Reflections on the Eleventh Week of Spring – Reintroducing Ande with an E, Rills, and Gilbert

Gilbert, Rills, and Ande with an E (Jumping)

Laying on my side under the laundry tub, I stretched my arm behind the washing machine Wednesday afternoon. My fingers wiggled toward Gilbert’s round kitten eyes six inches away. I kept reaching though I figured Gilbert would rake me with his claws like his sister Rilla had.

At least I’d stood to grab Rilla in the kitten room where she napped on our son’s bed. I’d reached, she dove, and I clutched her back legs.

She howled. Thrashing, she freed her legs, but I tightened my grip around her middle.

Eighteen claws dug into my hand like mini-circular saws moving at the speed of light.

Ignoring the stinging-drops of blood, I stuffed her into the cat carrier. She pounced on the door and clawed at me through the wires.

Unnerved by Rilla’s reaction, Anne Spelled-with-an-E squirmed when I picked her up. I tipped the cat carrier onto its end, Rilla slid to the new bottom, and I dropped Anne inside.

During that commotion, Gilbert clawed the cardboard barrier blocking the kitten door and escaped.

My husband and I searched the first floor for ten minutes before Spence spotted the kitten behind the washer. We covered both exits―Spence by the side wall and me under the wash tub.

Gilbert sat out of our reach and curled his tail around his paws.

“Try sticking the broom in your end so he runs this way.” I shifted on the cool, hard tile.

“Wrong angle for a broom.” Spence said.

The floppy extension of the dust mop appeared at the end of the tunnel behind the washer.

Gilbert charged toward my face.

Grabbing his torso, I pulled him to my chest.

Out hearts thumped in wild, out-of-sync rhythms.

With Gilbert in my hands, I couldn’t scoot out from under the tub. “Spence. Please take him from me.”

Man hands encircled mine.

I released Gilbert.

“That’s my big boy.” Spence pulled the kitten away. “Want to see your sisters?”

A half hour later―the cat carrier strapped in the back seat, Spence and I strapped in the front―I steered round back road curves toward the Greenville Veterinary Clinic. I hoped the vet could fix Anne’s problems―her runny eyes and the bright yellow diarrhea she squirted down my turtleneck and jeans when I’d cuddled her this morning. The kittens also needed shots and deworming. Barn kittens always had worms.

“Slow down.” Spence braced his hands against the dashboard. “We’re not late.”

Glancing at the speedometer, I calculated I’d gone three, maybe four, miles above the speed limit. Moderate for me. In the next mile, I caught up to a dawdling country driver. I slowed to fifteen mph below the speed limit.

Spence relaxed.

When we got to the clinic, he set the cat carrier on a bench in the middle of the waiting room. He straddled the bench and lowered his face to the carrier door. “That wasn’t bad. You’re fine.”

Vet techs took breaks to coo and peek at our eight-week-old kittens. “Ahhh. They’re adorable . . . Oooo. So cute . . . What are their names?”

Carrying three manila folders, the tallest peeking-tech led us into an exam room. Spence put the carrier on the table, I opened the carrier door, and the kittens huddled in the back, aka the alternate-bottom.

The tech picked up a towel. “I need to weigh them. Hand me one at a time.”

Reaching into the carrier, I pulled out the white kitten with a gray tabby splotch on her back. “This one’s Anne.”

Wrapping Anne in the towel, the tech transferred the kitten to the scale then back to me. I put Anne in and pulled Gilbert out. Then Rilla. The kittens submitted to the handling with resignation. No claws.

Gilbert Chasing his Tail

The tech giggled. “They’re a tenth of an ounce apart.” She scribbled numbers in the last folder. “Anne is one point nine ounces. Gilbert’s one point eight. Rilla’s one point seven.”

Stethoscope dangling like a necklace and lab coat curling out from her hips like a 1960 flip hairstyle, Dr. Tammy Clark strode into the room. She probably had exam tools in her pockets. “I hear you have three kittens.”

Reaching into the carrier, I put my hand around Anne’s middle. “I’m concerned about Anne. Her eyes are runny, and this morning she developed diarrhea.” Anne emerged with legs peddling. “And I need you to check their genders. The farmer said one kitten was male and the other two were probably females.”

