Two Coins for Kitty

Ours

A year and a half ago, our neighbors left for about 6 months. When they left they forgot one of their cats, which we grew to call momma kitty. While they were gone she had a little of seven kittens. At first she kept them over at their house, and she would sometimes venture over to our house to get food.

One day my mom heard a dog growling and barking outside. She went out and found that the dog had attacked one of the kittens. He was completely black, and had his leg torn up pretty bad, but not much else. We took him to the vet and brought him inside for a month, until he was able to walk normally again. From then on his behavior was different from his brothers and sisters.

Momma Kitty brought the rest of her kittens over to our house and we fed them all waiting for Momma Kitty's owners to get back. Well we fed them so long they became our cats, because the original owners were strangers to them by the time they came back. We called them all by their color. Black and orange kitty, Orange Kitty, Grey Kitty, and so on. But the one we took care of we always just referred to as Ours.

He was the perfect cat. He never fought, he was calm, gentle, and the only thing he ever wanted was attention. I'd go outside and give them some turkey or some left over food and I'd always give him a bigger chunk than the rest, because he meant more. I'd always go outside and sit in one of the lawn chairs and he would jump into my lap and just sit there while I pet him.

After almost a year, the cats started to act like adults, and not just kittens anymore. Two of the females got pregnant and the smallest of the black kittens became somewhat of an alpha male. He ran all the rest of the cats of, except for the two females. Ours could have easily taken him, but since he was shown so much more affection as a kitten, he never fought, he just ran away. He kept trying to come back to the house after that. He knew where home was, but if I wasn't outside to keep the Little Black one from being a dick, he'd just chase him off.

Before I went to Oregon this time, I hadn't seen him in a couple weeks. I just assumed that he had found a new home, or someone else started feeding him. Then when we got home, the next day he showed up. Only he had some very deep wounds on his back and legs. He was very skinny, but it looked like he was keeping the wounds clean so they could heal. I took him some tuna three days ago, a hot dog two days ago, and last night a hotdog again, but this time he wouldn't eat.

The wounds were infected, and he was dying. The last two nights I laid outside with him on the ground petting him, trying to ease any suffering he may have been having. I honestly expected him to die last night while we were at Wal-Mart, but when we got back, he was gone. I got mad at the Little Black cat just out of bitterness I guess, even though it was only his instincts that caused it all to happen.

This morning my mom went to give blood and he was laying out in this dip in the ground he had been sleeping in. By the time she came back he had died. I thought I'd be very upset, but I'm kind of glad now, because I know he's not in any more pain. The last couple nights I had been upset sometimes though.

The ironic thing is when we got back, and I saw how Bitty wasn't doing much better, I told Korey if anything happened to Bitty I was going to bring Ours inside finally and he could be our new inside cat. I wish we could have found him a home, and I wish I could have done anything to make his death not take 4 days of suffering. I can't help but feel sorry for all of it. At least he got to die at his home. At least I came home in time to sit with him and show him he was loved.