Grady, Kitley, Smokey, Taffy, Bailey, Cleo, Smudge, Jazzy, Sadie, Babette, Daphne, Mama, Button, Monty, Skeeter, Beaudie, Shadow, Rollie, Velvet, Lady, Oreo, Ebony, Peppy, and Libby. There's Laddie too. (Okay, he's a dog, but the cats who've known him don't seem to mind; they just think he's a big, funny-looking cat.) They all adopted me, sometimes one at a time and sometimes in a group, over a period of three decades, and each one has a story to tell. At one time we were one big happy family – only a dozen at most at one time but everybody got along. Well, mostly – you know how cats can be. By the way, my name is Deb. I'm the human they've allowed to live in their house. Grady is a classic example – our feline family's grande dame – which, out of respect, is why she's listed first. This story begins with her.
One brisk autumn day I was on my front porch taking in the newspaper when I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye. I saw her then – a rather straggly-looking long-haired gray cat moving almost purposefully down the road toward my house. I called her by her species' generic name (“Kitty”) and she stopped, sat down, and stared at me. I told her what a pretty cat she was (cats don't care when you're not quite telling the truth; it's the tone of voice that matters). She sat there just looking at me for quite a while, until she finally decided I looked harmless enough, whereupon she came closer, but not too close. It was then that I noticed the bulging tummy.
“Where do you come from, girl?” I asked. She blinked then, maybe a little embarrassed. “Come on, gray lady,” I coaxed her. And eventually she did at least come to the porch. But if I took a step toward her, she got that fight-or-flight look in her eyes and the muscles tensed for action. Not wanting to force the issue, I just put some food and water under the porch steps and left her to it. Within a few days she would actually let me touch her head, but if I reached closer, she'd back away.
“Somebody hasn't treated you very well,” I told her. She just gave me a wide-eyed green stare, blinked, and went back to eating.
A couple of weeks later she disappeared, and I knew that somewhere she was bringing kittens into the world. I'd made a place for her in the shed next to the house, but something evidently startled her and she never came back to it. Then one bright sunny day, I noticed that one of my other cats on his back porch perch was intently staring at something outside. When I looked toward a neighbor's wood pile, I saw first one tiny head, then another, pop up and disappear like fuzzy little jack-in-the-boxes. I counted five, and my heart sank, because my neighbor isn't the cat lover I am.
After a restless night, the very next morning, perhaps a little earlier than my usual routine began, I followed my dog, Laddie, to the back porch to let him out and, as was also my custom, I glanced out at the back steps before opening the door. By then, “gray lady” had become “Grady” and there she sat, not alone but surrounded by five tiny, furry, mewing bundles, all hopping and cavorting around her while she just stared up at me as if to say, “Okay, I've done my part, now it's your turn.” For a few seconds I couldn't believe my eyes. This skinny little momma had managed to jump over a 4-foot chain link fence and carry each baby, one at a time, to what she must have thought was safety.
Well, she was right. Instead of letting Laddie into the back yard, I walked him out front to do his morning business; then I turned my attention to our six new house guests. The 'kids' were still playing close to mom on the back steps. The first problem was how to get them into the house. It proved to be a snap.
I simply opened the door, said, “Okay, amazing little Grady, come on in,” and in she trotted, with the kittens scampering after her. Within a few seconds all were safely ensconced on my back porch, and for the next few weeks that's where they lived, ate, played, and learned to use the litter box. By six weeks, they were ready to leave the nest. Despite their less-than-ideal beginning, they grew into very pretty young cats. Eventually, we found homes for all five, but Grady stayed with us for a good, long, pampered life.
I've learned something from each of the animals I've adopted, but none more so than Grady. She was patient, resourceful, and trusting (after she'd been given good reason to be). She took responsibilities seriously, never abdicating the privilege of motherhood until it was time for her children to be on their own, at which time she let go with confidence, grace, and just the right measure of motherly insistence. And finally, Grady taught me that no matter what has happened in the past, the future can still hold wonderfully pleasant surprises...if you choose carefully where to put your trust.
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