You cannot share your life with a dog, as I had done in Bournemouth, or a cat, and not know perfectly well that animals have personalities and minds and feelings.
~Jane Goodall
Gizmo was born on a muggy August afternoon in the stall of a horse named Lucky at an equine adoption farm where my family briefly volunteered. The owner’s oldest son, who was about ten at the time, came running out of the barn, beaming from ear to ear and carrying a newborn kitten to show me and my girls. We all fussed over the tiny ball of fur. The boy then led us to Lucky’s stall, where a pretty, little, tortoiseshell cat lay peacefully feeding her new arrivals.
We were somewhat concerned about the welfare of the kittens since they were sharing a stall with a horse, but each day we’d check on them and see they were doing just fine.
On the tenth day, the mother had moved the kittens. I could hear them crying and went on a mission to find them. It didn’t take me long to follow their little cries. Their mother had moved them to a bale of hay across from Lucky’s stall but she was nowhere to be found.
We set about our chores for the afternoon. Then I took my children home for dinner and then headed out to the local pet store to get some supplies in case there was a problem.
The mother cat still had not returned by the time I got back. We searched around the farm and could only assume the worst, so I brought the kittens into the house along with the little feeding bottles and other supplies I had purchased. They were ravenous; we had no trouble at all getting them to feed. Once their little tummies were satisfied, we introduced them to a cat living in the home who had recently lost her own two kittens.
The foster mother took to them right away, and began cleaning and stimulating them to do their bathroom business — something I also didn’t know needed to be done! She lovingly washed them all and curled up with them, happy to have a little family again.
I went back the next morning to see how things were going. It appeared the kittens’ new mom didn’t have any milk left. The kittens were desperately kneading at her belly and crying. I took them away one at a time and fed them before returning them to her. The farm owner became very aggravated about the whole situation. She didn’t want to be stuck feeding a bunch of kittens every few hours, so I offered to take two of them home with me. A little beige one didn’t seem to be doing well, so I took that one along with a ginger-and-white one.
I fed them frequently, but the little beige one was not responding. Sometime in the night, the poor little mite passed away curled up next to his sibling — whom we had christened “Gizmo” due to his big ears and little face. He was a polydactyl kitten (meaning extra digits on each paw), also known as a “mitten kitten.” Thankfully, he was still alive and screaming for his breakfast, so I set about feeding him.
Gizmo’s will to live was strong, and he grew in size, strength, and attitude each day. He was only the size of my palm when he first came home, but the slightest meow from the little carrier he slept in would send our dog, Boots, running upstairs to hide. We had rescued Boots himself as a puppy when his mother passed away.
One afternoon, I carefully placed the kitten on the kitchen floor, and Boots stood there paralyzed with fear. Eventually, he got up the courage to sniff Gizmo, who was trying to walk a few steps. He was quite awkward at first with his extra toes. Once Boots realized Gizmo wasn’t going to tear him to shreds, he lay down and cautiously watched him. Within several minutes, he was gently licking Gizmo, and from that point forward they were great friends!
We’d all sit and watch as Gizmo would climb on Boots and bat at his ears. Boots would let him bite and attack those big ears. A bond had formed between a kitten and a dog who had both lost their mothers. Boots had been raised by people, yet here he was, being a parent to this tiny kitten.
They had seven years together before Boots passed away in October 2016 at age fourteen. We consider ourselves very lucky to have witnessed the love that developed between those two orphans — born of different species, but good friends.
~Karen Reeves
