I met Trouble at a rest area somewhere in the Colorado Rockies. I was on the last leg of a trip hauling the household items my mother wanted in California after my Dad died. I had left Maine a few days earlier, swung down to St.Louis and dropped off the items my brother Joe was keeping. I then drove to Colorado Springs to drop off the other stuff my brother Doug was inheriting. This rest stop was somewhere west of Denver on I-70 near Clear Creek I am guessing.
The space for the rest area had been blasted out of the mountain side. Not a lot of room to park, so I pulled over on the shoulder just past it. I got out to stretch my legs and smoke a joint. I didn't like puffing up in the cab, because well, the cops stop you and when they smell the weed, yadda yadda yadda. So I am leaning on a concrete barrier I assumed was placed there to keep the flotsam and jetsam of the mountain from encroaching on the highway. A large tree trunk with one end resting on the barrier was nearby.
As I leaned on that barrier and smoked my doob, I pondered many things of no consequence, but I remember being brought out of my haze by the sound of a cat's meow. I looked around. Nothing but big rocks and broken trees. I tried to revisit my lost in the Bozone mental state. And again I heard a cat's meow, only louder and more plaintive now.
Determined to locate the source of this sound out here on the side of a mountain in Colorado, I walked towards the direction of the sound. As I neared the huge dead fall leaning on the barrier, I noticed movement on the trunk. There about 12 feet or so up the trunk, a half grown kitten was dragging itself down the tree in my direction. As it clawed its way down, every breath it took was accompanied by the most pitiful meow I had ever heard. I knew instantly this kitten was hurting.
Shit. What do I do now? Here I was miles from any town, it was after 10 PM and I was supposed to be in the Bay Area in two days to hook up with my mom and drop off her goods. I had no time or inclination to deal with an injured animal.
The kitten finally found its way close enough so I could pick it up and assess the damage. It never scratched or resisted as I set it on the barrier under the tall lights of the rest area to look it over. I could tell right away this kitten was going to die. Its rear legs did not work and one was obviously broken and had been broken long enough so that the bone sticking out had begun to blacken and the skin had begun to heal around it. I noticed the young cat was a female and later would find out that almost always Calico's are female. Her jaw was skewed oddly which told me it was probably broken. She was so skinny I figured it had been days since she had last eaten.
How long she had been out here, who knew? It had been awhile. I left her on the barrier and got back in the van, determined to leave her. I remember reaching for the key to start the engine and stopping. I knew then I had to do something for this damn animal.
I got out, collected her up and laid her on the passenger seat on one of my tee shirts. Not once did she resist. We hit the road. At the first town with an exit, I pulled off the road and found the first store I could. My plan was to get her some food and water and then abandon her in the shadows next to the store. Yeah, yeah, I was fooling myself. I could not do it.
I put her on the floor of the cab with food and water in front of her. She clawed her way to the water ASAP. I guess thirst was more important than food. After she drank her fill, she dove in on the food. Thankfully I had purchased canned food. Once I saw how damaged her jaw was, I realized dry food would have been torture.
I picked her up and held her close to my face and began talking to her in soft words. She began nursing on my neck, a habit she continued the rest of her life. Several minutes of that routine and she had my heart, the little bastid.
As she nursed on my neck, I could feel her tiny belly churning , trying to deal with the new food she had consumed. Luckily, I associated churning stomach with the following need to eliminate that which has just be ingested. We sat there, her sucking on my neck and me trying to come up with a plan that would not embarrass me if someone caught me trying to help her well, shit and piss.
No scenario I came up with helped. It was going to be ugly and it was. She could not position herself to do her business. The process I eventually came up with and used all the way to San Francisco was one hand supporting her while the other massaged her belly until something came out. It was ugly, but it worked. Food in one end and the appropriate stuff that resulted came out the other. This told me her gulliwots were probably not in bad shape.
I landed in Walnut Creek a day ahead of schedule. I pushed it and drove non stop in order to get the kitten I had named Trouble to a vet as soon as possible. The next glitch however was how do I tell my mom, an avowed cat hater. Without her help and money, I was sure Trouble would not make it.
Mom actually surprised me. After dealing with all the anti cat admonishments and dire predictions of what cats are really like, she anted up and drove us to the local vet. The vet advised euthanasia. She had a broken rear leg that was infected, her other rear leg was out of the socket that had been crushed, and her jaw was badly broken. He was not very optimistic.
My mom said, "Can you patch it up well enough to travel?"
The vet said, "Sure, but it won't help."
"Do it. Call me when she's ready."
Back in the car, I asked why she was so willing to help? I mean this lady had a cat phobia that ran back to her childhood. " I saw what you had done and were doing to save it. The least I could do was help in any way I could as long as I did not have to touch her." And one of those amazing parent/child moments passed between us.
A couple of days later we picked up Trouble and bought a travel cage. She was wrapped up and still could only move with her front legs. The two of us flew back to Maine. At our local vet now, we asked the vet to do what they could. As it turned out, the vet out West had surgically recreated a hip socket for the one leg and set the broken one after cleaning up the infection. Our local vet decided it was wise to see how that went before dealing with her jaw. We never did re-set her jaw. It healed just fine on its own.
Now we had to introduce Trouble to our growing population of felines. How would she do with the injured legs. would Timar the top Tom accept her? As it turned out, Trouble took over and bossed that crew of cats for the next 17 years. She was a bad ass. Not vicious, she just did not put up with foolishness. All the cats, male and female bowed to her leadership.
I miss Trouble.
Later gator .......................................
2 comments:
Great post.
the Ol'Buzzard
Thanks for saving her.
Post a Comment