Random Acts of Kittens

by Yamile Saied Méndez

  It scared me so badly, I shrieked and dropped the phone. It bounced once on the tiled kitchen floor, and then the battery flew out from the back, cutting Reuben’s frantic voice off.

  The cat howled again, and when I looked up through the window, I saw the raccoon lunge at it. I didn’t think. I grabbed the broom from the closet and ran out of the house in my slippers. The snow seeped through the thin fabric and burned my naked skin. I screamed at the top of my lungs, half because of the cold, and half trying to scare off the raccoon.

  As soon as it heard me coming, the raccoon ran away from me, across the street, and into the Rogerses’ bushes. The cat darted into the darkness of the shed.

  I had to shoo the cat away before I locked up. In spite of the cold, sweat prickled under my arms. When I found the hanging electric cord with the light switch in the middle of the room, I was panting. This wasn’t the moment for a meltdown. I had to keep my wits, or what was left of them.

  I pulled on the cord and the air reverberated with energy. It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the brightness of the light bulb.

  “Gato?” I called.

  More silence, and then I heard a tiny meow.

  I followed the sound all the way to the old armoire, where Mami kept old coats and baby toys. My chest heaved as I stood in front of the semi-closed door.

  “Are you there, kitty?” I asked, moving the coats aside.

  At the sound of my voice, the cat’s tiny face popped out from the coats and jackets, startling me.

  “Hey,” I said, relieved it didn’t look ferocious like when it was fighting the raccoon. But then my attention flickered to the rest of the cat. At its feet were several tiny … creatures. My mind struggled to count, but there were a bunch. They were all different colors. Pink, whitish, multicolored, and striped, but the one thing they had in common was long pink tails.

  Mice?!

  The cat lay curled in a crescent moon position and, with a swift move of its arm, gathered the creatures close to its tummy.

  “What’s going on?” I whispered.

  The cat blinked its yellow eyes slowly, and then I understood.

  Kittens. The cat and the raccoon had been fighting over newborn kittens.

  The cat had babies in our storage shed. The cat had babies!

  I peered at her closely to make sure the mama wasn’t hurt after her fight with the raccoon. She was purring loudly as her babies nuzzled against her tummy. The kittens were nursing just like the piglets I’d seen at the state fair last year.

  “You’re a mama gata,” I said in awe, and I don’t know why, but my eyes prickled, and my throat throbbed, but I didn’t think it was because of the virus.

  The cat blinked again, and I imagined it thinking, Finally. It took you a while, but you understood! Now, help us!

  I wanted to help her, but what did she need?

  I stretched out my hand to pet her head. Last time, the cat had run away from me, and now I was afraid that she’d hiss or scratch me. She did none of that. Instead, she closed her eyes and kept purring while my hand caressed her soft fur. The purring was an electric current that went all the way to my heart. There was no explanation for the impossible idea taking ahold of my mind.

  I had to bring them inside. I had to protect these kittens, including the mom, until they were old enough to fend for themselves.

  My heart started pounding again. I couldn’t leave this little family out in the cold. The shed’s temperature would only drop in the night, and the kittens and their mom would freeze to death. In the best-case scenario, they’d survive the worst of winter and I’d be able to keep them here in secret. But what about the raccoon?

  Even if the mama kept her babies safe from harm, I was sure my mom wouldn’t be happy when in the next few weeks she started seeing a bunch of wild cats hanging in the shed with her precious craft supplies. I didn’t need to be an expert on cats to know that if the kittens grew up away from humans and became wild, they’d never find families who’d adopt them.

  My mom would never let me keep the cats in the house, though. Once, Papi had wanted to get one, but she’d complained that a group of cats is called a destruction for a reason. I had no idea what she was basing her accusations on because we’d never had a pet before. But what was the right thing to do? I couldn’t go back inside and pretend I didn’t know about the cat family.

  I had to act now.

  If only Reuben were here to tell me what to do! If only I hadn’t dropped the phone! But I couldn’t waste time with what-ifs. The snow was falling fast, and soon the flurries could turn into a blizzard. I didn’t have much time.

