My mom is one of those people that others turn to when something horrible happens. My whole life, I've watched people come running when the car catches fire, when the dog's been quilled by a porcupine, when someone has been shot in the leg or has suffered a head wound, or when there's a rattlesnake outside the 4th grade classroom. After one of her students got sick at school, she painstakingly cleaned the shit out of his boots because she knew they were his only pair of shoes.
So this weekend I wasn't entirely surprised to see that it had happened again. A good-intentioned co-worker adopted two newborn kittens, nursed them through infancy, and fell in love with them - despite the fact that her large dog had killed the last kitten she tried to adopt. Last week the kittens started walking, one toddled too near the dog's dinner bowl, and my mom unexpectedly found herself running from the school (where her co-worker rushed to hand it off) to the vet with a dying kitten. Her friend cried as she handed over the second kitten, and now my mom has a new kitty in the house. Xebo and Hurcules, tottering into their 15th year, are pretty pissed about it, and Gavin can't stop talking about the tiny calico, so it looks like we'll be bringing the kitten home when the boys go to Oahu to pick up our quarantined cats. Three young cats and a baby. We are in the heyday of our young adult lives, framing the childhood memories of our sons. The days you look back on later with nostalgia - and hey, here we are, and we get to be here all day.
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