Kitten

We had a kitten. A cat. A kitten. Well, it became a cat. They tend to do that.  His name was Whiskers. Once, on our way home from church. That shows how long ago it was. I was still married then. And still going to church on Sundays. On any given Sunday my wife and I would wake up and get ready for church. We’d get up little Kristin and put on her Sunday best. I’d put on my Sunday mediocre at best and get ready for church. We attended the Episcopal Church in Brooklyn: Trinity Episcopal Church. It was nice. It was Anglican. It was Catholic-lite. All of the pomp, most of the circumstance, none of the guilt. Well, less of the guilt. Fewer of the guilt?

Kristin played a part in a Christmas pageant once. It took place in heaven. She played an angel. Her name was Hark and she was the Herald Angel. Hark, the Herald Angel! She had to wait in the vestry when the play started and then run in like she was late. Because she was. She was looking at the world that God had created and missed rehearsal for choir practice. An honest mistake. Honest little Hark. God, was she cute.

So Hark, our little angel, needed a kitty. A little fuzball of fun. On our way home, down Rt. 169 from Brooklyn to Canterbury, someone had a crudely drawn sign on their property, right on the road. Free Kittens! Wow. You can’t beat that? How often do you come across kittens that are free? We stopped in on our way home, on one Sunday morn, after a stretch on the pews and the pomposity and a heartwarming sermon and a rousing round of worship, to see about this free cat thing. Kitten, that is.

A pleasant couple met us, as well as an older couple. They had come in before us and were looking at the last kitten of the litter. The rest had been dispensed already. This was a little black and white cat that had obviously been passed over by other visitors looking for other kittens on other occasions. This one was the runt of the litter. The other couple was planning on taking this cat, as was their right. They got here first, after all. Kristin ran up to the box and picked up the kitten, who then jumped out of her arms and ran under our car. She got down and tried to coax it out. The poor little thing was terrified. I would be.

We managed to get the kitten out from tire danger and I said that this one was spoken for already. Kristin, please understand these nice people were here first so they get to take this, the last kitten of the litter. But that’s OK. The people who live here have said that they will have more kittens in a couple of weeks. We can come back then and have our pick of the litter.

Kristin was crestfallen. And the rightful owners of the kitten were kind. They let Kristin have their kitten, as, of course, they should. It was the right thing to do. They said they were happy to let Kristin have this kitten. They would wait. And come back another day. I thanked them, of course. Kristin, thank the nice people for letting you have this nice cat. He will be your best friend for years to come.

A cat’s tale. That’s what this is. Whiskers became our most beloved cat. He was affectionate. Sweet. A constant companion. A lap cat. Always gentle. Always kind. Always affectionate. And someone I was glad to have around me, always. Who could ask for more?

We became Whisker’s humans. I miss Whiskers.