Wednesday, July 10, 2013

The Taming of Snow White


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.  

No comments:

Post a Comment