block, but finding nothing. I came back and examined where I had found hte little kitten, and while there was a small fluid trail showing his bold sally into the road, there were no other clues I could find to his mom’s location.

Well, I turned to my trusty old friend, Google. It seemed first, that kittens could survive several hours without their mother, even newborns. So, second, it was best to leave them where they were (provided that area was safe, so not the middle of a busy street), and wait for mom to return to find them. Only if after a few hours of no mom should you seek a vet and attempt to care for the cat itself.

Now, I have a small amount of experience with kitten litters myself, from brief trips out to the farm at Pierce City. I knew when cats had a new litter, they would frequently find a safe hiding place for their kittens, and mom would bring them there one at a time. Kitten hunts were a fun pasttime when we knew a cat was expecting. So, in all likelihood, Mom was away hiding this little one’s littermates, and she would be back. Well, if she was any kind of mom at all, she’d find him, as he continued to mew his tiny lungs out. As for a vet, I had no idea where a nearby Korean vet was, and I had no time – my early arrival to work was entirely vanished by now, and I had to leave 10 minutes ago even to make it to first hour on time. The cat would be safe enough under the bush, and I could re-evaluate after work.

I stumbled through work, teaching four classes today, grading a bunch of written assignments I had idiotically assigned thinking they’d help me (to be fair, they did), trying to write most of my final Japan post (and succeeding), and the myriad other minutiae of a day at the science high school. I flew out the door as soon as the final bell rang, bent on checking up on the little cat.

I hurried home, the 30 minute walk taking me only about 20 today, and as I came down the street to my apartment, I could breathe a sigh of relief. An adult cat, her markings matching those of the kitten more or less, looked up from the nest I had placed the little cat in. As soon as she saw me, her eyes narrowed and she sprinted a short way off, then glared at me from underneath a discarded cardboard box.

My reading had told me that this was normal behavior, and if left alone she would return to her kitten. I must have interrupted her while she was preparing to bring him to her own hideyhole. Well, mom being present was a huge relief, since it meant the cat would be taken care of and I didn’t need to find a vet. Plus, I wasn’t ready to become a father, and didn’t need the responsibility. I peeked into the nest to verify the kitten was still there and still alive, and indulged myself in a pair of photos for posterity. It’d be nice to remember him by.

• 

• 

I didn’t pet him, but left him alone and undisturbed there. After nodding to his lurking mother nearby, I made myself scarce so she could do her thing. I met with friends for dinner, but when I returned, I had a nagging sense. Before I would rest safely, I just wanted ot check in, and make sure that the nest was emptied. Beyond that, not my problem.

When I came to the nest, it was quiet. No more tiny mews, for the first time all day. I crouched down, and looked inside. Then reached inside to feel.

The little body inside was cold. A few hours, at least.

I don’t know why that hit me so hard. But it did. It hit really hard. I tried to save you, but I failed. I failed, and you died, and for that, I am sorry.

I’m sorry that you had less than 24 hours on this Earth. It’s not the best Earth ever, but it is a pretty good one, and I think you would have liked it here. I’m sorry that for that short time, all you had was me. I wouldn’t pick myself to be the only person you meet in a lifetime, but…well, I’m who you get, I guess. I’m sorry that you might have had a life, and now you will not, and part of the reason might be me.

I’m no stranger to animals dying. I have said goodbye to many pets over the years. But…they had full, long, and happy lives, for the most part. I was devastated when Sam left me two years ago, but Sam had the best life any dog could ask for, full of treats and warm beds and snuggles and love. This cat got a few moments with me, and a bush. And I know that young animals, especially strays like this one, die in droves every year. On the farm, the survival rate for litters is well below 50%. There is nothing surprising, or unexpected about this.

But dammit, for this one, I tried. But I wasn’t good enough, and for that, you get your brief life of 20 hours or so, before you join the tens of millions of other animals that die alone, unmourned, unloved, and unremembered.

But you’re not one of them. Even though it was just for a few hours, I knew you. I cared. I’m sorry you didn’t have a better savior. That you got someone who cared, but had a million other cares – finalizing the day’s lesson plan, making sure I got at least one class worth of grading done, making sure I had ingredients for the grilled cheese and Parasite night I was planning with my friends. Even the little attention you got was divided. And my attention was limited to a few Google searches, a few moments warm in my hand as I moved you to a safer space, and thoughts and prayers.

As things go, I make a somewhat shabby Messiah.

Growing up, one of my biggest influences was always Calvin and Hobbes. Calvin and Hobbes is one of those comic strips that has, I think, universal appeal – maybe the only comic strip with universal appeal. Everyone I know that has read it, loves it.

Because Calvin and Hobbes was always more than just a goofy strip to make you laugh. It was funny, yes, but Bill Waterson also had a masterful talent for making you feel, too. He could effortlessly weave his jokes in and around commentaries on modern politics, on commercialism, environmentalism, war and peace, love, the pains and joys of growing up, the importance of family and friendship, and yes, life and death.

Calvin and Hobbes helped me to grow and understand the world. It wasn’t just a newspaper strip -Waterson’s underlying personality, his worldview, built on a love of exploration and wonder in the world, a hatred of the stupid and asinine systems that corrupt us and attempt to control us, a simple joy in a well-thrown water balloon or artfully constructed snowman, largely came to be my philosophy and worldview.

When I found that little body, knew that I had failed, and was plunged unexpectedly into grief for an animal that hadn’t even existed the day before, I instantly thought of Calvin and Hobbes. Calvin went through this, too.

I agree with him. Little cat, it wasn’t very grateful of you to break my heart.

And so, little cat, this is my farewell to you. Those two pictures I snapped, and a brief, 5-second video of some of your mews, are the only records of your existence that will ever exist in this world. I am the only person you will ever meet. I wish you had gotten a better deal. I wish you had grown up, and fought with other alley cats, and explored, and learned, and had lazy mornings in the sun and late night adventures in the rain and maybe made friends with the English teacher walking by on his way to work. Sometimes life give us a raw deal. Sometimes all we get is a few hours, a hand, and a bush.

But you won’t be unremembered, or unmourned. Even if it was just for a few hours, you were here, and you were important to someone. You were important to me.

I feel terrible right now, but I am blessed that I got to be the one to know you. It was a privilege, little cat. Goodbye.

What a stupid world we live in sometimes.

PS Hug your pets today.