I got home last night and Charlie wasn't in the house. I'd left a window open just so she could move in and out if she felt brave enough to and assumed that she'd gone and gone forever. I assumed wrong.
I found her on the balcony, cowering behind my compost bucket, scared and bloody. Something had happened to her, what? I don't know. I fed her. She slept until about 3am today.
Around 4:30am, she started to act a little crazy, mewing and mewing and driving me crazy. She'd eaten everything I had that was edible to a beast such as she. She wouldn't stop with the vocal practise.
At 5am, I took her downstairs, outside... and left her there.
She wailed a little. And then nothing. I died a little inside but I'm fine. I hope she is too. That or dead. Fine or a ghost.
Wednesday, September 24, 2014
Monday, September 22, 2014
If it doesn't lay eggs or produce milk and I can't eat it, what good is it?
I have this cat. Technically, she's still a kitten. Her name is Charlie, short for Charlotte which, if you take the time, you'll realise is very closely related to Carlos (Charles, my baby Passo), which is also very close to my English name (Which I loathe).
So, Charlie... I got her at City Market (Muindi Mbingu Street, Nairobi) when she was no more than three weeks old. I'd gone there to eat fruits one day, and having lost the first stray I'd rescued just a few days earlier, I was still very attuned to the mewing of a starving or stranded cat. I heard this high-pitched little squeak and thought, that I must still be missing the lost animal... then...
"This thing..." referring to the little kitten, "... bring it here and I'll kick it until it dies..."
When it 'cried' again, I had to go and look so, I went and found this little grey and white baby 'tiger' of a cat. She was so tiny, could barely see or hear and this guy - one of those that beg you to eat meat at their disgusting stalls - wanted to kill it. I took it in one hand. So small was it that I could wrap its entire body with the fingers of that one hand.
"Don't kill it," I told the lady who'd stashed it in a box. "Keep it until 4pm and I'll come take it. Where's the mother by the way?"
"The mother took all the other kittens and left this one," she explained. See, it was a market cat's baby. If I didn't know any better, I'd say I know now why little Charlie's mother abandoned her when she did.
Anyway, at 4:20pm that day, I returned to the market and carried Charlie in a fruit carton, all the way home. They'd thrown little bits of fish and mutton into the box and, hungry as she must've been, not having fed for four days, she devoured them fast as her little teeth and jaws could allow.
That was June 3rd, 2014.
She's now two weeks away from being a five-month-old kitten except. She's so big, eats all my food and destroys everything I hold dear. She doesn't know how to play gently. She bites or scratches and only to draw blood. No gentle playfulness about this beast. The only time she runs low on energy is when I have no food to give her. I thank God that bananas repulse her or I'd have nothing to eat, EVER!
I've tried a couple of times to let her wander and get lost only to hear her crying helplessly from wherever. Usually, I'll go rescue her and she'll scratch me in the process.
Today, before I left the house, I opened the front door hoping she'd wander away and never return. The one time I hoped she wouldn't show up again, she came right back to the front door, entered and refused to leave. Talk about prayers answered.
You see, when I let her out I'd told myself that if she didn't come back, I could finally let go, but, if she came back, then it meant that God wanted me to keep her and take care of her. I'm stuck with her now. The best I can do is avoid playing with her now so I can let the scratches I already have, heal. I have to have her spayed because I don't want any more kittens with "attitude" filling my house.
It kinda brings to light though the fact that I don't really like animals as much as I thought I did. They were always just there when I was growing up. Now my philosophy is, if it doesn't lay eggs or produce milk and I can't eat it, what good is it?
So, Charlie... I got her at City Market (Muindi Mbingu Street, Nairobi) when she was no more than three weeks old. I'd gone there to eat fruits one day, and having lost the first stray I'd rescued just a few days earlier, I was still very attuned to the mewing of a starving or stranded cat. I heard this high-pitched little squeak and thought, that I must still be missing the lost animal... then...
"This thing..." referring to the little kitten, "... bring it here and I'll kick it until it dies..."
When it 'cried' again, I had to go and look so, I went and found this little grey and white baby 'tiger' of a cat. She was so tiny, could barely see or hear and this guy - one of those that beg you to eat meat at their disgusting stalls - wanted to kill it. I took it in one hand. So small was it that I could wrap its entire body with the fingers of that one hand.
"Don't kill it," I told the lady who'd stashed it in a box. "Keep it until 4pm and I'll come take it. Where's the mother by the way?"
"The mother took all the other kittens and left this one," she explained. See, it was a market cat's baby. If I didn't know any better, I'd say I know now why little Charlie's mother abandoned her when she did.
Anyway, at 4:20pm that day, I returned to the market and carried Charlie in a fruit carton, all the way home. They'd thrown little bits of fish and mutton into the box and, hungry as she must've been, not having fed for four days, she devoured them fast as her little teeth and jaws could allow.
That was June 3rd, 2014.
I've tried a couple of times to let her wander and get lost only to hear her crying helplessly from wherever. Usually, I'll go rescue her and she'll scratch me in the process.
Today, before I left the house, I opened the front door hoping she'd wander away and never return. The one time I hoped she wouldn't show up again, she came right back to the front door, entered and refused to leave. Talk about prayers answered.
You see, when I let her out I'd told myself that if she didn't come back, I could finally let go, but, if she came back, then it meant that God wanted me to keep her and take care of her. I'm stuck with her now. The best I can do is avoid playing with her now so I can let the scratches I already have, heal. I have to have her spayed because I don't want any more kittens with "attitude" filling my house.
It kinda brings to light though the fact that I don't really like animals as much as I thought I did. They were always just there when I was growing up. Now my philosophy is, if it doesn't lay eggs or produce milk and I can't eat it, what good is it?
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