And then there were two...
We used to have three kittens. Black, grey, and blond. All boys, all feisty, and all nursed from the close-to-death state we found them in to health by Kristee. A few weeks ago, Kristee had to go down to Kalemie to help work out some finance issues with our projects in N Katanga. Joel and I were happy to take care of the babies (as we call them) while she was gone. It ended up being a catastrophe. Not the fact that Joel and I were caring for the cats, but the bad luck we had was sadly fatal. About half way through Kristee’s time down south, her favorite kitten, the grey one called Quinton, jumped out of Joel’s arms from about four feet up. He struggled, wobbling into the box where they sleep, not putting any weight on his back left leg. Joel and I weren’t sure how we would tell Kristee the news about her favorite kitty…but it got worse. The next morning, the landcruiser wouldn’t start, so we had to push it back and forth to try and jump it. We were still taking the cats back and forth to the office everyday to make sure they got enough food, so we had them in closed up in their box while we worked on the car with the guards. After finally giving up on Mobile 3 (“mobile trois”), we went inside for a few minutes to wait for another car. We also have two guard dogs at the house, one of which is really pretty wild. Though we had closed up the cats well in the box, the mean dog, Buddy, came and knocked it over
. The one cat that still had all four good legs, Simba (aka Blondie or Muzungu) ended up outside the box and at the mercy of the crazy dog. Now we really didn’t know what to tell Kristee about her precious babies—ahem, I mean, kittens. Joel buried Simba outside the compound with a moment of silence—and the disturbing sinking feeling of imagining how we’d break the news to Kristee who still had a week left in Kalemie. She ended up taking the news ok, though the tears were many. Though I know cats are not people, and people die all the time, I found myself quite saddened by the fate of little Simba, or Blondie, as I liked to call him. In a very minute way, it brings into perspective the realities of life and death. It’s easy to get attached to things—people and animals especially. And sometimes it’s only after they’re gone that we realize the strength of the attachment. As I am typing this post, the remaining two are asleep lounging in the crook of my left arm, content with their full bellies.
We used to have three kittens. Black, grey, and blond. All boys, all feisty, and all nursed from the close-to-death state we found them in to health by Kristee. A few weeks ago, Kristee had to go down to Kalemie to help work out some finance issues with our projects in N Katanga. Joel and I were happy to take care of the babies (as we call them) while she was gone. It ended up being a catastrophe. Not the fact that Joel and I were caring for the cats, but the bad luck we had was sadly fatal. About half way through Kristee’s time down south, her favorite kitten, the grey one called Quinton, jumped out of Joel’s arms from about four feet up. He struggled, wobbling into the box where they sleep, not putting any weight on his back left leg. Joel and I weren’t sure how we would tell Kristee the news about her favorite kitty…but it got worse. The next morning, the landcruiser wouldn’t start, so we had to push it back and forth to try and jump it. We were still taking the cats back and forth to the office everyday to make sure they got enough food, so we had them in closed up in their box while we worked on the car with the guards. After finally giving up on Mobile 3 (“mobile trois”), we went inside for a few minutes to wait for another car. We also have two guard dogs at the house, one of which is really pretty wild. Though we had closed up the cats well in the box, the mean dog, Buddy, came and knocked it over
. The one cat that still had all four good legs, Simba (aka Blondie or Muzungu) ended up outside the box and at the mercy of the crazy dog. Now we really didn’t know what to tell Kristee about her precious babies—ahem, I mean, kittens. Joel buried Simba outside the compound with a moment of silence—and the disturbing sinking feeling of imagining how we’d break the news to Kristee who still had a week left in Kalemie. She ended up taking the news ok, though the tears were many. Though I know cats are not people, and people die all the time, I found myself quite saddened by the fate of little Simba, or Blondie, as I liked to call him. In a very minute way, it brings into perspective the realities of life and death. It’s easy to get attached to things—people and animals especially. And sometimes it’s only after they’re gone that we realize the strength of the attachment. As I am typing this post, the remaining two are asleep lounging in the crook of my left arm, content with their full bellies. 
No comments:
Post a Comment