My $3000 Street Rescue

When a tiny tabby kitten took me hostage

It was 5am and my partner-at-the-time and I were laughing and stumbling home from a party in Brooklyn when this incredibly tiny little silver and black tabby kitten ran out from some trash bags and fell on my foot, looking up at me.

That cat had me pegged for a sucker from the minute she saw me. I was profiled by a kitten.

It started that night. $250 to have her checked out at the 24-hour Animal Medical Clinic not counting the cab fare. The reason we couldn’t just scoop her up and bring her into the apartment was Alice, my beautiful semi-feral black cat from Bide-a-Wee, the no-kill cat shelter. I couldn’t expose Alice to anything the new beastie might be bringing in from the streets.

I’d gotten Alice about two years earlier as I was slowly recuperating from a blindingly swift auto-immune disorder that knocked me on my ass but good.

I needed a cat because I had mice. Really bold mice. Mice that sauntered into the middle of the room and looked at me like I was in their space. Mice that scurried around under the hood of the gas range in the kitchen at night, gobbling up the grease.

Because I was so sick myself I had to have a healthy kitten and so many of the litters brought into Bide-a-Wee were abandoned feral babies with gummed-up eyes who weren’t ready to be weaned. I could barely take care of myself at that point. Eventually, Alice turned up and I brought her home.

Before knowing the new kitten’s sex particulars we opted for a non-gender-specific name: JJ. It means nothing; it stands for nothing and it’s not all that catchy. But that’s her name.

I began to notice something curious about JJ three weeks or so after she moved in; she was getting awfully round in the middle. I took her to a near-by veterinarian where the trouble was discovered with a simple X-ray (in case you’re keeping track; another $85). Five little tiny skulls and five little tiny spines. JJ was pregnant. That conniving little mommy got herself set up in a warm apartment with two humans at her beck and call. Well played, JJ, well played.

The night she went into labor my partner was away for work so it was just me and Mother Nature and one confused little cat.

Around 1am she let out the most god-awful yowl. I was panic-texting with my partner who counseled calm. JJ slid another kitten out on the hour for the next five hours. It was a bloody mess but everyone seemed fine although one little girl was born without a tail; we called her Bob. And for the next eight weeks or so we had a houseful of felines.

It was a riot!

I was a little worried that Alice might not be a great auntie, but she turned out to be incredibly patient with the little fiends.

If you’ve never gotten to live with kittens you really need to try it sometime. They are the funniest, most enchanting little monsters. I read that it was important to start handling the kittens within the first couple of weeks so that they would have a good association with human touch and smell.

Each one of those five tiny furballs hissed and spit, as in actual spit coming out of their wee pink mouths, and bared their tiny claws and fluffed up their fur to be especially ferocious the first time I picked them up. After that, they were fine and climbed us as if we were furniture.

And here’s where kittens are far superior to puppies and human babies. The minute I put each one into the litter box that kitten knew exactly what to do and not one of them ever went outside the box. Not once.

Once they were weaned, it was back to the vet because those little babies have to start getting their various shots as soon as Mum’s magic immunizing milk is no longer in play. The vet took pity on me, closed the door, and inoculated all five kittens but only charging me for one. $185.

We did find good homes for all five of the kittens and then it was time to make sure we didn’t have that adventure again. I don’t know if you’ve ever lived with a cat in heat but it’s no fun. They yowl and rub their bottoms against anything that will hold still and, worse, smear blood on whatever that is while they’re doing it. They’ll also do everything they can to get outdoors and let any local tomcats have at them. Cat sex is kind of horrifying; no one seems to be having much fun.

Back to the vet to get JJ “altered” and this time it was $700!

Back on that night when JJ took me hostage and I told my partner to go get the cat carrier so we could take her in to be checked I also said this (and if you’re considering taking on the responsibility for any animal, remember my words):

She’s going to break shit and ruin stuff. She’s going to cost a bunch of money. And then she’s going to die. Let’s go!

I was ready for all those eventualities and, sure enough, I was right. JJ has had several emergency trips to the vet for dental work and the always unpopular “expressing” of anal glands. We’ve racked up some pretty impressive vet bills and then there’s the money that goes to the cat-sitter when we travel. In the years since I’ve met my current partner in life and art we’ve been to Burning Man seven times, as well as going to Iceland and Spain/Portugal. We’re talking around $1700 or so by now.

JJ, as you can see, hasn’t gone and died on me yet although I wonder if I need to be concerned about her social media habits?

However, my old girl Alice died three years ago. It’s always amazing to me how big a hole is left in my life when one little cat dies.

JJ is fat and easy going these days. She snores when she sleeps and sleeps most of the time. I estimate she’s around 16 years old. And, yes, there are a few claw marks on the couch we bought in 2014 and, yes, she does tend to bolt her food still and then vomit. And she’s still a dear and wonderful girl who I love snuggling up with while watching movies.

My current partner is a joy and delight in my life in many ways. However, he is of that curious ilk that can’t figure out why anyone would allow animals to live in the house. He came into this (rent-stabilized, incredibly inexpensive) apartment in Manhattan knowing he was sharing it with two cats. Now we’re down to one. He’s requested a cat hiatus after JJ goes to that great litter box in the sky and I’m ready to live cat-free for awhile.

They break shit and ruin stuff. They cost a LOT of money. And then they die.

Who needs that?

My partner is certain that should he die before I do, that I’ll immediately get another cat and name it AleXander after him.

Maybe. I’ll jump off that bridge when I get to it.

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