Dear Rita Mae Brown,
Sneaky Pie’s Cookbook for Mystery
Lovers was a quick and enjoyable
read. It sneaked in out of order because I couldn’t resist it anymore. I am not
a cook, but I will try some of these recipes for the fun of it.
The animal tips were an
unexpected plus, the anecdotes fun and the fact that these beloved animals were
rescues from the SPCA was heartwarming. I loved the story of the goat eating
the interior of your brand new truck. Sneaky Pie should do another book, a tell
all book about Rita Mae Brown, ah the things that cat..and his
predecessors…must know.
I like the recipe: Goat’s
Milk for Orphaned Kittens and Puppies. I can picture you bottle feeding a
kitten and later two litters of motherless hound pups. Cute image (accompanied
by minor swooning on my part).
The exceptional dog Lady
once rescued a litter of kittens. I was cleaning up an empty house. Lady began
to bark, insisting on attention. She ran in and out of the house. I petted her
and she continued to wear a path from where I was to the back door. Finally,
with a big mental “Duh”, I said “Oh, you have something to show me outside?”
She took off like a shot. She spoke English better than I spoke canine.
Outside the back door was
what I thought to be a squealing rat on its back, sopping wet. Lady pranced
happily at my discovery of her treasure. I shooed her away and looked closer.
It was not a rat, it was a white recently born kitten covered in slobber and
dirt. I don’t know why Lady didn’t bring it all the way into the house. Maybe
she knew how fragile it was. It looked like she had pushed it though the dirt
to get it to the door, but couldn’t push it up the step.
I looked around for a mom
cat or some sign it had a home nearby. No sign. Not a cat person, I was
clueless about what to do, but knew my friend’s mom would know. She was raised
on a Kentucky
farm. I wrapped up the critter in a wash cloth. It fit in one hand with room to
spare.
When I tried to get Lady on
her leash, she would not come. She went to a trash can and barked at me. I
thought she was goofing off, happy to have found something I obviously valued
since I praised her and picked it up. I started to scold her for not coming,
but she jumped up, put her front paws on the trash can, looked inside, then
looked at me and barked some more. I wonder if some of those barks included
“Helloooo, can’t you see I’m still trying to tell you something!”
I walked over to the trash
can and wiggling inside, amid weeds and debris, were three more kittens. They
were dry and as tiny or smaller than the dirty white one. There was no nest, no
indication they were gently placed there. Someone dumped them there to die. I
gathered them up and then asked Lady “Is there more???” She went and sat by the
door, ready to go, no more barking.
In the weeks that followed,
the kittens were given vitamins and a formula prescribed by the vet. All but
the runt, aptly named Wimpy, survived. As the other three grew, Wimpy fell
behind, only half the size of his siblings. Yet with his big heart he left as
much of an impression, after only weeks of life, as the others that lived
between 16 and 18 years.
Several of us pitched in to
care for these tykes. The friend I followed, her Kentucky mom, my mom and I all took turns so
the kittens would always be with someone and fed around the clock.
Once the
three remaining kittens could climb, Rowdy, Tamale and Ashes were impatient for
each meal. They would leap up on our pant legs, not strong enough to climb up,
but strong enough to hold on as we heated the formula.
This took some finesse,
walking with three whining accoutrements swinging like mini Tarzans from pant
legs, while heating formula and preparing the bottles. During feedings we were
always outnumbered. There were more kittens than hands to hold them, even if
two of us happened to be there.
Finally, they were weaned.
We had kept them hidden from landladies as none of us were supposed to have
pets. My friend, with great reluctance, took them to the shelter. She gave them
to the attendant and explained that they were abandoned and none of us caring
for them could keep them. With teary eyes she readied herself to leave.
The attendant assured her
“Don’t worry, they won’t feel a thing.
“What do you mean?” she
asked.
“Well they are too young to
keep. They require too much care so they will have to be put down.”
And that is how Rowdy,
Tamale and Ashes became a part of the family…permanently.
The group effort it took to
keep the kittens alive reminds me of your father and aunt traveling across
country in foul weather to fetch you from the orphanage, depending on strangers
for warm milk on a freezing cold night to keep a tiny five pound baby Rita Mae
alive.
Bless those that pitch in to
rescue, feed and care for the babies left behind. What a wonderful gift Lady
gave to our make shift family. What a wonderful gift those strangers along the
road, in the early days of your then fragile life, gave to us all.
Sleep well,
Loraine
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