Creatures Great and Small

“I was not looking for another cat, but I really want that kitten,” my friend said emphatically. “He reminds me so much of my cat, Coco, and what he must have looked like when he was first born. I’ve always wondered about his beginnings since we found him – or rather, since he found us – when he was already six months old. I would dearly love to have this sweet kitten in hopes he’ll be as much of a gift as Coco has been. I believe it’s fate!”

How could I deny such a heartfelt plea? I had found this neglected red-tipped, fluffy white kitten along with his two siblings in a ditch just outside my children’s school two days prior. I was desperately looking for good homes that would provide the love and support much needed after such difficult and poor beginnings for three sweet, feline souls, and I knew my friend could provide just such a home.

“He’s feisty and still a bit frightened and skittish - maybe he’s just angry or scared. Come over tomorrow and spend a little time with him, and if you still want him after you meet him, he’s yours,” I said, knowing full well how much love and nurturing my friend would bestow on this discarded, unwanted kitten.

The next day, Cynthia arrived with her daughter in tow, both eager to meet the littlest runt of the threesome I’d rescued. After coaxing the hissing ball of fur, her daughter took him up and held him in an attempt to calm his resistance while Cynthia and I conversed in the other room. After a few minutes, she came out and declared the kitten had definitely chosen them as his new guardians for he had begun to purr and lick her nose in glorifying recognition. Cynthia turned to me and proudly announced that the same thing had occurred with Coco – he loved to lick noses as a show of appreciation. Hence, the deal was sealed, and Cynthia excitedly left with the littlest kitten safely ensconced in a blanket held within her daughter’s arms.

I continued to receive daily updates. The baby kitten, named Oliver – or Ollie – was growing and excelling in all ways, mostly with eating and playing. Cynthia relayed Ollie’s love of simulated mother’s milk and his progression to kitten pate, saying he relished every bite. While he slept a lot (as kittens are inclined to do), he loved to play and was intrigued by his older brother. Coco was also, quite surprisingly, accepting Ollie into the clan with little to no problem, as if totally aware of the little kitten’s desperate attempt to first survive while living in a ditch with nothing save discarded food like French fries. Felines have an astutely intuitive nature, and Coco, a master of such, had quickly surmised the profundity of Ollie’s dire needs.

It was nearly a week later when Cynthia called to let me know she’d had to rush Ollie to the emergency vet. She’d come home from work to find him lethargic, but more alarmingly, unwilling to eat. The emergency vet had given the kitten fluids and an antibiotic, whereupon Ollie had perked up and eagerly indulged in the can of food given. Hope prevailed that the kitten would recover.

The following day, Cynthia called to advise Ollie had relapsed, so she’d taken him again that afternoon to the vet. The finding for poor Ollie was that he was likely afflicted with FIP or Feline infectious Peritonitis. The vet advised that the disease probably had been passed on from the mother cat, but the worst news was that it was almost always fatal for kittens. Despite the diagnosis, Ollie was once again given fluids and a shot of antibiotic, as well as steroids in hopes he would improve. My friend did not sound very encouraged, however, and she had already made plans to return to the vet’s office the next day if no sign of improvement occurred during the night. Little Ollie was obviously quite sick. At any rate, Cynthia wanted to be sure I knew about the diagnosis so that I could closely watch the two siblings since I’d made a decision to keep them, unwilling to separate or give them up.

I hung up the phone and thought how unfortunate – and unfair – it seemed that a sweet, innocent kitten had suffered so much in such a brief life. I gave a prayer he’d improve though my heart told me something altogether different.

It was about nine thirty the following morning, when Cynthia called, and she was crying. I knew before she relayed what she’d called to say, what had happened. Yes, poor, sweet Ollie had worsened so much that he could not even lift his head, so the daughter had held him throughout the night in the rocking chair, carefully balancing his frail, little head with her hand until morning, at which time he’d been rushed to the vet so the right thing could be done.

Sobbing heavier, Cynthia relayed a surprising – and heartwarming - fact. While my friend had held the kitten on her chest so her daughter could dress earlier that morning, Ollie had feigned sleep. Still, much to Cynthia’s wonder, once her daughter returned and spoke in a whisper for her mother to give the kitten back, Ollie had used all his might to lift a shaking head and begun to purr so loudly that reverberations shook his slight frame. Even in the throes of despair and discomfort, the kitten had recognized the daughter’s whisper for she had become his guardian angel, and Ollie, during but a moment of grace, had striven with all his profaned strength to show her his appreciation and love.

My heart must have shattered into a million pieces at the thought of such a tiny, pathetic creature of God acknowledging a deep and newly formed bond. I realized that despite living for only a brief moment in time, and after fighting so hard to survive, Ollie had been given and also given a wondrous gift. The kitten could have died with no care, no love, and no one, lost in the depths of a dirty ditch while surrounded by remnants of discarded food and fear, and no one would have been the wiser. Instead, in less than two full weeks, Ollie had been bestowed the ultimate gift of kindness and love – and he had reciprocated the gift in kind. It was heartbreaking, and it was enough.

In a dawning new revelation, I, too, was thankful. I suddenly knew we should all be as fortunate as Ollie in the scope of our lives, no matter the duration. There was no doubt of the gifts Ollie had received, in addition to the mark and gifts he had left upon the hearts of those who had loved and cared for him.

Yes, just as my friend had declared before she’d even met little Ollie, fate had intervened while knowing Ollie’s preordained destiny. We should all be so fortunate and well-loved in our lives.

Addendum: I am delighted to say that neither of Ollie’s surviving siblings succumbed to the same dreaded disease. Thereafter, as Ollie had opened up Cynthia’s heart and left an emptiness therein, she was led to rescue (by preordained fate, I am sure) another cat with an eerily similar appearance to Ollie - just two months after Ollie’s death. Cynthia named the new cat Mr. Bingley as he was quite agreeable, pleasant, and mild-mannered, much like Jane Austen’s revered character. Mr. Bingley continues the legacies left by Ollie and Coco, who unfortunately passed on to green fields where he currently enjoys chasing birds and butterflies. Mr. Bingley lives with Cynthia where he is treated much like a king, is well-loved, fed, and cared for while enjoying a life made from the stuff of which feline dreams are derived.