Summary

The author shares a personal story about adopting an orange kitten named Fenton from a shelter and the profound impact he had on their life, leading to a series of life changes and a deep bond with the family.

Abstract

The narrative begins with the author's initial encounter with cats through Yaffa, a Himalayan with temperament issues, who was later given a more suitable home. The turning point came when the author, intending to find a white cat for a friend, was captivated by a medium-haired orange kitten among a litter of five found abandoned. This kitten, Fenton, quickly became a beloved member of the family, forming a strong attachment to the author's boyfriend, Marty, and later to the author's growing family and even a Boxer dog. Fenton's resilience and adaptability were evident through multiple moves and life changes. Despite his tragic start, Fenton lived a healthy and happy life until his peaceful passing in the family's basement. The story underscores the special qualities of orange cats and the joy they bring to their owners' lives, as exemplified by the author's current treasured pet, Skye, a pure white cat.

Opinions

The author believes that orange kittens have a unique charm that can instantly captivate a person's heart.
There is a strong sentiment that pets, particularly cats like Fenton, can become integral parts of one's family and life story.
The author suggests that sometimes, giving a pet a new home can be in the best interest of the animal, as was the case with Yaffa.
Fenton is portrayed as an exceptional cat due to his loving nature, adaptability, and the deep connections he formed with human and canine family members alike.
The author reflects on the lessons learned from Fenton's death, emphasizing the importance of respect and the opportunity it provided for the children to understand the concept of loss.
A personal conviction is expressed about the extraordinary nature of orange cats, while also acknowledging the unique value of cats of all colors.

Five Kittens Were Left Hungry and Abandoned Near the Road

I was fortunate to raise one of them.

I don’t think it’s possible not to be smitten by an orange kitten. There’s something about them that draws you in and melts your heart. At least that was my experience when I innocently showed up at the shelter over twenty-five years ago to have a look. I was there to view “for a friend.” Fenton and I met, and our lives were never the same.

The story actually begins with Yaffa, my two-year-old Himalayan. I bought her from a run-of-the-mill lady passing herself off as a breeder, but to be honest, she was merely a woman whose cat had kittens. She knew nothing about genetics. If all she was selling was adorability, she scored a ten out of ten, but Yaffa turned out to have temperament issues that made her difficult to love.

I bought her when I lived with my mother, but as circumstances changed, we all moved in with a family member, and Yaffa’s nasty presence became more pronounced. She was aloof and unlovable. My family was unfamiliar with the joys of pet ownership. Yaffa's lack of appeal was giving owning a cat a bad name.

As life rolled on, I found myself moving out on my own into a temporary residence that didn’t allow animals. I can’t remember why I chose such an uninviting place to live, but I’m sure back then, it totally made sense. My co-worker and his sister offered to care for Yaffa until I settled into a permanent cat-friendly home. They fell head over heels for her.

The day came when I secured a pet-friendly apartment. How was I going to take her back? I heard the duo had a penchant for white cats. So one day, I found myself at the shelter, with the hopes they had a pure white cat to replace her.

Before I made it to the front door, I was faced with a Good Samaritan bringing in a box of kittens he found near the side of the road.

There were five of them. Four of them were shorthaired, and one was medium-haired; all of them were orange. With a “love at first sight” irresponsible reaction, I scooped the medium-haired kitten and promised the man I’d love him for the rest of his life.

Before I left the shelter parking lot, I made arrangements for my boyfriend to care for the little rascal until I moved into my new basement apartment. It was for less than a month. What could go wrong?

When I gave my co-worker and his sister the news that I wouldn’t be taking Yaffa back, they were overjoyed. Many may criticize my decision to give her up, but her new home was more fitting, and in the end, that’s what really counts.

Fenton was quite the character. He’d spend all night dancing on my boyfriend’s head and teethed and suckled on him by day. They created an unexpected bond that was unshakeable. Marty was lovestruck and didn’t want to give him back to me.

Life has a funny way of offering unexpected twists and turns. While Marty returned Fenton to me, our four-year relationship quickly progressed, and within months, we were engaged. To save the rent, I moved into his parent’s basement until we got married, and once again, Fenton and Marty were reunited and remained together for the rest of his life.

Fenton was an amazing cat. He was loving, attentive, and curious. He was happy to bathe in the gated backyard and was just as content to remain indoors. He used an angora rabbit as a kneading pad and befriended my in-laws Doberman Pinscher. He was a well-rounded, confident cat despite his tragically rocky side of the road start.

They say cats don’t like to move, but Fenton was resilient. During his life, he moved many times. Marty and I married, had children, and upgraded our home several times. Fenton was bonded to us. With each new child came a love of his family. He was calm and trustworthy, even when a toddler yanked his tail.

His patience with dogs was admirable. Once we were settled into our dream home, we brought a one-year-old Boxer into our lives. Fenton took it all in stride. The more to his family, the merrier. I’m not saying the pair slept together or anything close to that, but having a dog around never changed his personality. He was the perfect feline companion to whatever life threw his way.

Fenton was an incredibly healthy cat his entire life. His vet care revolved around routine care and yearly maintenance. During his eleventh year, I came home one day to find him disinterested in food. My intuition told me something was wrong, but he didn’t appear in any pain.

I decided to monitor him closely. If he didn’t improve, I’d bring him to the vet.

That night, before bed, we couldn’t find Fenton. When Marty went into the basement to work in his workshop, he was surprised to find him hiding downstairs. He carried him upstairs and placed him on the chair in the den.

The next day, before returning home from work, I stopped into the grocery store and bought him a can of food. This was intended as a treat to lift his spirits as his regular diet was dry kibble. I had booked an appointment with the vet. When I arrived home, he was nowhere around.

I searched everywhere, and then, I looked down the basement stairs. It was dark. There’s something creepy about basements when you have a pit in your stomach, and you feel like something’s wrong.

I pushed myself to look. Down on the floor, I found him. He was dead. Last night, he had gone down there to die and we interrupted his plans. Fenton gave my kids a lesson in death. They saw him, touched his stiff body, and we all paid our respects. We were blessed to have Fenton in our lives.

Who knew when I went to the shelter that day cruising for a companion “for a friend” that as fate would have it, I’d meet the cat of my dreams. Anyone who’s owned an orange cat will tell you. There’s something extraordinary about them.

The day I was “smitten by an orange kitten,” our lives both changed. I highly recommend owning one, but don’t neglect all of the other colours. Today, my pure white cat, Skye, is my current treasured gift. I wouldn’t trade her for anything. She’s stolen my heart.