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How the kitten came into our lives

There was something moving in the middle of the road.

I habitually eye leaves skittering across the road, pushed by the wind, or rocks and tree limbs laying in or near the road. I don’t want to hit an animal.

Once, I came to a complete stop without hitting the deer who bounded off a nearly vertical hillside. The deer vaulted onto my hood and slid across, “Dukes of Hazzard” style, before running off without a care in the world. No damage to the car was done — not even a hoof scratch. I would like to continue my streak of avoiding death and damage, both for my wallet and my conscience.

But — I slowed down for a stop sign, and there was something in the road. It was the orange-brown of a fallen leaf, but it was early August; too early for the leaves to even be changing, let alone falling. It moved in a tight little circle in the middle of the road.

It is a kitten, barely able to walk.

There was no choice: I turned on the four-way flashers, and — leaving the keys in the ignition and the motor running — jumped out of the car, leaving the driver’s side door hanging open so I could scoop it up. It tried to stagger away, but it was 95 degrees out and it was exhausted and barely moving. Its eyes were crusted almost shut. I put it in the car and it tried to hide.

The neighborhood was empty lots and warehouses; I couldn’t find its mother.

In a panic, because I should never be entrusted with a baby of any type, I hurried back to the newsroom with the filthy beast.

“What do I do with this?” I said.

I was given a box and some rags. Michelle, our resident cat lady, said I should get him a bottle. There are bottles for cats?

There are bottles for cats, and the kitten — he doesn’t have a name, because we are not keeping him — drank like he’d been in 95 degree heat in a fur coat. The newsroom thought he was adorable.

“What are you going to do with him?” I was asked repeatedly.

“Get him healthy and weaned and find him a home.” I was not keeping him.

When I picked the children up, the first thing they did on seeing the kitten was make high-pitched dolphin noises. The second was scoop it up and show it to everyone.

“Don’t get attached,” I said. “We are not keeping it.”

“I’m already attached,” Sassy declared. “I was attached as soon as I saw it.”

I dreaded bringing it home. Long Suffering Husband would not be pleased.

He was nonplussed.

“I couldn’t leave it in the middle of the road,” I told him. “If something happened to it, I would have never forgiven myself.”

He picked it up. The kitten had been bathed, revealing its coat to be ginger and cream. It fit comfortably in his palm.

“We’re not going to keep it,” I assured him. “When it’s a little bigger, I will find it a home — but I’ve got to get him healthy.”

It’s been three weeks, and, funnily enough, he hasn’t gotten bigger at all.

(Wallace-Minger, The Weirton Daily Times community editor, is a Weirton resident and can be contacted at swallace@pafocus.com)

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