When Life Gives You Kittens

In the middle of the night, when I was probably seven years old, my mom woke me up softly. She told me to come into her bedroom. It must have been a long time ago because my parents still had their bedspread with little palm trees all over it. On their bed was our cat, Mittens, she was quietly pushing tiny newborn kittens out of herself and onto the bed. Maybe that’s why they don’t have that bedspread anymore.

Mittens pushed and, one by one, at least eight kittens popped out. Mittens licked off their little bodies until they were clean. They meowed so sweetly. She would hide them under the covers after cleaning them. We lined up the small bodies next to each other, counting the tiny babies. They each meowed, wanting milk already, and somehow knowing how to find it even though their eyes were sealed shut and would be for weeks.

I treasured each one of those babies as we got to know them before sending them to new homes. I remember being thrilled to be home after school because it meant I could spend time with the kittens.

Everything about them enthralled me from their tiny runs they would do to their little bodies snuggled up next to me when they’d sleep. Cradling a newborn in your palm makes the world make sense.

Kittens and cats stuck by me whether depressed, manic, or euthymic. They have given me grace and love when I felt I didn’t deserve it and when I needed it most. Cats helped me see value in living when I didn’t feel I could move forward. My cat, Toby, meowing in the morning is such a good reason to get up. The responsibility of caring for something outside of myself has made my own self-care feasible when it felt impossible. In the hardest of times, it still feels worth it to exist because I get to be in the same world as cats.