Couldn't If I Tried

When I heard the noise in my garbage can, I immediately thought "Omigosh, I have a rat!" Arming myself with a large frying pan and a heavy, metal baseball bat, I decided to do the right thing and bash the little rodent's head in. I tiptoed to the corner of the garage and peeked around. I was breathing with my mouth open, so the rat wouldn't hear me coming. A brilliant idea, I know.

Suddenly, the trashcan tipped over, spilling its guts all over my driveway. Something was squirming inside a brown paper bag. Screaming like a banshee, I threw the frying pan at it; and it connected with a satisfying crunch. I swung the baseball down again and again, pounding that rat into oblivion as the bag got darker and darker with its blood.

A small mewling noise from behind stopped me mid-swing. That wasn't what I thought it was. It just couldn't.

"You had to have babies, didn't you," I sighed at the gory mess at my feet. I turned to see how many rat babies were watching me mutilate their mother.

What I saw next shook me to the core. A gray, tabby kitten sat in the mouth of the trashcan, head cocked, big eyes staring up at me. A lump the size of an orange lodged in my throat. In dread, I slowly turned on my heel and looked down at the murdered victim. About two inches of gray and black striped tail was poking out of the end of the bag. I made to my second trashcan just in time to eject my breakfast.

Then it hit me what I had really done. I'd just orphaned a baby. The poor mother cat was just trying to find something for her kitten to eat, and I'd used her as a pinata. I sank down to the ground in front of my garage door and laid my head on my knees. I wailed and wailed, praying that God would be merciful to me, a murderess.

I felt a small pressure on my bare toes. The kitten stood with its front paws on my foot, staring at me again with its big black eyes.

"Where's my mommy?" it meowed pitifully. That sound only made me wail and sob some more.

"I'm a horrible, killing machine," I cried to the feline baby. "I killed your mommy, so now you'll either die on the streets, trying to survive on your own, or I'll have to take you to the pound where you'll probably get euthanized anyway."

The kitten crawled up between my legs and laid its paws on my stomach.

"Keep me," its little face said. "Be my mommy now."

"Yes," I whispered. "I could do that. I will take the place of your mommy." I scooped it up in my hands and stroked its soft fur. "Will you forgive me?"

The kitten curled up in my palm and purred, "Yes."

My friends thought I went crazy that day, but Munkustrap (named after my favorite character from CATS) and I were made for each other. He is the perfect feline child, and I am the perfect human mother. He listens to all my complaints and self-pitying; and I buy him the best mouse toys I can afford. Once a year, I hold a memorial for his mother and tell him what a brave and strong cat she was.

I can't imagine my life without him. Couldn't if I tried. He's God's reminder to me to look before I leap, and also to keep my trashcan more accessible to hungry mothers.

Bethany Bachman writes in Philadelphia and misses her cat Bucky. She hopes his current family has a big yard and plenty of love.

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