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Illustration by Summer Age: 8 Paris, TN |
“Grandma, tell us a story, PLEASE!” exclaimed a wiggly redheaded girl of four.
“Yeah,
Grandma, tell us a story about when you were little,” echoed her seven-year-old
sister.
“Okay,
sit down and be still and I’ll tell you about the time I tamed a wild kitten.”
Back
when I was little, we lived on a hog farm. Our house sat on a small hill and the yard sloped down on
the right-hand side about 50 yards to the gate of the pigpen. My swing set sat at the top of the hill
next to the driveway. I spent most
of my days playing in that side yard.
One
summer day when I was eight years old, I spied something in the pigpen that was
not a pig. It was mostly white,
but it had black, brown, orange, and even a little pink on it. This animal was fluffy and much smaller
than a baby pig. It was a beautiful
calico kitten. Running immediately
down to the fence of the pigpen, I tried to get a better view, but I scared it
away.
The
next day I spotted it again. This
time I quietly sneaked down to the fence trying to make as little noise as
possible. The kitten walked along
the outside wall of the barn where my daddy fed the pigs. My heart nearly stood still. It was the most beautiful kitten I had
ever seen. I quietly slipped away
and went to ask my mom how I could get that kitten to be my kitten.
My
mom explained to me that it was a wild kitten and wasn’t used to people. She said the only way to tame it would
be to somehow find a way for it to get used to me. She suggested putting out a bowl of milk everyday until it
got used to being fed and then try to pet it while it was drinking.
From
that point I was on a mission. The
first day I placed a bowl of milk a few feet from the gate to the pigpen and
went mostly up the hill to the house to sit and watch. It took five minutes or so, but the
kitten finally came to the bowl and sniffed the milk. It took a couple of drinks and then shrank back. Cautiously, it came back to the milk
and drank some more. I sat as
perfectly still as I could. When
it finished the milk, it ran back to the pigpen.
The
next day I went out with the milk at about the same time as the day
before. I placed the milk on the
ground a little farther from the gate this time. I took up my position close to the top of the hill and
waited. It only took a couple of
minutes this time before the kitten came to the bowl. On this day every time the kitten started to drink, I would
very slowly scoot forward. When
the kitten looked up, I would freeze.
Before the kitten finished the milk, I managed to get within 10 feet of
it.
This
pattern continued for the next three days. Each day I would come out with the milk at about the same
time. I would place it a little farther
from the gate each day, and I would start farther down the hill each day. Every time the kitten would drink, I would
very slowly scoot forward. When
the kitten looked up, I would freeze.
By the end of the third day, I had managed to get within a couple of
feet of the kitten. I tried to
reach out and touch the kitten, and scared it away.
Disappointed
that I had scared the kitten away, I didn’t give up. The next day I went out with my bowl of milk at the same
time. This time the kitten was a
little more cautious about coming to the bowl, but once it started drinking, we
started our usual ritual. This
time I got much closer to the kitten, but didn’t try to touch it. I stayed that close until the kitten
finished. While waiting for the
kitten to finish, I decided the next day would be the day. I would pet the kitten.
The
next day went exactly as the others had. I slowly crept closer to the kitten every time it drank. When I got as close as I had the day
before, I sat there for several minutes being as still as possible. Then I very quietly reached out my hand
and gently touched the kitten. The
kitten backed up for just a second and then returned to the bowl. This time I stroked the kitten’s back
once. Again the kitten backed away
for a second, but returned to the bowl.
The third time I stroked the kitten several times and the kitten began
to purr. I knew I had
succeeded.
It
still took several days of petting the kitten while it was eating to make the
kitten comfortable with me, but before long the kitten would come up to me when
I came out with the bowl of milk.
After another week or so, the kitten actually let me pick it up. At that point I figured out it was a
girl kitten and named her Snow White.
She was officially my kitten.
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