The story of little Kali really begins with her mother, a small stray female calico cat we called "Sugar." Sugar was one of approximately 100 cats which a neighbor lady had been taking care of (many wandering over from a neighboring farm). This very sweet lady had a love for all animals and, in particular, a soft place in her heart for the numerous stray cats which seemed to gravitate to her.
When this lady fell ill, her (insert unmentionable word here) kids put her in a home and immediately (and literally) chased away all her cats - those in the yard, her garage, and several housecats - including an 8-year-old cat who had NEVER been outside. They did this in the month of February (!) so the poor cats were thrust suddenly into the cold winter with no food or shelter. Starving, they began to migrate to our home and I spent that winter rushing outside with warm blankets and warm food every few hours from daylight to nightfall. My husband and I built as many shelters as we could. We were both allergic to cats, and couldn't find any shelter (at that time) that would take them. During the spring and summer we began getting 4 or 5 at a time spayed and neutered, but they were having kittens so quickly.
Late that October, a little calico female we called "Sugar" gave birth to 3 babies on the step by our front door. We immediately fixed up a double boxed home for her, insulated and kept it filled with warm blankets. That November was bitter cold, and we also added a door flap to her home to keep the wind out. About a week after her babies had been born, I was very surprised one morning to see an additional two kittens inside the box. They were older than her kittens, but thin and she was cuddled around them as tenderly as her own three. I began supplementing the kittens by bottlefeeding. About a week later, three more kittens appeared in the box. Kittens arrived (different ages) until there were 12, the last kitten was old enough to be weaned, but he was horribly thin and very wild. He spat at me when I picked him up to bottlefeed him, would drink down a whole bottle, and then spit at me again after he was finished....lololol Little Sugar cuddled them all and treated them like her own. They all survived.
The picture below shows Sugar with several of her adopted kids feeding on the front step. The largest kitten, a grey tiger, is next to Sugar (he was the largest kitten that always spat at me before and after his bottle). The gray and white kitten opposite him was from another litter. The smaller dark and light grey tigers on the left of the picture were from a third litter,and the smallest kittens, the fuzzy orange and the fuzzy grey on the right are 2 of Sugar's babies. The other 6 kittens had finished eating and were back in their box. Sugar raised 9 foster kittens alongside with her own three young babies.
When Spring came, we recommenced fixing groups of cats, but Sugar became pregnant before we could get to her. She must have given birth in the woods which surrounds our house, because we heard her meowing at the front door one day and she had brought to us a tiny baby, only several days old. Although healthy and in good weight, she didn't seem to have much milk and I never saw any other kittens. I bottlefed the baby and gave it back to her. She gently took the baby from my hand, licked it all over, and carried it back to the woods. About a week later I heard a baby kitten crying nonstop in the woods. The woods was full of brush and some parts were just impossible to get through. I called and called and after a long time I saw a tiny little form low-crawling it's way to me. It was the same little baby, horribly thin and there was no sign of Sugar. I never saw Sugar again.
I gathered up the baby and rushed her inside where she responded to warmth and milk and lots of comforting love.
The picture below is Sugar's baby "Kali" drinking from her bottle.
We named the baby "Kali" and we think she was the prettiest kitten we had ever seen. She looked very much like her Mother but with more white and longer hair.
That summer, as the outside cats were having babies faster than we could get them fixed, we had to make the horrible decision to take them to a shelter, and it was difficult to find one which would take them all. Kali, of course, was going to stay with us as an inside cat. And we took in several others. (I wish we could have taken them all in, but it was just not possible.)
A neighbor on the other side had a small farm with the usual "barn cats." He said he didn't believe in feeding them because it "was their job to catch mice." During the cold winter evenings one of his barn cats, a black male, would scratch at our front door. We would bring him inside, feed him and allow him to stay in our partially finished basement overnight, though he always wanted to go back outside every morning.
One evening as we opened the door for him to come in, a small female tortoiseshell - hugging close to his side - came in with him and went rapidly down the stairs to the basement. When morning came, she looked at the open outside door, shook her head and headed back down to the basement. We named her "Princess" because she regarded the basement as her little kingdom and refused to leave it.
