I thought of them as Calico 1 and Calico 2.

These were two stray cats that, for at least the last 15 years, I fed twice daily on my front porch.. They were part of the “Front Porch Kitties.” None of them were mine, but all were in need of care.

Eventually, things got really out of hand with too many kittens being born. I was feeding like two dozen Front Porch Kitties at one point.

This had to be resolved, somehow. So, I made a deal with my friend and neighbor, Christina. “If you can catch all the females over time, and take them to the vet to be fixed, I’ll pay the bill.”

And by some miracle, that is what happened. And there has been no kittens for well over a decade.

I am now down to just a handful of Front Porch Kitties, including the stalwarts Calico 1 and Calico 2. If I saw one, I knew the other would be adjacent. They were always near each other but I never saw them groom each other or play together. But, they were nonetheless always near each other. Mom and daughter? Sisters? They never talked about it. I could pet #1. Never #2.

Yesterday, I glanced out my front window. #1 was on the porch, sitting up, but something was obviously wrong. I stepped outside, came over to her, and saw that she had leaves and detritus in her whiskers. I gently pulled all this off. But her head was moving back-forth, and she would kick out her legs in an unnatural way. Like she was having an epileptic fit. Her head was facing down. I gently pulled it up and was shocked. Her face was a mess, as was her nose and mouth. Clearly, something was terribly wrong.

I pick her up and was additionally shocked. She weighed nothing.

Taking her inside, I went to the kitchen, soaked a cotton cloth with warm water, and proceeded to cautiously wash her face. She made no protest.

After drying her face, I placed her back on the porch. I had noted that she had been sitting by the heated water bowl. But she was not drinking.

I know that cats will not eat if they can’t smell the food. And I guessed that #1 had not eaten for a long while, as a result of a clogged-up nose. My heart went out to her.

Rushing back inside I was relieved to find a can of sardines. I yanked open the tin and put about 1/3 into a bowl, then brought this out to her. For a long while she did not react. She just sat making weird jerky movements. Then, she very slowly lowered her head, and lapped up some of the proffered treat.

My heart soared.

I left her, but kept checking through the window. She remained in place but was ignoring the bowl. Her legs kept jerking. I have never seen this before.

After an hour I saw her at the edge of the porch. She seemed to want to get back on the ground but the 18-inch drop was obviously unmanageable. I went back outside, picked up her weightless body, and gently placed her on the ground. My touching her accelerated her physical distress and she jerked in a highly agitated way.

After another hour I saw that she had moved about 5-feet, and closer to the street. She was in a sunbeam. She was sorta kinda still.

I got a small box, placed some bubblewrap on the bottom as insulation from the cold ground, placed a cotton towel over, went outside, picked her up, and placed her in her new home. I mean, what cat doesn’t adore a box?

She would not lay down though, but remained sitting up. Her jerkiness resumed. I had no idea of how to help more. And was I even helping at all?

After another hour or so, a glance out the window revealed that she had, at last, laid down. Only her tail was visible, draped over the side of the box, flicking up/down. Flicking. Flicking.

I realized that she was likely in her death throes. But I have held vigil over very old cats which spent 10 days dying. How much longer did she have?

As the sky began its transformation into dark, I knew two things:

1. I could not leave her in the box all night. The cold would kill her (a terrible way to die), or coyotes would get her (ditto).
2. She might manage to walk into the road but she would not be able to dart from on oncoming car.

Both of these were 100% unacceptable.

So, I knew what to do. I picked the box up, went into a bathroom, place the box atop a heating vent, and closed the door. At least she would be safe and warm during her likely finial hours.

She was still kicking and pawing. Again, I have never seen this before.

I took a nap, woke, and then checked on her.

She was still. Oh. Dear.

But she was breathing. Oh! I guessed that she had fallen into a coma. Her tail was motionless and still draped over the side of the box.

During the remaining evening, every time I checked there had clearly been zero movement. I was now certain she was in a coma.

In the morning, well, you know what I found. She had not moved an inch. Her tail was motionless and still draped over the side of the box. She was not breathing. This means that she had remained in a coma and I was grateful for that. She had experienced no pain during her final night.

Shortly after, I brought out food for the Front Porch Kitties. There was only one.

Yep, #2. I had never seen her alone before.

 

What struck me later today was the miracle that Calico #1, in desperate condition with hardly any life left, managed to get up on my porch. She did, of course, long know the porch as a good place, a place of nourishment. Did she also know that she might get help? I mean, did she come to me for help?

I was not able to offer much. But perhaps I gave her a great deal. Her last hours were comforted by an all-important wonder: a box.

And she had heat, and a place safe from the road and wild animals.