One month ago, we rescued two four-month old kittens. The rescue lady gave them funky names and we immediately renamed them. “We dub thee: Felix and Oscar.”
They are indeed an odd couple. The local rescue lady found them in back of a Target store on 225th Street in the Bronx. They were dumpster divers. Who knows what dangers they had to flee to stay alive just four months. “What kind of food do they eat?” we asked the rescue lady, wondering wet vs. dry, chicken vs. seafood, “pate” vs. chunky.
“They’ll eat anything,” she said. “Give them good stuff, but as for flavors and textures, they are not picky.”
She was right. When it’s mealtime, I bang on the food dishes with a spoon and they gallop behind me to their feeding spot, bury their noggins in their grub, and chow down.
They play-fight all night, like two ten-year old boys on a sleepover. They run through the house with reckless abandon. They play with toys. They kiss each other and fall asleep. An hour later, they’re at it again, swiping and swatting and being healthy kittens.
They take care of each other. We have a big apartment and they don’t have the run of the entire place. Not yet. So we keep the doors to some rooms closed. Off-limits to Felix and Oscar.
The other day, Oscar came over to me and snuggled. I petted him and he walked five yards away, and returned for petting. Rinse, repeat. Four times. It occurred to me: I haven’s seen Felix in awhile. Uh-oh…
I got up. Oscar led the way, tail straight up. I heard desperate kitten meowing, high pitched and pathetic. Hmmm. Where was Felix? He wasn’t in the hall closet. Maybe the powder room? Nope. Maybe the master bedroom? Nope. My office? Nope. Meowwwwwww. I opened the door to my wife’s office.
MEOWWWWW. There he was. Felix was lost and scared. How he got in there, I’ll never know. And they ain’t talking. This is the Bronx. Snitches get stitches.
Oscar knew, though. He looked out for his red-headed brother, and enlisted my aid.
And I became sad. So I had to do a deep dive to figure out what was bothering me. Didn’t take long. My sister and I are estranged. We once were besties, but that was a long, long time ago. We were dumpster divers in the central Bronx. We ate anything. I was found, but not my sister. Her life’s been tough and her struggles turned her bitter and dangerous to me. I tried. I really tried, to make the relationship work. No bueno. Time and time again she kneecapped me. Dirty deeds. Inappropriate behavior. I just couldn’t anymore.
So now, I see how our rescue kittens, Felix and Oscar, two tabbies, interact. They have a great chemistry. Two completely different personalities, but buds nevertheless. They have each other’s backs. One lies, and the other swears to it.
Sometimes the Kryptonite leaches out. I think about what might have been. Ah well. Woulda, coulda, shoulda.
“Through thick and through thin,
All out or all in.
And whether it’s win, place or show.
With you for me and me for you,
We’ll muddle through whatever we do.
Together, wherever we go.”