Baby Kitty came to me one day in late June 1990, cradled in the hands of my then 7-year old nephew David. He told me he had taken the kitten away from some boys that were tossing her around like a ball. He looked at me worriedly and said, "Help her live, Aunt Sandy." How could I refuse?

I had a reputation in my family of trying to nurse baby animals back to health. A few months before, it had been 3 kittens found in the trunk of an old car. That time, I had the help of a lactating mother cat, just beginning to wean her own 8-week old kittens.

This time, it was going to be harder. Celeste was now spayed and couldn't help me. I was on my own. This kitten was only 2 weeks old, with its eyes barely open. Appearing coal black at first (later showing a white undercoat to make it a black smoke), I checked and thought it was a male. I named "him" Damien, after the devil's son in the Omen.

First thing I did was dig out the old nursers from the other kittens. Next I went and got the KMR, a replacement milk for orphan kittens. Then I called the vet for information. That's when I found out just what the mother cat is doing when she licks her kittens behinds after nursing. I never dreamed I'd have to teach this poor thing to even go to the bathroom.

It was touch and go at first. But Baby was a fighter. Eventually, I began to suspect that both the vet and I were wrong about the gender. At the next visit, my suspicions were confirmed - "he" was a "she". I changed the name to Damienne - but from then on, I called her Baby Kitty.

I originally intended to just foster her until I could find her another home. But the longer she was with me, the less I felt I could give her up. Sometime around the time she reached 4 months old, I knew I couldn't. No matter that I had 4 other cats, she was going to be #5.

Baby was an incredibly affectionate cat. She met me at the door each night I came home from work and slept with me, tucked under my chin. She so loved to be close to me. She followed me around the house, often with a toy in her mouth, crying as if saying, "come see, come see what I've caught!"

Baby saw me through the death of my mother, the comings and goings of my friends, David and his friends, and countless other cats. She became the matriarch of the cat colony that my home became. Baby was #1 and all the cats knew it. She at first grew old graciously, her whiskers and muzzle turning white as time went on.

But, as happens with us all, time became Baby's enemy. She developed arthritis, making it difficult to jump up on things. She no longer came to bed with me. She slept on an easy chair next to my computer. I bought "doggy steps" to make it easier for her to get up there. She trained herself to use it in a day.

Then came the fateful vet's visit. The diagnosis was diabetes. She did well on the insulin and "honey-mooned" (regressed) 3 months later. Then another blow - her trouble breathing was diagnosed as congestive heart failure. Something was pushing against her windpipe, most probably her heart. Lasix in pill pockets helped for awhile, but she gradually began to decline.

The final few days, she could no longer get up on her beloved chair. She stayed in a cat bed on the floor. I had to coax her to go to her food dish, something she never did before. She could no longer clean herself after using the litterbox. It was time and she was such a fighter, I had to give her the final gift of peace.

Baby Kitty crossed to the Rainbow Bridge at 2:40pm EST on January 17, 2009. Her remains were cremated and now rest on my computer desk, next to the chair where she loved to sleep. I will miss her, the world is an emptier place without her. But I was richer for having had her in my life. I'll see you again someday, Baby Kitty. I love you.

In Loving Memory of Baby Kitty

Copyright © Sandy Heglund, 2009