Weeks ago, when I first wrote about the well-drilling fundraising project to help save a priceless small farmer in Fresno County, Will Scott, Jr., I mentioned that I was bottle-feeding a kitten when I got the call. (Be sure to see 3 entries, below, about this important project!) At the time, it seemed like a perfect coincidence: there I was, doing something that makes my heart soft and tender when the heart-opportunity of a lifetime arrived, just in time to keep my mind from jumping off a bridge.
Over the weeks since then, it has
seemed less of a coincidence. There
seems to be a high correlation between tending little Pipsqueak and his
siblings from the late-harvest litter born in my backyard, and getting another
call for the next step in rescuing Will.
I don’t pretend to understand it, but I think my observations are
reliable.
One of the deep joys of shepherding
kittens is to watch them play. At this
moment, on a sunny November morning, this little family of five is hard at work
playing, learning everything from the art of sneak attacks to
escape via the grapevine, guided by Yoda and Chipmunk, the two surviving kittens from
the spring litter. It’s like watching a
soccer match or basketball game, they move that fast. But there’s no winning or losing team. My heart cheers as I see each one grow in
competence.
I didn’t expect Yoda or Chipmunk to
survive: their six siblings were taken early by a bad respiratory virus
following a cold spring rain. So I
simply tried to make them comfortable, washing the pus from their eyes and mucus
their noses twice a day and feeding them the best food I could afford, hoping
my snuggling would comfort them, if not help boost their immune systems. When I finally realized they weren’t dying, I
took them to our beautiful vet Jamie Wilson, got them the shots they needed,
got them neutered to slow down their straying, and now they’re healthy
teenagers taking babysitting duty regularly.
What I truly learned this summer,
however, was that they were helping me survive.
Every time a wave of despair threatened to sink my ship, I’d be drawn
away from that mental state by their needs.
Did they have enough water?
Better go check. Is there shade
where they’re sleeping, or are they cooking in the sun? I kept a syringe in a jar of electrolyte
solution on the porch, and more than once pulled them back from the brink of
dehydration and death. But monitoring
their condition kept me from sweltering in mine.
Then I began to notice other ways I
was being rescued. Re-united with an old
friend whose late-life divorce is pending and who I thought needed my company
daily via the telephone, I saw that we were helping each other anchor in
reality and grow in acceptance of self as well as the world. What appeared as deathly darkness at the beginning
of this year has turned to health-restoring light. Ending each day talking with Pam has made the
beginning of the next one seem more plausible, even hopeful.
In our culture, our Thanksgiving
traditions mostly focus on celebrating all the good things we’ve been given
through the year, and truly, no one in this world is without blessing of some
kind. But not everyone can see
that. Sometimes the gifts come in
badly-wrapped packages, looking like time bombs or terrorist attacks. Sometimes they seem like a case of bad
karma. To most people, having litters of
kittens born in your back yard seems like trouble or even outright
irresponsibility, and having tried unsuccessfully to prevent it, I confess I
wasn’t exactly overjoyed when these litters arrived.
But this thanksgiving I’m thanking
God for this life-giving intimacy with kittens and old friends, for the
revelation that in rescuing others we rescue ourselves. May your blessings be easy to count and your
turkey done to perfection. Thanks for listening to me all this year!
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Trudy
Wischemann is a feline shepherdess and rural advocate who also writes to fend
off despair. You can send her your rescue
recipes c/o P.O. Box 1374, Lindsay CA 93247 or leave a
comment below.
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