I owe the majority of the happiness in my life to my cats. My whole life, I’ve always had a cat beside me, giving me company, comforting me, watching over me. They’ve all had their own stories to tell, but none of them quite compare to Smokey’s. She didn’t come from a shelter, but she was rescued and she was adopted. All rescue cats have a story of survival, but unlike the others I’ve adopted, Smokey’s tale was one I actually played a part in.
My mom and I were returning from a trip to the pet store one night in late November. Even during the warmest part of the day the temperature hadn’t climbed above single digits – unseasonably cold for autumn in the Midwest – and a light dusting of snow still covered the ground from the day before. Thankfully, the icy roads had been treated, and we made it home safely, hitting every green light.
Shivering, I grabbed the bags of cat food and toy mice from the trunk and was about to hurry inside when I thought I heard a faint noise. It was quiet, almost imperceptible. I stopped, stood perfectly still, and listened – for an 11-year-old this was practically unheard of. For a good minute I waited, straining my ears and pulling my coat tighter around me. But there was only silence, save for the wind whistling through the bare tree branches.
I shrugged and started to head inside. Just as I stepped into the bright warmth of my house, I heard the noise again, only much louder this time. I recognized it instantly, though I could hardly believe my ears.
Meowing. Urgent, tiny kitten meowing. And it was far too distinct to be my imagination.
Hearing a distressed cat meow, especially a kitten, is like my Bat-signal – an immediate call to action.
So I literally dropped everything and bolted to get a flashlight. My mom barely had time to turn around before I’d dashed back out the door.
After narrowly avoiding tripping over the bags on the floor, I followed the meows around the side of the house and shone a beam of light on the ground. What I saw was exactly what I’d imagined, yet I still gaped in utter disbelief. There, wandering aimlessly in the snow, was an orange kitten.
She was frighteningly small. My little suburban yard would have looked like a football field to her – that is, if she could even see it. I was shocked to realize that her eyes were still closed, which meant she couldn’t have been more than a few days old. The kitten was practically a newborn, helpless and vulnerable out in the elements.
She was blindly headed in the direction of my neighbor’s yard, where his two ferocious dogs were sleeping with one eye open. Her pitiful meows of fear and confusion tore at my heart. Without a second thought, I carefully picked the kitten up. I took off my wool hat and placed her inside, then tucked the bundle inside my coat to keep her warm.
Needless to say, an explanation was in order when my mom saw me walk in with a kitten instead of shopping bags. I told her everything as I fetched a blanket for the kitten and filled a bowl of water in case she was thirsty.
While my mom made yet another trip to the pet store for kitten formula, I got acquainted with the little lost cat. The flashlight’s beam had made her fur look orange, but now that she was in proper lighting I saw that it was actually a smoky gray. It was long and wispy, wet in a patches from melted snow. And as I petted her I discovered it was every bit as soft as it looked.
After I had cuddled and fawned over her for a while, my mom returned. Bottle feeding a kitten for the first time was an unforgettable and extremely adorable experience. When her belly was full, she curled up in a ball on the blanket and quickly fell asleep, purring softly. My adoring eyes turned to pleading as I looked from the kitten to my mom. She was reluctant at first, saying we could keep her only if she didn’t belong to anyone. I wasn’t worried, I knew she wasn’t anyone’s pet. Even if someone did somehow let a kitten this young and cute out of their sight, they would have scoured the neighborhood looking for her.
Sure enough, no one responded to the lost cat posters I tacked up around the neighborhood. We concluded that one of the stray cats in our neighborhood that no one had bothered to get spayed or neutered must have had a litter. Smokey – that’s what I decided to call her since I was young and unoriginal when it came to naming things – apparently waddled away when her mother was distracted. I looked around the block for the stray cats a few times but didn’t see any. They were either hiding or Smokey had been able to traverse more ground on those stubby legs than I’d thought possible. Either way, she didn’t have a family I could return her to, human or cat. She was ours. My other two cats weren’t thrilled about the new addition, but I was absolutely overjoyed.
We took her to the vet and, miraculously, got a clean bill of health. Smokey’s eyes were open a week later, and she was playfully chasing strings and pouncing on my slippers as I walked by. Each day she grew bigger and bigger, and so did my love for her.
Eight years later, she’s a full-grown, healthy cat. Perhaps not quite as playful as she used to be, but that feisty spirit certainly hasn’t left. Sometimes, on cold nights as I’m trying to fall asleep, I can’t help but worry what might have happened if we’d hit every red light on the way home from the pet store, instead of all greens. Or if we’d left the bags in the car overnight instead of unloading right away. I never would have heard her meowing. Neither would anyone else; no one was going to be out for a stroll in the cold, dark night. I’ll never know why she was wandering alone and not snuggled in her mother’s warm fur with her siblings. But I do know she would not have survived if her meows hadn’t drawn me to her.
Then Smokey jumps on the bed and lies on top of me, trying to keep me warm the way I did for her all those years ago. She reminds me that the why and the how don’t matter, simply that we found each other. I rescued her, but she adopted me.