As the weather became warmer, the black cat would come over to visit her, but not at any set time. One night, around midnight, he evidently decided that he would bypass scratching at the door, and just marched into the house through the dogdoor from the back yard. He was halfway down the hallway when the Dachshunds woke up. "Panic" would be an understatement in describing our feeling of waking up to the roaring of Dachshunds as they dashed through the pitch-black house. The cat prudently took cover on top of the kitchen counter where we found him after frantically running around in the dark - bumping into the walls and each other - trying to find out what in the Sam Hill was going on. "Blackie" was promptly allowed to spend the rest of the night with his beloved Princess and we realized that, allergic or not, the decision to have cats was out of our hands.
Below is a picture of Blackie snuggling with his ladylove, Princess.
We took in a few more cats, the ones who were sickest or had been hit by cars (such as Oscar, below). During the summer I saw a thin cat sitting on a fence post looking at me. I went over to him and saw that one leg was swollen and his bottom jaw was bloody. He immediately jumped on my shoulder and purred. Poor little guy had probably suffered a glancing blow from a car. He was vetted and fixed (as they all were) and joined the family. His jaw is fully functional, though it looks odd. He's not very thin now. :-)
Kali, Blackie, Princess, Oscar, Mama Cat, Keebler, Pumpkin and Spice all have their own stories....as do ALL cats. They are part of our family, although are kept in a separate part of the house (than the Dachshunds). Hubby built a huge outside pen for them, and they can go into it whenever they want to lay in the sun and frequently spend many comfortable afternoons napping there. It is completely fenced (including the top) so they cannot roam.
We look at Kali and the rest of our very deeply loved, albeit unexpected, cat family, and always think of little "Sugar" and how that sweet little stray had changed our lives.
I wish with all my heart that I could have foreseen the future, and brought Sugar inside. But perhaps we can still do something for her, by taking care of the little kitten which she treasured so much.
Addendum:
Of the 100 cats which came over from the neighboring house and the neighboring farm, we brought 8 into our family. We sadly took 71 to the Capital Area Humane Society in Columbus (the only organization which would take them all; their surrender fee for wild cats was $10 per cat); the rest had either been killed in the road or had disappeared. I was quite vocal in my displeasure to the two unmentionable neighbors who claimed, at first, that there were "not that many cats." However we had kept all the receipts from the Humane Society, had the cats we took in, and had the graves of the ones we buried (which were killed in the road). The neighbors have since moved, thank goodness.
How ironic that one of those neighbors is a very self-proclaimed "religious" person - the one who chased the poor housecats outside in the middle of winter. Personally, I do not give a flippin' fig leaf for a person's religion (or a religious person) whose animals do not feel its benefits. Life in any form is our perpetual responsibility. Its abuse degrades those who practice it. Compassion is a signal token of genuine manhood and humanity. If there is an all-powerful, all-knowing Creator, surely He takes account of the injuries and sufferings of helpless animals by the hands of beings He created.
I cannot stand these sanctimonious individuals, families or groups – the ones who have barns full of poor dogs, the ones who hold "dog auctions", the ones who keep their poor dogs out in the cold all winter long, the ones who are contemptuous of “stray cats” - while all the time pretending they are soooooooo religious. They are greedy; they are cruel; and they have hearts of stone. They ostentatiously display themselves in a self-perceived aura of pious righteousness, but disregard the precepts of love and compassion which genuinely religious people live by.
We have not two hearts - one for the animals, the other for man. In the cruelty toward the former and the cruelty toward the latter, there is no other difference than in the victim.
Until we establish a felt sense of kinship between our own species and those fellow mortals who share with us the sun and shadow of life on this planet, there is no hope for other species, there is no hope for the environment, and there is no hope for ourselves.
They cannot ask for kindness
Or for our mercy plead,
Yet cruel is our blindness
Which does not see their need.
World-over, town or city
We are trusted with this task:
To give our love and pity
To those who cannot ask.
There ARE good, kind and honest people in this world, though it seems they are becoming more and more difficult to find. My parents and my aunt & uncle, for instance, are the kindest and most gentle people I know. They are religious, but the difference is - they LIVE their religion. To them, religion is not just something to be displayed to others, it's a way of life. They are polite, friendly and honest with everyone; loving, understanding and supportive with family members; and kind to animals; and they are the most perfect people I know. I feel so fortunate to have them in my life.