You can find a bit more about some of our rescued (and other animal stories) at Momma Dawg's Multiply site.
Auntie Mame's story goes something like this: My Second Daughter taught gymnastics in a small town about
fifteen miles from our house, and her drive home is along unmarked county roads. While she’s accustomed to
seeing deer along the rode, or a possum or skunk, she just couldn’t quite make out what she was looking at as
she approached something in the middle of the road. So, at eleven at night, she finds herself pulled up to the
side of the road to see what it was.
She could sense a herd of cows in the distance, but holding her own in front of this approaching human was a
small kitten, mewing loudly. According to Second Daughter, who speaks Cat fluently, she was saying, “I’m
trying to get to your mother’s house. I’ve heard that she takes care of kittens, and I need lots of help.”
The next morning when SD brought me a bundle of skin stretched thinly over tiny bones, it was evident that
whatever it appeared to be it was most definitely a kitten in need of help. More specifically, she needed a lot of
help! No cat food in the house, of course, and we knew that milk would only create diarrhea, so we mooshed
up some dog food and the kitten devoured it. Yep, desperate then – she would never consider dog food now.
She’s too good for that.
Her eyes were steel blue, and she fit in the palm of our hand. She wanted to lick any skin that came close to
her. Instead of being covered in soft fur, there were single strands here and there. All of her strength had gone
into surviving, not covering her body. We couldn’t quite make out what color her fur would eventually be,
though her skin was spotted grey and white.
We took her to the vet and this “free” cat came home worth $135, got her shots along with medicine to remove
worms, mites and ringworm. Quite successfully I might add.
It took a while before we could figure out a name for her. We tried calling her by different names, but we got
them all wrong. As her fur grew in and we understood that she was a gray tabby, we even tried Smokie, but
she never responded. Princess, Ghost, Shadow – none of those caught her attention. We were sitting in the
den about a month later, my husband and I, and I told him that maybe she didn’t have a name.
When I said “name”, she turned quickly and looked at me. I looked right back and said “Is your name Mame?”
She came to me and jumped in my lap. I said, “Is your name Auntie Mame?” thinking of Rosalind Russell’s
portrayal of that colorful character. She leaned over and licked me on my check, and she’s been Auntie Mame
since then.
Her eyes eventually turned green, and being thin is no longer her problem. She became even more valuable
with another trip to the vet to be certain she leaves no kittens to be found on the side of the road. Unlike
Second Daughter, most people don’t speak Cat. During her recuperation, Beloved Husband (despiser of feline
creatures) held her on his chest and the bond has only strengthened since then. I may be the one to feed her
and clean out her bathroom (yes, she has one of her own -- it just worked out that way, it was not built for her!)
but he's the one she goes to, settles in his lap, throws her head back so she can stare into his face then
reaches out a paw to touch his chin and settle on his chest.
Ah! Contentment!
PS -- She remains fearful of cows!!
Auntie Mame
by Believer
(used by permission)
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