Finding Sherlock

I was at the office when the phone rang. Little did I know that I was about to take a call that would change my life.

“You have to come home. Now.”

Hearing the urgency in my roommates’s voice I said, “Why? Is the apartment on fire?”

“No, the mama cat is dead. The exterminator just killed her.”

“What? How? Why?” I said, beginning to get pissed.

“He sprayed some chemical in her face. She vomited green stuff, then died.”

“Are you sure?”

“I just checked. She’s dead.”

———————

My roommate and I had been taking care of our neighborhood cats for years. We fed them, took them to the vet for their shots, and generally looked after them as best we could. Recently, we had noticed the neighborhood mother cat had come to our apartments from the graveyard across the way.

It turns out that she had birthed a litter of kittens on the roof of the building. The roof was an outdoor private event space that had plants, chairs and the like in a covered area. The mama cat had gone behind one of the planters and delivered five

little kittens a few days ago.

“Okay, I’m on my way.” I said, hanging up the phone.

When I arrived home my roommate and I took the elevator to the roof. The five kittens were still there, unharmed. They were so new their eyes had not yet opened.

“What do we do?” my roommate said.

“We bring them down to our place, get them healthy and then place them as best we can” I said. “What else can we do?”

Over the next few days, we took the kittens to the vet to get them checked out and to figure out what to do for them. The vet said every kitten was healthy, gave us some KMR and a syringe and told us how to administer it.

“Make sure to mix the KMR with some warm water, draw it up into the syringe, and then put it in their mouth and slowly depress the plunger. Don’t get the water too hot, though. You don’t want to burn their mouths.” he said, showing us out. “Keep that up for the next couple of weeks then come back, and we’ll figure out the next steps. Oh, and: they’re really cute.”

I had to agree with the vet. There was one black kitten, one white kitten and the rest were gray. Each kitten was small enough to fit in the palm of your hand, and their teeth were sharp as little razors (I had already discovered that, much to my chagrin). Their faces were altogether as peaceful and sweet as you could imagine.

As the days passed and turned into weeks, the black and one of the gray kittens stood out as having the finest personalities of the bunch. Since the black kitten was always exploring the house and sniffing everything, I named her Sherlock. The gray kitten became Watson because it was always following Sherlock everywhere.

Sherlock took every chance she could to find a place near me. Her favorite thing to do was to be at my feet while I was watching television. She would often look up at me with her soulful eyes, as if she were trying to see what was going on in my head.

My roommate and I let it be known throughout the apartment complex we had kittens for adoption. Pretty soon, the number had dwindled from five to two — Sherlock and Watson. It was time to decide.

“What are we going to do with Sherlock and Watson?” my roommate asked one day.

“I was thinking that Watson could be placed with someone.”

“And Sherlock?”

By this point, I had bonded with Sherlock and it seemed that she had bonded with me. Well, if her snuggling up near me was any indication.

“I’m keeping Sherlock.” I said. “She’ll fit right in with our other cats.”

And so it was.

Fast forward a year. Sherlock has been integrated with our cats for a while, and a new cat has appeared on the scene: Midnight. He’s a big tom cat that has been coming around for food for a while at (you guessed it) midnight. During the winter months, I put out a heated cat condo for him to live in during the inclement times; he loved it. My roommate and I are presuming that he’ll probably be our next addition to the cat family. First, however, we have to get him inside.

So we hatch a plan to lure him inside with food. The first few times, we leave the door to the outside open, but with the screen closed. This seems okay by Midnight, and he even plays with our cats some.

The cat who shows the most interest in Midnight? Sherlock, of course. She always seems happier when he comes by, and they have fun leaping from surface-to-surface in a display of cat acrobatics that leaves some furniture tipped over, but otherwise unharmed.

During one of these acrobatic sessions, Sherlock is showing off and misses a jump. Do you imagine cats don’t feel embarrassment? Don’t believe it. As soon as she missed that jump, Sherlock glanced at Midnight, then slunk away with her tail literally between her legs. If that isn’t a recation of embarrassment, I don’t know what is.

One day my roommate comes up with an idea.

“Why don’t we find out if Midnight wants to come in and play with Sherlock while we go shopping?”

“Do you think that will be okay? We’ve never left them alone before.”

“Sure, as long as we only close the screen door.”

About a month later, I ask my roommate, “Is Sherlock getting fat?”. I had noticed my usually svelte cat had expanded out to the sides.

“She looks it.” my roommate said. “Let’s take her to the vet and see what he says.”

A word is in order here. When Midnight came to visit Sherlock, he had been the vet once to make sure he was healthy before introducing him to the other cats. Sherlock had been to the vet for shots and such but had never been spayed; the vet had said some things that made me think it was better to leave her intact.

“Good news about Sherlock. She’s not fat.” the vet says. “So why has she expanded?” I say. The vet says “Come here and feel. Feel that movement? She’s pregnant.”

Midnight had an enjoyable visit with Sherlock, all right. A delightful visit!

The months pass and Sherlock is still pregnant. One night while I am in bed I hear a strong, piercing sound I immediately identify as Sherlock's voice. I’m up and out of bed immediately.

Looking around, I find Sherlock on the floor of my closet. Five other tiny beings surround her, all with their eyes closed.

I go to wake my roommate. “Sherlock had her kittens!” I say. “Come see.”

Sherlock has had five kittens! They all have their umbilical cords still hanging from their bodies. A quick call to the vet, and we have been instructed those cords should fall off by themselves; we’re also given a method for removing the cords with dental floss if we want to remove them sooner. The vet has put an appointment on his books to look at the kittens (each of which was born with the cold Sherlock had contracted during pregnancy) and give us some more KMR.

Sherlock has now come full circle. We rescued her as a helpless kitten who needed love and a home. Now, she’s had five kittens of her own. Watching her lick each of them clean, I’m proud of her.

———————

I rescued Sherlock from the roof of my apartment complex over eighteen years ago now. In addition to Sherlock, I also adopted Midnight. Of Sherlock’s five kittens, I decided to keep one with her and place the rest. That kitten was my little girl Prissy. One day I’ll have to tell Prissy’s story.

We’ve all moved several times since my roommate and I went our separate ways. During one of the moves, Sherlock let me know that she was massively unhappy. I had leaned a piece of art against a wall while moving. Sherlock staked that out as her new “home” and wouldn’t come out and socialize for a while.

What she did do is this: nightly she would stroll back to my bedroom and jump up on the bed. She would then crawl right up to my face, hiss at me, jump off the bed and go straight back to skulking behind the artwork.

She got over it. Eventually.

Life has gone on. My wife and I lost Prissy several years ago to intestinal cancer. Midnight followed afterwards with kidney issues.

Sherlock is still with me, though. Despite some issues that occur in many elderly cats, she still gets up daily ready for food and love. Her favorite time of day is when she sits between my wife and me, soaking up all the petting she can take.

I hope that will continue for a long time.