Gatti (cats)

“One cat just leads to another”

- Ernest Hemingway

Within hours of settling into our new little house, the cats arrived. Some gray, some black, some tiger-striped, but all of them mangy and feral. They were so skinny they almost didn’t look like cats, but rather some other wilder, more dangerous thing. Certainly not housecats. Jenna was excited to have animals around, but even she was a little put off by their wildness and open sores.
One cat, though, caught our attention. Black and white, skinny like the others, but smaller, with a low swinging belly that could only mean one thing: either lack of exercise (which seemed unlikely, given the circumstances) or teen pregnancy. This cat could not have been more than 6 months old, just a kitten herself, but apparently this sort of thing goes on in Italy.
Despite our reluctance, Jenna finally talked us into feeding it, playing on our sympathy with a lengthy justification about “healthy pregnancy”. At first the cat hung back, cautiously watching. She seemed skeptical about the bowl of milk in front of her (Jeff, not a fan of milk, said “I don’t blame her”) but she lapped it up anyway and clearly wanted more. She preferred the next course of cold ham and prosciutto, tearing at the meat with her sharp teeth and gulping down bites like the wild animal she was. Then she darted away, but we could see her from a distance, using a delicate paw to clean her face in rapturous joy.
The next day, she succumbed to Jenna’s relentless, little-girl cries of “Here kitty” and came close enough so Jenna could touch her, just for a second. Then, Jeff and I both said at the same time, “Now go wash your hands”.
Despite our initial disgust, we reluctantly began to take a liking to the cat and looked forward to her daily visits. I know, I know, feeding wild animals is not a good thing, but it was impossible not to. She was pregnant and VERY hungry. Jenna fussed over her like a little mother herself, promptly naming her “Lulu” and asking constantly when I thought she was going to have her kittens. Lulu was so small, it was hard to guess. She visited us a few times each day, gradually coming closer, and not darting off so fast, but rarely letting Jenna pet her. She began to meow loudly when she was hungry. It was difficult at first, feeding only Lulu and shooing off the other cats, but with the help of Jeff’s shoe the others finally backed off, glaring at Lulu in jealous rage. Languishing on a healthy diet of leftover fish, chicken and beef, Lulu’s fur started to shine, her eyes cleared up, and her belly swung even lower to the ground. She started hanging around all afternoon, content to sprawl out on the shaded patio and nap for hours. I remembered the long tired afternoons of my own pregnancy and smiled. I figured her time may be close.
Then, two days ago, while Jeff was at the beach and Jenna was sleeping in the house, I was outside typing on the porch when I heard a strange noise, a cross between a squeaky hinge and a bird. I ignored it at first, but heard it again a few minutes later and thought it might be the sound of a kitten, so I went to investigate. I poked around nearby shrubs and looked under the woodpile, thinking of all the likely hidden places as I followed the sound. I finally traced it over to the “lean-to”, an open stone structure with slanted roof, that’s butted up against the hillside nearby. I followed the roofline and finally found a tiny glimpse of black fur, hidden in the gutter space which was covered by the overhanging terra cotta roof. I heard more squeaks and assumed it was a kitten, but I couldn’t tell if it was alone or with other kittens, abandoned or with the mother. Maybe Lulu was injured or dead, so I slowly lifted up one of the loose terra cotta tiles to take a peek. Immediately, I was met with the snarling, hissing face of an angry cat. “Back off!” her growl insinuated. I quickly dropped the roof tile back into place and slowly backed away, nodding and calmly assuring her, “Listen, sister, I know EXACTLY what you’re going through…” Clearly our little Lulu was birthing and needed to focus. She wanted nothing to do with distractions.
When Jenna woke up I told her the good news and she immediately wanted to go see. We managed to find a side view, where we could see Lulu, haggard and panting, squished in the narrow, littered space of the gutter. I had a quick, unreasonable urge to whisk Lulu off to a nice, clean, soft cat bed in a safe, calm room to finish all this birthing business. But I knew we had to let things be. The life of a wild cat is neither comfortable nor clean. It’s harsh and dark and dirty.
Jenna was able to see one tiny, squirming kitten in the darkness (which she thought looked more like a wet little pig), but we also saw, sadly, one tiny, lifeless kitten right next to Lulu’s face. Lulu again snarled and hissed at us, but with kinder, softer eyes this time, so we backed away respectfully. Our mild-mannered Lulu had turned into a fiercely protective little mama.
Throughout the day, we continued to hear the squeaks and tiny “mir, mer”s of kittens. We left a plate of food and some water close by, but she didn’t budge from her dark, cramped quarters. Ants covered the food in minutes. In the evening, Jeff was brave enough to throw some bits of meat right next to Lulu, and she hissed and chewed, hissed and chewed. He then happily reported back to us that he saw 3 squirming little kittens, each looking exactly like their mama. The lifeless little one must’ve pulled through. In the morning, we checked in on her. She looked exhausted and hungry, but the kittens were squeaking and seemed healthy enough.
That evening Lulu surprised us by sauntering over to the patio while we were eating dinner. “Man, what a day I’ve had” she seemed to say. Back to her old self, even rubbing against Jenna affectionately, she seemed to want not only food but comfort. We quickly fixed her a plate of food, which she wolfed down with alarming speed, and meowed impatiently for more. We fed her again. Then we all heard the kittens squeaking, and Lulu scampered off with a purpose in her step.

NEXT UP: More island adventures…







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