A Byrd's Eye View

The Rebel and an Angel Named Scott

It got pretty dicey with the kittens last night. I had been calling all around - my aunt, my friends, trying to find a home for the three interlopers. One, a gray, fluffy female I called Coco (after the designer Miss Chanel), one a skittish gray scaredy-cat I called Rebel, and a small, long-haired bundle of black fur which looked like a tribble, so I called it Tribble.

So anyway, I came home to a blinking light on my answering machine. It was the housing co-op's secretary. I had called her earlier that day to ask if please, please, I could get just one more week to find a home for the kittens, as I was getting nowhere in my efforts. I knew that if worse came to worse, I could find foster homes for Coco and Tribble,as they were both friendly. But little Rebel was a different matter. He was not to be touched, and not to be confined in any way. He was his own kitten, and he was not going to cuddle up and purr just to ingratiate himself to some mere human food dispenser.

The secretary's message gave me the terrible news.....the animal control officers were to be called this morning. No more extensions. Her voice was sad, as she knew how hard I'd been looking. It was to be curtains for little Rebel. The cat-catcher's long stick, the net, and the dark black curtain of death were drawing near for this willfull piece of kittyflesh.

I had prayed about this, I had hoped against hope that somehow, somewhere, an angel would appear out of the universe who would be able to care for the kittens. But now the prospects looked dim, most of all for little Rebel. Shoten zenjin! Oh, ye Buddhist kitty gods! Help! Find these kittens, especially little Rebel, a good home where they can play and frolic, shred furniture and nap in the sun! Save little Rebel and his friends!

I went outside and there they were, all three lined up and waiting for their dinner. This was too awful - I had to do something!

Just then, my neighbor Shashi came by - she is a nice young woman trying to carve out a writing career here in tinseltown - sort of like me a couple of decades ago. We are friendly, and had both been worried about the kittens. I asked her if she'd had any luck in finding homes. Amazingly, amazingly, she said that she had - that her friend, who was right there at her apartment, had offered to take the kittens. "Which ones?" I gasped. "All of them," she responded.

All of them. Shashi introduced me to her friend Scott, another young writer, and I almost fainted with relief. I couldn't believe my own ears. He was willing to take all of them! He didn't want to "break up the team." Oh, wonderful young man! Scott came right over to my little patio and looked at the three as they chowed down on their Friskies mystery meat mush.

I urgently conveyed the sentence of the Board of Directors. The kittens had to be gotten out quickly, under cover of night, or they would not live out another day at our co-op building. We had to move fast.

Shashi had a couple of cat-carriers, so we decided to catch the creatures and box them up so that Scott could take them back to his home immediately -- away where they would be safe, beyond the reach of the cruel co-op law. With Coco and Tribble, this would be no problem....but Rebel....what of him?

If I know one thing about Rebel, it is that he's a sucker for Gerber's Stage 2 Ham Babyfood. One of my kitten rescue buddies had told me that I could train a skittish kitten to trust humans by putting Gerber Stage 2 Ham Babyfood on my fingers and letting the kitten lick it off. I had tried this tactic the night before and become slightly more friendly with Rebel (although I suffered a couple of needle-tooth puncture wounds in the process).

I rushed to my home and retrieved two jars of the kitty ambrosia. Meanwhile, the kittens were exploring past the open door to Shashi's apartment. They were all three in the living room. Rebel was showing off his skill in the litter box, squatting with dignity, nose in the air, while we praised him for his tidiness.

We tried a number of tactics to corral them into the carriers. Shashi even broke out the catnip, and although Rebel got goofy on the hard stuff, he was no more compliant. Finally, the sainted Scott got the bright idea to dangle a kitty toy on a string through the roof of the carrier, tempting Rebel to come inside the trap. The first few tries were unsuccessful, as Rebel scurried back when Scott tried to shove his tail inside the carrier. I suggested that the next time Rebel got all four paws in the box, that Scott tip the carrier up, dumping the creature inside, and slam the wire door shut.

The trick was successful, and Rebel was captured! But oh, the outrage! The indignity! How he yowled and yowled! It was no use trying to explain to Rebel that we were saving his life, that we were keeping him from a date with the executioner. Rebel would not be caged! He clawed at the wire slats holding him in, he gnawed at the gate, at the roof, at the walls of his cell. I wish he could have understood.

Both of the other kittens fit quite peacefully in the other carrier together, and we put both cages in the back seat of Shashi's car. Scott looked down with some concern at little Rebel's frenzied struggles against his prison. I suggested maybe naming him after some famous prison break-out artist, like Pappillon or Monte Cristo. Well, we shall see.

Shashi loaded up her trunk with other cat paraphernalia - a scratching post, a litter box, some food and some toys. I waved goodbye to the kittens and their new human as the car pulled away, and thanked whatever forces for good had brought Scott to care for them.

Thank you, shoten zenjin, thank you for this wonderful blessing! And while I have your attention, please send Shashi and Scott wonderful new jobs where they can write and make money and buy lots and lots of Gerber Stage 2 Ham Babyfood for their kitties. Hooray! That's my benefit for today.

Be joyful, be compassionate, be cool.

Byrd in LA

Posted by wahzoh at August 22, 2007 10:17 AM