What is This?

What is this? That is the question I am asking myself this morning as I survey my surroundings. What is this?

What is this pile of towels heaped on the floor?  I had them folded last night.

What are these bits of shredded paper and miscellaneous toy parts doing in my living room?

What are all these scratches on my arms and legs?

What is that stinky, dark pile of something by the door?

What is that mewing sound ringing in my ears whenever I open the refrigerator door?

What is this headache?

KITTENS!!!

Fluff-ball, Ossie, Target, and Bibbs, four bundles of energy when awake, and one pile of cuteness when sleeping, need to find homes, but they can't because they don't have phones. (Sorry, I couldn't resist that take-off of a TV ad). Anyway, I left a phone message with HAVA  (a no-kill animal rescue center), and now wait for a returned phone call saying, "Yes, of course we can take your kittens."

"Would you take Licorice Kitty, too?" would be one of my questions. She is a very nice cat; however, until she has been spayed and is able to go outside again, I can't leave home for any period of time. If only she could change her own litter box.

What is this? is what I am also asking about the cornucopias, dried Indian corn, fall leaves, and amber candles scattered all over my dining room table. Thanksgiving decorations, obviously, but why are they still sort of placed on my table? My fault. I thought they would be safe up there until I put them away sometime with week. WRONG!

How did the kittens get on top of a dining room table? was the first question that entered my mind the other morning. They demonstrated later in the day. First, they tried all the wooden chairs, but got no further than the seats. Then, "Hey guys, over here--a climbing-material thingy!" The cry went out, and all four kittens jumped from the floor to grab the seat of the padded desk chair (not put away from Thanksgiving dinner). Then they pulled themselves onto the seat, climbed up the back of the chair, and jumped onto the table. What fun awaited them--until I intervened.

How do kittens get on top of the kitchen-island counter? The same way they get onto the table--climbing-material thingies--also known as bar stools. It is a long jump from the floor to the bottom of the stools. But, with enough tries and endless determination, the impossible becomes possible, and Mt. Everest of the Kitchen is conquered.

"Looky at what we did, Feeder-Petter-Person-With-Climbable-Legs. Aren't we smart, and cute, and athletic, and ..."

"Nope, not anymore. Get off the counter!"

What is this? This is another growth experience for me. As I have been watching the interactions of my cat family this morning, I am once again feeling the pain of separation. A few hours ago, Licorice was sleeping somewhere in the area. Three kittens were sleeping on the towels I had moved from the floor to the couch, and Target was playing with his shadow on the living room floor. All of a sudden, Target started mewing, quite loudly, I might add, for no apparent reason. In a matter of seconds, Licorice came running from the dining room, greeted Target, and started licking his face. The sibs on the couch woke up and jumped down to join the wonderful kitten-washing time. Within minutes, all were cleaned up and stretched out on the rug for a nap-time with Mom. Target was no longer by himself.

As I write this, Mom and kittens are having another nap-time, this time called my Licorice herself. Three kittens had been sleeping on a padded chair at a folding table (still up from Thanksgiving). Fluff-ball was sleeping somewhere unknown to me. Into the quiet room came Licorice, just up from her nap on a dining room chair. I heard her coming before I saw her. She entered the room calling for her kittens. The three on the chair immediately jumped down, but Fluff-ball didn't come from anywhere. While the three chair-sleepers clammored for their mother's attention, Licorice headed directly toward a sofa, looked under it and meowed, then meowed again. Finally, out from under a sofa, came Fluff-ball. She stretched, yawned, mewed, and licked her mom's face. Licorice had her family all together again.

Now they sleep--a contented pile of cats.

If kittens can feel all alone, I think Target had. If mother cats can wonder where their kittens are and what they are doing, I think Licorice had. Separating Licorice from her kittens will be difficult for me, but has to be done. I have to remind myself that I can't put human emotions into animals, and cat families don't usually live as one big happy group forever.

I know that time is fast approaching as I observe Licorice separating herself from the kittens. She stays with them for  only short periods of time, then leaves them alone to sleep, play, fight, and attack my feet. She still occasionally plays with them, but is getting much rougher. She yowls and bats at them if they insist on playing with her tail while she oversees their antics. I think she is preparing for the inevitable separation by getting the kittens ready to survive without her. That is the way God created his creatures.

Separation and pain. I don't like either, but am beginning to feel both once more. I told myself quite awhile ago that I would never again have a pet, even though my kids and my therapist suggested I do so. I went through separation and pain when I had to have my dachshund put down. I didn't want to do that again. But that pain was nothing compared to the pain when my husband confessed to child molestation and went to prison.

So, those many years ago, I closed myself off, locked the doors, and told myself that I wouldn't love anything again. I wanted nothing in my life that would be taken from me.  So what do I do? I take in a stray cat, pregnant at that. I felt this might be a God thing, and still do. That is why I asked the question, what is this. What am I to learn?

I can love, even when I tell myself I won't.
Loss is part of life.
Separation isn't easy, but often necessary.

In the midst of all the questions in this post, I know one thing for certain: God answers prayers, often the way we want. The lady from HAVA just called. They will take the kittens. Within the hour, I am to call the vet that HAVA works with, make an appointment to bring in Licorice and kittens. Licorice will be checked for leukemia, and the kittens will get a wellness check. I can then leave the kittens for HAVA to pick up, and make arrangements to have Licorice spayed.

Thank you, Lord.

Oh yes, what about this headache? It wasn't the kittens after all. It was caffeine withdrawal. A cup of strong coffee with mint creamer worked wonders.

Giving thanks in all things, including kitten messes, leftover Thanksgiving disarray, and coffee,
Jan