CHAPTER FIVE
FINDING SAMANTHA—SAVING HER LIFE
(23rd installment, Scruggs and Samantha, by Mary de la
Pena)
With Scruggs safe I stood for a
moment idly rubbing Scruggs’s nose as I tried to think through the
problem. Again I dialed my husband’s
cell phone, hoping I could catch him between appearances. Again it went straight to voicemail. I hung
up the phone without leaving a message.
I didn’t know what to say. How
could I tell him in a voice message that his kitten was gone? How would he take the disappointment? With our current state of cold war, would he
immediately jump to blame?
I paced in front
of Scruggs’s cage with him following my every step, his eyes never leaving
me. His face was a study of
intensity. He was mirroring my mood as
well as my steps, trying as only dogs can to help me solve my dilemma.
“Okay, Scruggs,” I
said. “What should I do? Do I find another kitten, or do I just walk
away?”
He froze in
mid-step, his front foot raised, his tail held erect, and his ears
pricked.
I asked
again. “What should I do? Kitten or no kitten?”
With the second
question he came to the cage gate, pressing his nose through the fence,
inviting me to rub him. As I pressed my
fingers through the mesh to pet his whiskered face, he sighed. Then he backed up, sat down, and turned his
face toward the door leading outside to the cat ward.
“Scruggies, come
here, Scruggs,” I coaxed.
He started to come
to me, then sat down and stared at the door leading out from the dog kennels to
the cat ward.
I stared hard at
him. It was crazy; dogs don’t understand
questions like the one I had asked him. I was going too far in my
insanity. I knew I had gone around the
bend, off the pier, and over the dam— all the inane idioms for having lost my
mind.
Yet, there he sat
idly, catching my eye and then rolling his eyes toward the door. I thrust my
fingers through the gate again and called him to me. He did not move. He just kept doing the crazy eye thing,
making contact with my eyes and then looking at the door.
Okay, I thought,
crazier things have happened. Not much
crazier, mind you, but still, weird things have happened between me and my
animals, leaving me to believe that God uses animals sometimes to reach us when
He thinks we need to listen to Him.
I shrugged, and
finally said, “Okay, Scruggs, be that way.
I’ll go look.”
The words had no
sooner left my mouth when he began his happy dance, joyfully twirling and
prancing, his tail wagging in pleasure.
As I stepped toward his cage to give him one final pat, he froze,
refusing to come to the cage door, staring hard at me, then shifting his gaze
to the door.
“Okay, okay, don’t nag,” I said.
“I’m going, I’m going!”
As I entered the cat ward, the same volunteer I had spoken with three
days earlier was going through the cages, removing kittens and cats, and
placing them in a larger cage on wheels.
Her shoulders were slumped and she held each kitten close to her as she
removed them from their cages. Each cat
she held was silent and frozen in her arms.
Resignation emanated from the human and the felines.
I gasped as I
realized what she was doing. She was
culling the cats to be euthanized!
Just as the
conscious thought formed she reached into the cage holding the small black
kitten I had played with the week before. But this kitten did not lie quietly
in her arms. It began to purr so loudly
I could hear her from across the room.
Without thinking I
sprang across the distance in what must have been one leap.
“No!” I cried,
“That kitten is mine! Please, don’t take
her away! Please, please, please, don’t
take her!”
The worker whirled
around just as my outstretched hands reached her to take the kitten from her
grasp.
Tears sprang to
her eyes as she gently placed the purring kitten in my hands. “Thank God,” was all she said.
I snuggled the
tiny kitten in my arms as she continued to purr. Seeing the volunteer’s tears and feeling the
soft fur of the kitten I held, I knew I had arrived just in time to find the
right fit to my house. This tiny black
kitten with the copper-hued eyes was going home with Scruggs and me.
Holding her close,
I thought of a black cat I had owned many years ago. I had named him Merlin after the
magician. It had only seemed fitting to
name a black cat after a famous sorcerer.
But the kitten I held was a female.
She needed a girl’s name. Without
much of a conscious thought, Samantha of Bewitched
jumped to mind.
Of course! My little black kitten should be named after
a famous witch!
“Samantha,” I
said. “Your name is Samantha.”
I rubbed her face
and cuddled her a little more. The
volunteer handed me her card, then gently took the kitten from me.
“Samantha is a
good name for her,” she said. “I’m glad
she’s got a home.”
I tapped my finger
on her cage and watched her skitter to my fingers, then arch her back and
skitter away.
Peace again
settled into my psyche. I had made good
decisions. A dog’s and a kitten’s lives
were saved, and I was ready to leave that place.
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