  I had to find something to carry the cat family in, but what? It’s not as if the shed was a Room of Requirement like in the Harry Potter books, but among all the junk, there had to be something I could use.

  While the cat watched me, I searched around and finally grabbed one of the transparent plastic containers where I kept my favorite samples of slime. I emptied it, pushing the tubs of slime under an old chair with my foot. I’d have to come back later to organize my secret stash, but now I had no time to lose.

  Once I had emptied the bin, I lined it with a couple of the old baby blankets no one would ever use again, and said, “Let’s go home, mamacat.”

  The cat didn’t understand me the same way I understood her. She just lay there and looked at me. Should I go ahead and grab the kittens? Once, when I was like four, Julieta and I had found baby birds that’d fallen out of the nest. She’d warned me not to touch them because the mom would smell the scent of humans on them and reject them. I’d run to the kitchen to get paper towels to pick them up.

  Later on, Papi had said that was a myth, but who’d asked birds for their take on the topic? What if it was true that the animal mom rejects her babies if humans touch them? I couldn’t take the risk.

  I’d seen a couple mismatched mittens by the coats, so on impulse, I grabbed them, put them on, and picked up one of the sleeping kittens. I carefully placed it in the bin.

  The mamacat’s hair along her spine bristled, but I stood super still so she’d know I didn’t mean her or the babies any harm. Just when I couldn’t hold my breath any longer, she grabbed the smallest baby by the scruff of the neck and took it inside the bin to join the kitten already there. She went back for another one, and I gently moved the remaining two. They were five velvety balls of the softest yarn ever, light and fragile. A rapid heartbeat drummed against the palm of my hand. It was strong and steady.

  I imagined it sang, I’m here. I’m here. Help me. Help me.

  Once the kittens were all tucked inside the bin, the mamacat meowed at me as if asking what was next. I picked her up. She was surprisingly light. I could feel her ribs poking out. Carefully, I placed her next to her babies. Their tiny cries sounded like little squeak toys. She licked them vigorously and they calmed down.

  “Hold on tight, amigos,” I said, my voice shrill with excitement. “We’re going home.”

  The mamacat stared at me like she trusted I wouldn’t let her down. That look gave me strength to lift the bin. I gauged its weight. It wasn’t that heavy. I could do this.

  Then I turned off the light, closed the door so the raccoon wouldn’t be able to get inside, and headed back toward my house.

  I walked as fast as I could through the snowdrifts toward the bright lights of the kitchen, readjusting the awkward bin every few steps. I didn’t want to jostle the babies. They had to be newborns, like, born today, within the last few hours. I’d been in the shed all day yesterday and hadn’t seen or heard them, and the tiny meows were impossible to confuse for something else.

  My feet were numb with the cold and my ears hurt. I tried to move fast so the little family wouldn’t get snowed on.

  The kitchen light shone like a bonfire. One more step. Now another.

  I hadn’t quite latched the door, so I shoved it open, my arms shaking, and the plastic edge biting through the mittens into the palms of my hands. Th
e mamacat kept her golden eyes on me. The babies meowed fitfully. As carefully as I could, I placed the bin on the floor in the middle of the kitchen. I was shivering just from being outside that long, so the cats must have been cold too.

  Without really knowing what was guiding me, I took the mittens off and grabbed another blanket from the chair where Mami had been working. I placed it on top of the bin to keep them warm. Why hadn’t I done that before I tried to cross from the shed? The cat was fiercely licking the five babies again. She looked at me as if she wanted to tell me something.

  Then it fell on me. She was telling me she had to keep them warm! I looked around the kitchen, trying to figure out how I could help her.

  For starters, turn on the space heater. I ran to get it from Beli’s room. On the bed, she’d left her hot-water bottle, and I grabbed it on the fly. She’d need it to warm her feet tonight, but this was an emergency. I placed the heater next to the bin; I filled the bottle and wrapped it in a kitchen towel, and I placed it in a corner of the bin.

