Thunder Paws: How he came to live with us, part 1

Thunder Paws

Sometimes, the best cat is the one that you do not seek out; the one that appears unexpectedly before you and then, without making any effort to do so, inserts itself deep into your heart and life to bring you warmth and pleasure, causing you to laugh with delight and to marvel at the wonder that is a cat. So great is the love generated by such a cat that when, unexpectedly, it is torn from you, it’s absence leaves you and its whole host of human loved ones grieving; yes - even weeping.

Thunder Paws was such a cat.

I now begin his story:

After persuading me to bring the kitten home, Nabysko decided to boil him, so she put him in a pot.

On May 15, 1992, the sun rose into a crystal-blue sky and there poured it rays down to generate the first hot day of the year in Wasilla, Alaska. Unable to cope with work on such a day, I abandoned it, grabbed Sunflower, Nabysko - the only two people who were nearby and drove them up the Matanuska Valley to take a glacier viewing expedition,

By the time we turned around to return home, we had been parched by the hot sun, so we stopped at a gas station in Sutton, not for fuel but for cold, liquid, refreshment. We rushed inside, thinking not of kittens, but only about the chilled drinks that we would soon guzzle. In my case, this meant Pepsi. 

There, in the gas station store, just beyond the soft drinks, a low box sat on the floor and in it was a beautiful calico cat, attempting to groom two kittens with her raspy tongue. One, a rambunctious tiger-stripped fellow, burst out of the box and went leaping, scurrying and hoping wildly about the store.

The kitten did not wish to be boiled. He jumped out of the pot.

The other, an orange fellow with a white face, breast and paws, nestled snugly against the soft, furry, underbelly of its mom and looked up at us through dreamy, curious, puzzled, intelligent, blue eyes. “Oh, cute!” Nabysko squealed. 

Her chubby little hands shot downward, gripped the startled kitten and yanked it up from the warmth and security of its mother’s tummy. Nabysko tucked the bewildered creature close to her cheek. Squirming, the kitten maneuvered itself into an upright position, placed its paws upon Nabysko’s shoulder and looked out apprehensively.

“Do you want him?” a skinny, wrinkled, old man asked.

“Yes!” Nabysko squealed happily.

“No!” I thundered. “We already have a cat!”

Free now from the pot, the kitten moons Nabysko.

“No one will take these kittens,” the old man sighed, “I guess I’m going to have to take them to the pound.”

“Please, Daddy,” Nabysko begged as she cuddled the tiny orange and white fellow. “This kitty can’t go to the pound!”

“No, Nabysko” I stated firmly. “We can’t rescue every kitten. We just can’t! Kaboodle would not be happy.”

“Daddy! Kaboodle needs a friend. Please! Daddy! I need a cat to sleep with me. Kaboodle always sleeps with Tryskuit!”

“No!” I guided Nabysko out the door and to the mini-van, where I strapped her into the safety seat behind her mom, the beautiful Sunflower. I took my own position behind the wheel, inserted the key and gave it a twist. 

The engine sputtered to life and began to purr. I put the gear in reverse, brought my foot down upon the gas pedal and started to back up. As I did, the happy image of Nabysko cuddling the kitten swept through my mind.

If, as stated below, I regretted taking the kitten, then why did I nestle him like this, later that very day? Why now, despite the joyous decade that he gave us, do these pictures cause my eyes to water, and this screen to blur, even as I type these words?

“Heck!”* I stammered, “I tell you, something is wrong in this world when a father can’t get his own daughter a kitten to sleep with! C’mon, Nabysko!” I braked. Leaving a perplexed Sunflower alone in her seat, I led Nabysko back into the gas station, where she scooped up the kitten.
As the three of us left the store and headed back to the car, the old man called out after us.

 “That’s a fine kitten! You won’t regret it!”

I thought about Kaboodle and how unfair this was to him. 

“I already do!” I shouted back.

*I actually said, “Hell!”, but there might be mommas who read this to their sweet, innocent, children and so I have toned down the language. I would note, however, that Nabysko survived hearing repeated utterances of the epithet uncorrupted.

Ps: Please note: These photos did not look so dark and muddy when I saved them in Photoshop, but somehow they translated this way online. I thought about removing this piece until I could get a chance to redo and replace them, but by then the post was already up. Plus, those of you who have tried to replace a series of photos already placed in blogger know that it is not a straight-forward, simple process. 

So, for the moment, I will leave them like this, but I hope to replace them with copies that translate better, very soon.