The Kitty

The Kitty

I was at the crest of the hill on my right foot, left leg resting on the bike's crossbar, turning back to look down the hill behind. What could they possibly be doing? Kirk stood below at the roadside talking to his mother...not the least interested in pedaling. It has been a while. I whistled. When they looked up, I gave them the “Wagons Ho” arm signal. I had made two mistakes. They beckoned to me.
Pinky was leaning down by the back wheel of her bike. Red faced angry, she stood and shouted through cupped hands, "Dammit, come back down here."
Uh Oh! Broken spoke, maybe a flat. They must need the tools. When I reached them I saw the towel lined cardboard box with the tire marks, one corner crushed. A few feet away was a dead brown calico kitten. Kirk was holding the loudly meowing 3 ounce brother in his left hand. He was an orange brown calico kitty. He was reaching out desperately with his forepaws. He was skinny but surprisingly vigorous. His green eyes were huge. He had a loud husky voice. Everything about him was cute, from his tiny perfect pink nose down to his miniature bung. Kirk tucked the kitty under his chin. He quieted. Cat and boy closed their eyes. The kitty was covered with hungry red ants that had already been working on his brother. Pinky and Kirk meticulously pinched the ants out of his fur one by one.
"Poor baby. Who could do this to you?" Pinky asked the hungry kitten.
"Looks like a drive by toss out," Kirk added in disgust.
"I guess it’s cheaper than getting a cat fixed." I said. "It's hard to kill babies and easier to dump them. Finders keepers, finders weepers."
"How can we get him home?" Pinky asked.
"You can save the kitty. But don't bring it home." I said.
She ignored me.
I had to dig my feet on this one. I didn’t want another cat. I knew I could not let the cat in the house or it would stay forever.
There are no limits for Pinky. All things turn out well, for lucky Pink. Buy more. Do more. Go more. Save more. Well, that is mostly for me, the worry wart. Her answer is always, "Yes." Trip to France--sign us up. A dog for Kirk--what every boy needs. New house--we need something new in our lives. Retire--no worries, go ahead on it. Another kitty--sure. Somebody will take care everything. I want the responsibilities and time limits up front.
"He's a survivor," she said. "Look at this little guy screaming at us. We can't leave him."
"How do we carry him," Kirk asked.
"Diane will take him for the barn. Dennis and Dimity like cats. Maybe Pam would take him. Somebody will."
"Bring a stray cat to a friend. Diane might love you. But she won't like that."
"He is cute," said Kirk.
"We can keep him while I find him a home," Pinky said, partly bravado partly pleading.
"Oh no."
"We might as well kill him," Kirk mumbled.
"It might be better than being eaten alive by red ants," I said.
"I'm not leaving him here," Pinky said.
"If you take him home, he's not coming in the house." I was adamant. "He can stay in the truck. If he doesn't have a home by Monday, I'll take him to the shelter."
"Just one more cat. What's it going to hurt? "
"No more kitties." I said emphatically.
"You ladle out another cup of food in the morning. How hard is that?
"Blackjack and Kecia would just as soon not have company."
"So you love each kitty. And after two, that love is all used up? Does it come in packages or something...Give this kitty one package and there won't be enough love for Blackjack and Kecia? Come on."
"And when do we stop? We have more than enough cats. They shredded the chair in the bedroom. They bring in dead animals. You were ready to get rid of Blackjack because he sheds."
"Responsibility. Hooey. You whining. You'll fall in love with the Kitty, just like you did in Fairbanks." Then she thought...and continued, "That's it. Isn't it? What you're really worried about is that you'll care."
"In Fairbanks, the neighbors' dogs killed my kitty," I nodded. "I should be able to choose...choose if I'm going to be this kitty's daddy."
"Here we go. A right to life discussion." Kirk rolled his eyes back.
"Right," she said to Kirk. Then she muttered to herself, "Get a grip. Its just a cat. We have to do something."
"There's a house right there. Looks like they're gone." I pointed to the top of the hill where I had been waiting. “Pass it on, no pass back.”
"We could get a box at the Day Creek Store."
"It's about eight miles up the road."
"We could leave him on that porch."
"Not too different than dumping him on the road," said Kirk.
"Right. We could come back with a box and if he's still here we'll take him home and figure something out."
