The kitten had been hiding under my neighbors' shed for three days. Nobody knew where he came from.
No one had seen him. We just heard him crying.
I live on Hill Street, a side street that intersects the busy Los Alamos Highway. Kittens occasionally appear in the parking lot of the restaurant on the corner. Michael, my next door neighbor, thinks people dump them. Last year, my daughter found Punky, (or, if you listen to her, Sid Vicious) in the parking lot.
Cute kitty pix follow!
Punky and Tuesday
"Mom!" I heard Chloe yelling one cold, December, Saturday. The door slammed behind her. Girls giggled and feet galumphed noisily into the study leaving a trail of mud on my freshly washed floor.
Chloe's friends Maggie-and-Gabby had just dropped her off. Maggie-and-Gabby are twins. They're always together. I've known them since they were three. The twins' Mom wouldn't spay her cat. As a consequence, Maggie-and-Gabby were always seeking homes for their charges.
"MyOW!" cried an eight week old kitten. She was a gray ball of fuzz in my daughters' arms. I glared at Chloe, thinking she and Maggie-and-Gabby were trying to sucker me into sneaking another one of their kittens into my home. My husband, an ultra-runner, sees no point in animals who can't pack their own food while accompanying him on the trail. He's a firm woozle man. Hence, previous efforts to smuggle the twins' kittens involved copious amounts of intrigue and truth-twisting.
Like the time we brought home Tuesday. Chloe and I spent hours coaching Ben to say we had found the kitten on the side of the road. "Guess what Daddy!" he burbled helpfully. "We found her by the side of the road and her name was Tuesday!"
Eventually, the uncanny resemblence between Tuesday and Ben helped me convince Richard to overlook our pro-pootie household conspiracy.
"Look what suddenly appeared in the parking lot of the Rio Grande Cafe!" Chloe exclaimed.
"No, REALLY" Gabby protested when I snorted my skepticism. "It's not a trick! We did find it in the cafe parking lot! It ran right up to us! It was making a racket!"
"MyOW!" cried de cute wittwe pootie. Of course I just had to hold her.
"Your father is never going to fall for that one a second time," I grumbled. "You'll have to invent a new story."
"But I really did find her in the parking lot!"
"MyOW!" cried the pootie again.
Thursday Evening a Kitten Appears
And now, a year and a half later, the same plaintive voice came from under the neighbor's garden shed.
"That sounds like Sid," observed Chloe.
"Yes it does," I answered. "MyOW!" I called to the cat.
"MyOW!" answered the cat.
"MyOW!" called Punky rubbing herself against my leg.
I ran into the house to grab a can of tuna. "Whatever you're commiserating with under that shed is not moving into our house," my husband warned me.
"Don't worry," I reassured him halfheartedly. "I'm just trying to get it to come out."
When I returned to the shed with tuna and evaporated milk, I found Dale on all fours, peeking under the shed. "I can't get it out," he said.
I handed him the bowls. "Maybe this will help." We scattered offerings and then backed up, meowing. Dale and I meowed to the cat. The cat meowed back. It didn't come out.
Eventually, I gave up and went home for the night.
In the morning, most of the tuna and milk were gone. Michael was outside the shed meowing. "If we can coax it out, we'll keep it," he promised.
"I'll see if I can get a trap from animal control," I offered. "I work for the County. It should be easy." Michael and Dale had set out a carrier but the cat didn't seem impressed.
When I got to work, I called David Gasca in animal control looking for a cat trap. He didn't answer. I called Tommy Gurule with the City. "All my traps are out," Tommy informed me. "Sorry."
Up a Tree
I got home at 9:00 that evening. Michael and Dale were out in their yard meowing at the shed again. The shed meowed back. I joined in the chorus.
Michael, Dale and I moved away. The meowing became louder. A cute little face peeked out at us. "Let's catch him!" Michael decided. He took off after the kitten. It streaked toward the street.
I tottered around the other side of Michael's cottage, as fast as high heels would carry me blocking off the route to the street. I reached the tree seconds after the tiny feline felon dashed to freedom. Now he was stuck. "MyOW!" he cried.
Another neighbor came out. "Need a flashlight?" he offered. "I'm gonna go get a ladder," I told Michael. By now, Jose, a twelve year old boy living in a house up the street, emerged, drawn by the activity. "I can climb the tree if you get your ladder," he said.
"I'll bring Ben, too," I told him. Michael and Dale had set out some cat food and gone inside.
I ran home and dragged Ben out of a sound sleep. "Ma-aa!" he complained. "If you just put out cat food it'll come down. I was sleeping!"
"Yeah, but then it will run under the shed again. We have to catch him. Michael and Dale said they'd take him. He's the cutest little thing!" Ben is fourteen. He towers over me. He's really good at climbing trees.
When we arrived at the tree the sky had grown completely dark. Jose's seventeen year old brother, Edgar, had joined him and was perusing the tree. "Here's a ladder," I informed Edgar.
The kitten had climbed into the highest branches of the tree. Ben and Jose held the ladder while Edgar ascended. He reached the kitten. "I can't get down while I'm holding the cat," he shouted.
Ben climbed into the tree, took the kitten from Edgar and relayed it to Jose who stood on the ladder. Jose handed the kitten to me. The boys came down from the tree. We knocked on Michael and Dale's door. Jose handed them the kitten.
"MyOW!" it cried.