Smokey in here

We went to the family cottage at Three Mile this past weekend to help my father tuck the summer stuff away,  preparing for the brutal Muskoka winter.  The place is winterized, but some mild tasks need to be completed to put my dad’s mind at ease before he heads south for the winter.  It was pretty low-key, only seven of us, including one sick boy (Hud) and one special guest for the weekend, my half-sister from Halifax.  Fun times.

The meals were simple and great, the company and conversation vibrant, engaging and occasionally annoying. Typical of a weekend up north with family.  I had a Saturday bout of insomnia that was borderline psychotic – like jump in the lake to try to jolt my body back to normal psychotic – but other than one item it will go down in the annals as normal autumnal weekend up north fare.

The other item mentioned was the discovery of 7-8 week year old kitten in the garage wood pile.  Now we knew the kitten was lurking about as cottage dog Brodie was barking at it (Or was that the wind?  Or the grass? Or a ghost that only Brodie can see….?).  We just assumed it had briefly strayed from its mother and we all went back to the tasks at hand.  Later on that afternoon, Steph went to build a fire and was startled by the kitten, who sat, shaking and weak, looking as pathetic as possible on top of the firewood pile in the garage. We knew immediately something had to be done or this futile feline was not going last very long.

To pop the balloon, we did not keep the kitten but it was a close call.  Hudson, lucid from his bronchial cold and perhaps the most emotional nine-year old on the planet became fiercely attached to the kitten, desperate in his pleas for us to keep her.  Smokey, aptly named by my father due to colour and location origin, was nursed back to health by tuna, water and Alice’s kibble.  And, after many calls to various agencies within the 705 region, the lovely women at the Orillia SPCA agreed to take in Smokey if we arrived before their Sunday closing time of 2pm.

There was a lesson here for Hud, and to a lesser extent Tasman, who were both enamoured by the idea of another pet joining our family.  They both made wild promises of care and cost but in the end I played the heavy and said our lives were not ready for an additional layer of responsibility we had enough problems with our current roster of obligations.  They huffed and stomped, Hudson got weepy and made the sad face known to every parent.  The face that usually bends you towards yes.  But, along with mild support from known cat hater, yet chronic son appeaser, Steph we stood firm and made the mad dash to Orillia to drop Smokey off.

The kitten rode home the entire time on Hud’s lap, purring under his gentle strokes, eyelids opening and closing in true content cat-like fashion.  When we arrived, the SPCA workers let us know Smokey was very dehydrated and malnourished and likely wouldn’t make it through the night if we did not take him in overnight and admit him to the shelter.

This pleased and appeased all of us, especially Hudson, knowing that if he couldn’t take Smokey home, it was comforting knowing that we did save her life.  The shelter women also let us know that because of her age and cuteness, a perfectly able family would scoop her up within days.  We have the shelter’s number and will call tomorrow to close the circle.

Watching Hudson manage the joy, the disappointment and the eventual satisfaction of this whole Smokey event was satisfying.  He is a really sweet boy with a huge heart which is going to be broken many many times in his life.

Probably break a couple along the way too.