Simba was born on my birthday in 1993. As a son of a stray, we watched him grow and plotted how we'd catch the litter and find them homes. When he was about 5 weeks old, he came down with a bad case of fleas and intestinal parasites. My Father In Law who lived next door at the time came and got me and showed me the pitiful orange and white tabby with the flies circling him. I called my husband at work--in tears...begging him to come home and take Simba and me to the vet.
After several weeks of intensive care with feedings every 2-4 hours, Simba recovered. As often happens with kittens torn from their mothers too soon, Simba had an oral fixation. He would purr so loudly while he treaded on your neck and suckled on your earlobe. He loved to give kitty kisses, his rough tounge lapping your cheek or nose. He loved to be my pillow at night--purring while I laid my head on his belly.
He was an alley cat at heart though. He'd cry to go outside with a sob so pittiful that only the hard hearted could stand to make him stay inside. Through my own ignorace, I let him come and go as he pleased. In March of 1998, Simba went out and never came back. We found his body in the yard the next day. To this day, thinking about him and how much I loved him brings tears to my eyes.
In October of 2000, a mama stray brought her kittens to our back door. They were wild as wild can be, but one of the two...an orange and white tabby who looked just like Simba! I knew that there was no way this kitten could have been Simba's daughter, but she was a member of the family for sure. I tried to make friends with her--she responded by sinking her teeth in my thumb and earned her name: Scarlett, shortened to Scar.
Scar came to the back porch daily for food. I fed her, hoping to make friends. She wouldn't be friendly at all. One day, I opened the back door to feed her and she strolled casually in the house as if she thought it too cold to come from wherever she was hiding outside to the porch to be fed.
I couldn't ever catch her, but she spent most of her time sitting in the living room watching me. It was like a strange facination with something she found so objectionable, yet loved somewhere deep in her heart. She left the house one night in April, but returned shortly after, seemingly discovering that the outside wasn't all it cracked up to be. We then found out where Scarlett had been on her adventure as she became obviously pregnant.
Determined to make her progeny tame, we followed her to the best hiding places in the house and in mid June, found 2 pure orange tabbies. They're rambunctious, but tame. Last week, I picked up Mufasa (orange tabbies always have lion king names, don't you know) and he wriggled up to my ear...purring and kneeding my neck with his paws as he suckled on my ear. When he was finished (and my ear was suitably slimey with kitty spit) he wiggled up to my face and licked my cheeks and the end of my nose for what seemed like an hour.
I planned on getting a live trap and trapping Scarlett so we could have her fixed and let her wander from outside to inside as she pleased. I didn't want her to live a life of having litter after litter and, as selfish as it sounds, I also didn't want the responsibility of finding her babies new homes every 6 months or so. Today, the kittens turned 6 weeks and my plan was to get the live trap on Friday (pay day).
Today, I found Scarlett dead in her hiding place. As I turned the earth to bury her body, I couldn't help but to give thanks to the great tailchaser in the sky who surely must have brought this little mama into my life to give me a kitten so much like the Simba that I still miss so greatly.
After several weeks of intensive care with feedings every 2-4 hours, Simba recovered. As often happens with kittens torn from their mothers too soon, Simba had an oral fixation. He would purr so loudly while he treaded on your neck and suckled on your earlobe. He loved to give kitty kisses, his rough tounge lapping your cheek or nose. He loved to be my pillow at night--purring while I laid my head on his belly.
He was an alley cat at heart though. He'd cry to go outside with a sob so pittiful that only the hard hearted could stand to make him stay inside. Through my own ignorace, I let him come and go as he pleased. In March of 1998, Simba went out and never came back. We found his body in the yard the next day. To this day, thinking about him and how much I loved him brings tears to my eyes.
In October of 2000, a mama stray brought her kittens to our back door. They were wild as wild can be, but one of the two...an orange and white tabby who looked just like Simba! I knew that there was no way this kitten could have been Simba's daughter, but she was a member of the family for sure. I tried to make friends with her--she responded by sinking her teeth in my thumb and earned her name: Scarlett, shortened to Scar.
Scar came to the back porch daily for food. I fed her, hoping to make friends. She wouldn't be friendly at all. One day, I opened the back door to feed her and she strolled casually in the house as if she thought it too cold to come from wherever she was hiding outside to the porch to be fed.
I couldn't ever catch her, but she spent most of her time sitting in the living room watching me. It was like a strange facination with something she found so objectionable, yet loved somewhere deep in her heart. She left the house one night in April, but returned shortly after, seemingly discovering that the outside wasn't all it cracked up to be. We then found out where Scarlett had been on her adventure as she became obviously pregnant.
Determined to make her progeny tame, we followed her to the best hiding places in the house and in mid June, found 2 pure orange tabbies. They're rambunctious, but tame. Last week, I picked up Mufasa (orange tabbies always have lion king names, don't you know) and he wriggled up to my ear...purring and kneeding my neck with his paws as he suckled on my ear. When he was finished (and my ear was suitably slimey with kitty spit) he wiggled up to my face and licked my cheeks and the end of my nose for what seemed like an hour.
I planned on getting a live trap and trapping Scarlett so we could have her fixed and let her wander from outside to inside as she pleased. I didn't want her to live a life of having litter after litter and, as selfish as it sounds, I also didn't want the responsibility of finding her babies new homes every 6 months or so. Today, the kittens turned 6 weeks and my plan was to get the live trap on Friday (pay day).
Today, I found Scarlett dead in her hiding place. As I turned the earth to bury her body, I couldn't help but to give thanks to the great tailchaser in the sky who surely must have brought this little mama into my life to give me a kitten so much like the Simba that I still miss so greatly.
