"Just a Wee Thing: A Cat's True Tale"
by gayla mills
My new mom calls me Mischief, but I think I'll wait a bit before telling you why.
I first began noticing the world when I turned three weeks. That was also the day they took me in with my two brothers, the day I thought I would die from being so hungry and weak. Don't know if I ever had a mama, but I sure didn't have one now.
I couldn't see much, and I couldn't stop coughing, and I was shivering with cold. Was I ever ready to go back to the womb! Then I heard the voices talking. "Pebbles has milk but no babies. Maybe she'll let them suckle her." Next thing I know, there's this warm tongue licking me all over, and then I found the nipple. Mmmm. Ambrosia. Honey-scented warmth. Food.
The weeks ahead were filled with new delights. One brother had opened his eyes and became an excellent target for practicing my new swatting skills. I discovered a large plant in the room with soil that was perfect for burying my wastes. And the people working at their desks were entertaining. So were their machines. Every morning someone would cry out "My keyboard's been disconnected again!" The SPCA provided me with all sorts of opportunities like that.
Twice a day I had to put up with them lifting me from the ground--up, up, up-and then squirting stuff down my throat. But finally my cough stopped, though it took weeks. One of my brothers wasn't so lucky. He was so sick that one day they took him away, and I didn't see him again. But my other brother got better and better-so good, in fact, that it became hard to beat him up. But he's still a good cuddler, and is always up for a game of let's-race-up-the-curtains.
Pebbles was a good foster mom. She let us drink her milk all the time, even when we were being pests. She shared her canned food when we were ready, and taught us not to bite too hard. She showed us the proper toilet ("Not the plant," she admonished) and told us when our play got too rough. She was used to the streets and told us all about how tough life could be. "I think you're better off in a home," she said. "They'll feed you and give you a nice bed and play games with you. You don't want to be out living the hard life like I did. That's why someone brought me here-so I could find a real family to care for me too."
Let me tell you, my brother and I lucked out. This great lady had just been hired at the SPCA who hadn't had time yet to get any pets. Everybody else who works there has a full house. She fell in love with us (I'm sure she loves me a bit more than my brother) and decided to have us join her family.
That's where the mischief part comes in. I thought the whole idea behind living in a house was that you got to explore everything. She has this big lounge chair she likes to kick back in, so one day I dove in to investigate. I dove and dove, and pretty soon I was done diving and ready to come out. No way. So I cried piteously for a while, which I had learned from experience was an effective strategy, and finally they came to help. The problem was, I had done such an excellent job of exploration, that they had to take apart a good chunk of the chair to get me out. So ever since then, it's been "Mischief" for me.
That's my story. I'm sure glad that Pebbles agreed to share her milk with us and the SPCA people did so much too. Now I get to live with one of them forever and always get the inside scoop on what all the cats and dogs are up to. Maybe they'll even let me go back and visit sometimes, if I promise to be good. Heh.