Kitty is Lost

 

KITTY IS LOST

2014 —Eduardo & Kitty

When my cat Kitty dashed terrified through the pet door at seven o'clock on Wednesday night, December 29, 2011, I never imagined it would be the start of eight dramatic days for my family.

We had adopted him in the fall of 2007 to solve a situation: Dorothy, my only daughter, had no siblings and was demanding her right to a pet.

I was born into a family that kept its distance from dogs but loved cats. I grew up surrounded by a large family and countless cats... all of them black! My father took great pleasure in his unfounded reputation as a “sorcerer,” and he fanned the flames of that rumor by raising kittens the color of shadows.

A dozen black cats would eat bread on the counter of our grocery store. The females gave birth constantly in the cardboard boxes where my mother kept our clothes. There were always a few that would dig into the dirt floors of our rooms to do their business. It didn't matter much to us back then; the world was too new, and life was a torrent of happiness.

My daughter had been asking for “her” cat for years. I avoided it as long as I could—I didn't want the extra work—but the day finally came when I gave in. Dorothy was almost nine when she went to the S.P.C.A. in the neighboring town of Stratham and said, “I want to adopt a kitten.”

The shelter had plenty of grown cats but only five kittens. Dorothy didn't need to “study” them. One kitten walked straight toward her and stole her heart. It was love at first sight. Back home, when we wondered what to name him, Dorothy said, “He’ll simply be Kitty.”

Faced with the choice of raising him as an indoor or outdoor pet, we decided to give him the freedom to go outside. I cut a hole in the back entrance and installed a flap. The houses here have storm doors, so every morning I open the outer door and close it at night, allowing Kitty free access through his flap.

Kitty is part of the family. His friendly nature brightens our lives. Inside, he plays and waits impatiently for his meals. Outside, he chases squirrels and visits his friends. He knows exactly when the neighbors return from work and when school lets out. As the students pass the house, Kitty waits for them to play.

The night Kitty disappeared, we’d had a bit of a falling out, and I lost my cool. I was cooking on four burners and washing dishes at the same time, and he was nagging for his food. According to my watch, his dinner was still half an hour away, and then it happened... I let out a shout and made a move as if to chase him. Kitty shot out like a bolt. And he didn't come back.

Half an hour later, my wife and daughter arrived. Kitty wasn't there to greet them, nor was he there for his dinner. New Hampshire was enduring a freezing winter, buried in snow. Without a doubt, he was in danger.

We began a relentless search that lasted seven days and seven nights. We scoured the town; we tracked through woods, rivers, bridges, and ditches. We used every minute of daylight, and at night we continued with flashlights. “Kitty, Kitty, Kitty,” we called, but the silent darkness only gave back an echo.

I am the only Latino immigrant in Rollinsford, the small town where I live. There are no other Latin Americans here, no people of color, nor any other ethnic minorities. The population is entirely white. The multiculturalism that comes from diversity simply doesn't exist, and the locals are politely distant. But it is also true that they share a deep love for their animals.

During the search, we put up a hundred posters on trees and poles. Phone calls of solidarity soon followed, along with well-meaning but mistaken tips. Students would stop in front of the house, hoping for good news. Meanwhile, the storm door remained open day and night, waiting.

One night we got a call. Someone had spotted a cat similar to ours. We went to the address and didn't find Kitty, but we had a unique experience. It was a large property with a barn and sheds... and dozens of stray cats everywhere. The owner fed them and gave them refuge in this “Cat House.” It was a moving sight that reminded me of the roof-cats in the barrio of my childhood.

At seven o'clock on Wednesday night, January 5, 2012, I was in the same spot I’d been eight days before: washing dishes, my back to the door. Dorothy was doing her homework, and my wife wasn't home yet. Between the rush of water and the clatter of dishes, suddenly, a long, piercing “meow” broke the silence. I spun on my heels, and there, in the center of the kitchen, was Kitty.

He was gaunt, bruised, and starving. Through the dark and the snow, he had found his way home. We never knew where he had hidden.

The next day I stayed home to take down the posters. As I went street by street, people stopped to share the good news. Near the school, a car pulled over. The driver rolled down his window and asked if Kitty was back. I told him yes.

The car rolled a bit further and pulled over again near a group of kids. The driver leaned out and shouted: “Kitty is back!”

The kids jumped in the air and shouted in unison: “Yes!!”

New Hampshire, USA

February 2014

Rollinsford Grade School. Rollinsford, New Hampshire

(Just across from Eduardo’s house)

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