  The mamacat huddled around the warmth with her babies. Poor thing, she was frantic. One water bottle wasn’t enough! I had to improvise. The memory of a YouTube life hacks video flashed in my mind. I grabbed a couple old socks from the giant lost sock bag in the laundry, filled them with rice, and put them in the microwave for a couple minutes. The mamacat mewed as I tucked in the makeshift heat packs.

  “You’re welcome,” I said, and my voice sounded hoarse.

  Soon, I’d have to reheat the warm packs and refill the water bottle, but for now they seemed to work. The adrenaline started leaving my body, and as I got warmer, my hands and feet began throbbing with pain. I was shaking like green Jell-O in the school cafeteria. But I didn’t have time to think about myself when the kittens had just escaped death. I wasn’t going to lose them now.

  Once I stopped breathing fast, I drank a glassful of water. Maybe the cat was thirsty too? I found a shallow dish, filled it with water, and put it next to her inside the bin. All the babies were safe, but before drinking, she checked on them again. She was a good mama! She lapped the water with her dainty pink tongue to the last drop. When she finished, she looked at me, asking for more. Poor mamacat. How long had it been since she’d had a drink? I’d fed her once and she’d been desperate enough to leave her kittens to go rummage in the garbage for more food, but in the cold, she’d probably not been able to find fresh water on her own.

  While she drank, I brought her another can of tuna, the kind with the pop-up lid.

  The computer dinged with an incoming message. It could only be Reuben.

  Ay, pobre! Last he’d heard from me, I’d screamed like a banshee and dropped the phone. Then I’d completely forgotten about him.

  Natalia, if you don’t answer right this second, I’m calling 9-1-1. What’s going on??? Are you alive?

  No silly jokes, which told me he was scared. Yikes! This whole thing with the kittens and the raccoon was too fantastic to explain via text. I frantically looked for the phone and found the battery under the couch, and the rest of it hidden under one of Mami’s hanging ferns in the kitchen. I put the phone together while another message dinged, and to my relief, when I pressed the call button the signal came right on. I speed-dialed his number, and before it rang once, Reuben picked up.

  “What. In. The. World?” he said, sounding like he was speaking through clenched teeth.

  I couldn’t help it. I laughed, just like I did any time nerves got the best of me, or when a swell of emotion was threatening to take over. But if I cried, Reuben might do something drastic, like come over, or call the authorities.

  “Why are you laughing?” Now he sounded like I’d hurt his feelings.

  “Reuben, are you sitting down?” I bit my lip to prevent myself from laughing again. “What I’m about to tell you is stranger than fiction.”

  Without going into a lot of details, I told him what had just happened.

  “Wow, I mean, meow,” Reuben said.

  “What do I do now?” I asked, glancing over my shoulder at the kittens. I wondered where my family was. How long could random, anonymous service take? Were they okay? I’d have to call them and make sure, but that would have to wait until I devised a plan for my cats. “I fed the mamacat and gave her water. She keeps licking the babies … but what else am I missing that would mean life or death?”

  Reuben sighed, and I could picture his freckle-splattered nose scrunching up as he thought. “Well, I’m not a cat person, so I don’t know. But to start, I’m sure the mama will need a litter box. Let me find out what else. I have the knowledge of humankind at the tip of my fingers.”

  I could hear the click of the keyboard as he typed, and I sighed with relief. If there was any crucial information I needed to know, he’d find it. For now, I needed something that would work as a litter box. My eyes zeroed in on Mami’s supplies. I grabbed a shallow box that had contained jars, and a bag of sand that she’d been using for mini succulent terrariums. I wasn’t sure this was what cats used for a bathroom, but I hoped it worked for now.

  Reuben kept muttering to himself, and in the meantime, I walked over to the bin. All the babies were so cute, my hands itched with wanting to pick them up and cuddle them. Under the bright kitchen light, I could see their proper colors. Two were a grayish-white, one was orange, one was black-and-white, and one, the tiniest one of all, was all colors splashed together, like a rainbow kitten, with a black-and-white body and orange-and-white-striped legs.

