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Every summer it seemed that I acquired more cats as people dropped them off on the road next to my country house. On summer was worse than usual.
����������Two very pregnant cats were abandoned to my care. They both had their litters, only days apart. One mother was subsequently hit by a car, and the other one was missing. The fat red fox that lived in the woods was the most likely culprit.
����������The first litter had been moved, by their mother, into my garage before she was killed. I enjoyed watching those kittens venture out into the soothing warm rays of the sun -- their chubby bodies wobbled and tumbled.
����������But I was absolutely heartsick about the other litter. � � Where on earth were they? Their mother had not brought them to the
house before she disappeared, and I had no idea where they were. The thought of them starving, while waiting for her return, was more than I could bear.
����������I spent hours over a two day period combing the thick brush that surrounded the house. Every few feet I would strain my ears listening for the faintest sound. And each day I would return with twigs in my hair, empty handed, and dejected.
����������At the end of the last search, I found myself sitting on a fallen log with my head in my hands crying softly. I had tried everything to find them. I had to accept defeat.
����������I was fiercely protective of the other kittens since I was the only "parent" they had. I moved them from the garage to the safety of my bathtub -- the four hungry babies demanded bottle feedings every two hours. I was running low on formula and had to make an emergency run to the vet's office before they closed.
��������When I pulled into the yard at supper time I could hear the racket before I had even opened the truck door.
����������"What the..."
����������I jumped out and stood stock still, turning my head slowly from side to side. There it was again. It was then that I saw them. Down by the barn, in the warm reddish light of the setting sun, stood two tiny kittens. They were so small that the grass was nearly as tall as they were. The orange striped kitty was the one making all of the noise. Her tawny colored sister was pressed tightly against her and silent. They were so young that their eyes were barely open. The orange kitten was meowing with a volume that defied her size. Her little body was completely rigid from the effort, and her tail stood stiffly at attention.
����������I slowly started toward them, tears of relief slipping unchecked from my eyes. "Well now. There you are. I've been looking for you."
��������Her cries continued unabated, but at the sound of my voice she began moving towards me. Her sister hung back, uncertain. Although she had never seen a human before, the cries of the other propelled her paws reluctantly forward. There was no hesitation from the orange kitten. She moved to me with determined steps and strong yowls. She was going to be found and that was that.
����������Finally she was close enough to be encircled by my hands. When I lifted her up, she never missed a beat. We both continued to cry as I tucked her under the safety of my chin, then reached for her sister.
����������As we walked to the house I had already decided on her name. I was going to call her Sam I Am. Every fiber in her being had screamed out to me, "I am! I am! I am!" Her sister was dubbed Miss Mouse. I have often reflected upon the courage displayed by that small kitten. Any predator in the yard could have found her just as easily as I did, but she was willing to take that chance. She was willing to put it all on the line to find a home and the love she deserved. And when someone finally did come she went forth in trust, without hesitation or fear, into the loving arms that awaited her.
��������Perhaps every once in awhile we all need to cry out, "I am! I am! I am!" You never know who might be out there looking for you.
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