"Three days in the truck then the pound." I would not be ignored.
"At the pound they get three days. Then they suck em...a vacuum chamber" Kirk was petting his new kitty.
"Kill him or keep him, or dump him, are the only solutions. The dump is easiest."
Pinky was on her way up the drive way with a plan. No answer came for the doorbell. She put the kitty down on the porch, and ran back to the bikes. Step one was in place.
Then it was bike trip as usual, to Day Creek where there was one cinder block store, no bar, and a white one room church with a gray shake roof. At the Day Creek Grocery, we bought red licorice and Hawaiian punch. And there was a box of pears on the picnic table out in front with a sign saying "Free, Take One". They sat in the sun, sweated, ate, and drank. We watched pickups roll up to the gas pump and disgorge dirty tired loggers wearing broad red suspenders buttoned into high-water levis , zipper-neck shirts with tiny vertical black and white stripes, and cork boots only partly covered by shredded midcalf pant legs. The trucks ran on gas, the men on beer...about the same mileage, judging by the cases they carried out of the store. We watched Billy, the owner’s son, put his new BMX Rockhopper two through its paces.
“Hi, “ Pinky said.
“I’m five,” he said.
“I’ll bet he would like a kitty,” I said.
“No Kitty,” his mother said from behind the cash register. She was the cash cow at her house I think.
“My sister is in school. She is in first grade.”
“Do you have a small cardboard box we can have to carry the kitty we found on the road?”
Kirk asked.
“I think so, check just outside that back door,” the mom said.
Kirk went followed the instructions and came back with a box.
Billy had ridden several times around the gas pumps circling the fueling pickups.
“She takes her lunch,” he continued his report on his sister.
We got the box fixed to the rack with a bungie cord and were mounting our bikes. “Thanks for the box,” we called to mom, who waved.
As we started back, Billy closed with: “I’m five, and I go to school next year.”
When we passed the yellow house going back, the kitty was exactly where Pinky had left him an hour before, on the porch, nobody home. He recognized us, with desperation in his eyes and forepaws outstretched. Kirk picked him up. We tried to give him water from a cupped hand. No. So into the box he went, and strapped to the rack. The box rattled vigorously, amplifying the vibration of Kirk's bike. The back seat driver complained stridently and continuously. .
"I'll meet you guys back home," Kirk said. "I'm going to push a little harder this last fifteen miles."
Kirk was training for his upcoming triathlon.
"Go for it. Introduce him to Blackjack and Kecia," Pinky said.
"Put him in the truck." I said.
Pinky and I leisurely cruised back. We made one stop to put on rain gear for a light shower. Rain was dripping from the helmets into our eyes and into our cold squishy shoes. We ate one of our free pears. Then Pinky found satisfactory cover, went in to the bushes, and returned relieved. The sun reappeared.
As we pushed our bikes to the road, Pinky asked, "What do you think he'll do?"
"What do you mean?"
"About his dilemma."
"Dilemma?"
"I want him to take the kitty in... keep the cat. You want him to put the kitty in the truck...take him to the pound. Which will Kirk do?"
"I told him to leave the kitty outside."
"Right.” That’s the old bull trumpeting to the herd. “The kitty will be inside."
"Better not be," I huffed, falling for the bait
"Oh, relax. It will be fine," she dismissed me –smiling her disbelief.

We arrived home, a little stiff, and began putting their bicycles away. Kirk was conspicuously absent.
"Shouldn't he be here?" Pinky asked.
"I would have thought."
There was nothing to do but go into the house. Pinky went in. I rolled up the hose while we waited for Kirk. Pinky was at the front door when he rode up the driveway.
"Where is the kitty?" Pinky asked anxiously.
"That's why I'm late. I took care of the kitty," Kirk said.
"Good for you," Duff said, relieved.
"Where's my kitty?" Pinky intervened.
"Taken care of," Kirk said.
"Did you turn him loose?"
Kirk smiled at his mom.
"What happened?"
"Solved" He said enigmatically.
"What did you do?" she asked anxiously.
"Oh, relax. It will be fine." Kirk repeated her earlier taunting reassurance to me. Teenagers pick right up on the buttons to push.
"Kirk!" Pinky yelled smiling.
Were there limited resources for cats, or were the limits as boundless as love?
"Pinky. I don't think he's going to tell."