  “How old are these babies?” he asked with more clicking in the background.

  “I haven’t asked them, but I’m guessing they’re hours old,” I said. “They weren’t in the shed yesterday.”

  Reuben laughed, and then said, “The most important thing is to keep them warm, then, and make sure the mama is comfortable. Don’t really touch them until they’re two days old. At least. I’m not kitting.”

  I snatched my hand away. I had just been about to pick up the rainbow one. Outside, a car rumbled past, and I held my breath to hear if it was Julieta’s car, but then the sound faded. I needed time to prepare for when they came home.

  “But really, the most important thing is to take them to the vet,” Reuben said.

  There was a silence as I tried to figure out how to get them there, and then he gasped.

  “What?” I asked, my heart jumping.

  “Call the shelter! They’ll know what to do. They have vets and volunteers and stuff.”

  “The shelter? In every movie and show, the shelter is literally the worst place to send an animal. They kill them there.”

  Reuben clicked his tongue. “You watch too many old movies,” he said. “They love animals there, and they’ll do anything to save the kittens. Really, I wish shows would stop making them the bad guys when all they do is try to help.”

  “Reuben! Get off the phone and the computadora! Too much time with electrónicos, chamo!” It was his mom’s voice blaring all the way to my side of the line. Like ours, his family was fluent in Spanglish.

  Reuben groaned on the phone, but when he replied, his voice was chill. “Coming, Mom!”

  I covered the phone so he wouldn’t hear me laughing. And really, why was I laughing? When my mom came back, I’d get an earful.

  “Listen,” Reuben said, “call the shelter and ask them what to do. Trust me. They close at eight. Here’s the number.”

  I wasn’t a hundred percent sure that calling the shelter was a good idea, but Reuben had never led me in the wrong direction. In fact, if I’d paid attention to his warnings about the exclusive customer lottery, Slime Supreme would still be thriving and Meera wouldn’t have betrayed me. Most importantly, I wouldn’t have the reputation of being the mean girl of Andromeda Elementary. I wrote the number down.

  “Got it?” Reuben asked.

  “Yeah. I’ll call them.”

  “Good. Keep me in the loop. I’ll come over tomorrow morning to help you.”

  “Come over early,” I whi
ned. “No sleeping till noon. I’ll need you!”

  “Yes, ma’am!” he said, and when I was about to hang up, he added, “Ah! Take pictures. You must document everything. Remember what Meera always used to say.”

  He was gone before I could tell him off for bringing Meera up.

  Reuben was right, though. Meera was the queen of social media, and the slime business had exploded once she’d helped me with pictures, videos, and graphics. When I watched the hypnotizing five-second videos of slime being swirled into a container, I had wanted to buy my own confections. Then she’d ruined everything … but the videos were still cool.

  Now, for documenting. I needed a phone to get video and pictures! But I didn’t have a phone or even a tablet. My mind went into overdrive. I could wait until my family was back and ask one of them to lend me a device, but never again would I have this moment of peace and quiet with the mamacat and her babies. Who knew what Mami would decide once she arrived home?

  If only there was a way to take pictures that didn’t require a phone … And then I realized I didn’t need a phone. I needed a camera.

  Julieta had an old-fashioned one in her closet that her dad had given her. Her room was out of bounds, but when had she used her camera last? Why would she care if I used it? This was a true emergency, and besides, in all my years of getting in trouble, I’d learned that it was easier to ask for forgiveness than for permission.

  Her door was locked, but hers was a simple cylinder lock I could open with a flat knife. In less than a minute, I was in. I grabbed the camera from her closet, and once I figured out how it worked, I started snapping pictures of the cats. Their adorable noses and feet were unreal. I tried to touch them as little as possible, but I noticed the tiniest one was the only one not nursing. It was off to a side, sleeping.

  A horrible fear came over me. What if … ? Gently, I placed my index finger on the baby’s back. It was hardly breathing. It needed help! I picked it up and placed it close to the mom’s tummy. It started nursing, but it stopped too soon, as if it were too tired to eat.