Observing Wildlife

During the middle of rush hour traffic on a Friday afternoon, I stood waiting to cross the street at 40th and Ninth Avenue in Manhattan. A cacophony of horns blared as tempers flared; buses and automobiles were trapped in an intractable tangle, suggestive that no one was getting home early. Pedestrians stood transfixed by their phones, taking furtive glances to secure safe passage. Above the intersection, sitting on a traffic light standard, sat three pigeons looking down at the humans in their natural habitat. Each new horn blast brought renewed attention to the traffic by the three. I imagined one saying to another, “What is she doing?” to which the reply was, “Why didn’t you remember your binoculars?”

Key City Diner

It was a rainy day in western New Jersey. I stopped for lunch in Phillipsburg, an area of the state where it seems obligatory to have at least three diners per town. I parked and scuttled between raindrops into the Key City Diner, opened in 1955, noticing a large hearse parked a few spots away. I was seated in a booth in an extension to the original train car design. As I perused the menu, a table of three men, dressed in suits, were conversing with a man and his wife. From the tone and topics of the conversation, it was easy to deduce that there were all long-term locals to the area. The two engaged in the most conversation was the oldest of the three men and the husband at the next table. They sat with their backs to one another, glancing over their right shoulder as they spoke, telling stories as they finished their lunch.

One of the conversations that drew a lot of comment was the location, in Phillipsburg, of the best place to get hot dogs. The husband said he liked Jimmy’s. To which the youngest of the three men said, “I went once to pick up dogs for him (pointing at the older man) …. I’ll never go again. I needed a shower after I left it was so dirty.”

I soon realized that the hearse belonged to the three men in suits, who had just finished a funeral. They had reminiscences to entertain the locals in the diner. Someone brought up a different mortician whose name I did not catch, who was still living, somewhere near ninety-years old. The younger man said that he had worked for him early in his career and everyday he “put his lunch in the freezer with the bodies.”

After the couple left, two older women came in for a late lunch. One of the women, who did not look well, took the vacant seat at the table with the three morticians. She confessed that there was a cemetery in town that, when she visited, she always said, “Merry Christmas. I miss you all so much.” The younger man said for her not to worry, he did the same thing all the time.

Week 2

Coco: 9-weeks old

Pip: 9-weeks old 

Lucie: 9-weeks old

One Week: Crisis and Settlement

It has been an eventful first week: Lucie stopped eating which prompted a visit to the vet less than forty-eight hours after the clowder's arrival. By the end of the week, everyone was feeling better and kittens were settling end. By the end of week, it felt as if the kittens were long-term members of the family.

Discovering the joys of under the bed

Pip is a smart kitten

Lucie using her sister as a mattress 

Coco uses the top of the crate as a bed

a look of determination from Pip

The Arrival

First Official Portrait 

It was a cloudy and cold day. For kittens who have never left the house, the walk to the car was a shock. An hour drive to their new home was an experience. Not a peep from the backseat was heard.

The door is open to a new home

Pip: excited or yawning? 

Lucie and Coco

Introduction

There is a fine line between being an ailurophile and obsession; it is difficult to know where I fit along that spectrum. Nevertheless, the arrival of new kittens can take virtually anyone who is tolerant of felines toward the pole of obsession. In the most positive way possible, kittens bring out our protective instincts, forget our responsibilities, and become paranoid about the dangers that threaten the safety and health of little ones. For those of us who do not have human children, they are not only akin to children, looking into those big round eyes we know that these kittens will evolve to be our companions, but completely dependent upon us for years.

Cats are funny creatures. At once aloof, but dependent and social at the same time. Curious and brave, timid and shy, the emulate what many humans want to be. The fears that cats spark in some people strike me as odd, and I hope to write about these later. But their soft purr, their evocative stare, as well as their expressive communication, I find completely enticing. I have heard, on different sources, that women, in particular, are drawn to cats because they are about the same size as human baby sparking maternal instincts. There is a risk at anthropomorphizing cats, believing that they inhabit the same emotions, desires and reasoning as us. Yet after living with cats for years, it is difficult not to speak on their behalf and believe that we know and understand them.

With the arrival of the clowder, I look forward to seeing juvenile cats gamboling sideways with great abandonment. I like watching young cats grow and learn. Each cat develops their own routine and teach humans what they want. Given the culture we live in, there will be a constant barrage of photographs and videos as they grow and mature. Unlike human children, concerns about privacy will not deter us from sharing photographs and videos. As the clowder age, cute photographs will transform into capturing the stately serenity of the lives of housecats. It will become difficult to remember a time without them. Inevitably, they will become our family. Having cats (and dogs) is bittersweet: In all likelihood, we will outlive them. Nevertheless, the joy and companionship that they bring will to this household outweighs, infinitely, any sorrow that may come.