Dr. Tammy reached under her lab coat and pulled a cotton swab from her hip pocket. She held Anne around the neck and swabbed dirt from her ears. Then Dr. Tammy flipped Anne upside down and studied her bottom. “It’s hard to tell,” she murmured and squinted. “Ah! Anne’s a boy. Let me check the others now.” She handed Anne to me.

Putting him back in the carrier, I pulled out Gilbert.

Dr. Tammy flipped Gilbert and pronounced him a boy. No surprise. Her lips twitched in and out of a smirk when she examined Rilla. “Another boy.”

The tech giggled and jotted notes in the folders.

Spence and I looked at each other. My face must have registered the same surprise and disillusionment that his did.

Three boys!

Change their names.

I took four days to decide on those names!

You should have listened to your sister or son and picked unisex names.

I had seven pages of names!

Spence hasn’t built a fire in weeks. The lists are still in the fire starter box.

Dr. Tammy interrupted my fretting. “We can use their names for today.”

She finished her exam and checked the results of the blood and poop tests. “The kittens have conjunctivitis.” She picked up a tube. “Put this medicine in their eyes three times a day.” She exchanged the tube for a blue vial. “They have coccidia. Give them half a pill once a day for ten days and keep their bottoms clean. A bath today would help.” She put the vial on the folders and reached for three plastic bags, each with a filled syringe. “And they have round worms. Give them this liquid in ten days. We won’t do their shots today. Don’t give them flea medicine yet. Bring them back in two weeks.”

The doctor left and the vet tech fetched a helper to give the kittens their first dose of the three medicines.

Spence carried the boys to the car while I paid a hefty bill. I dashed through pounding rain to join the fellas. When I pulled out of the parking place, no sound came from the carrier, but a muffled air-raid siren sounded in my pocket. I reached inside, pulled out the cell phone, and handed it to Spence. “It’s probably a flash flood warning. Check for me.”

He opened the phone. “Flash flood warning until seven.”

Windshield wipers on high, I steered to the end of the driveway and waited for a line of cars―all their tires spraying water. I joined the end of the line and drove through two inches of water on the main street of Greenville. Steering to avoid ponded water by a clogged drain, I said, “If main street’s this bad, how will the back roads be?”

Spence stared straight ahead. “Don’t go the back way. Stay on three-fifty-eight.” He set my phone in a cup holder. “There’s a dip under the railroad trestle. That could be flooded. Go around by the hospital.”

Weaving from lane to lane as if I couldn’t decide if I were driving in England or the US, I avoided pools of water, passed the hospital, and crossed the railroad tracks.

“Turn right. Go uphill to the main road.”

Following Spence’s directions, I joined the line of cars creeping along the main street. Water shot into the road from cross streets and driveways.

“Slow down. You don’t want to hydroplane.”

Outside of town, I followed a jeep. When it slowed, I slowed. And I watched how much water its wheels sprayed. I often often took the opposite lane from the jeep―it had a higher water clearance than the Subaru.

Cat Tent - Rills, Ande with an E, and Gilbert

“You’re going too fast.” Spence clutched the sides of his seat. “When the jeep breaks, slow down! It’s telling you something.”

I sighed in frustration. He must have been as tense as I was. But I valued his expert navigating advice. “Should I drive all the way to Greenville?”

“No. Route nineteen will be better. There’s only one low spot―at Hadley.”

Before we got to route nineteen, two cars parked half on the berm, half in a farm yard. Lines of traffic stopped in both directions while a twenty-foot-wide stream rushed across the road. The jeep plowed through. I didn’t. I watched the oncoming traffic.

One by one, a tractor trailer, an SUV, and a pickup veered onto their berm and crept through the stream. Deeper than we’d been through, but not too deep. A compact car stopped thirty feet from the stream. I waited for it to pass. It didn’t budge. Steering for the shallows, I crept ahead.

“Wait,” Spence shouted. “There’s another car coming.”

If I hadn’t been gripping the steering wheel so hard, I would’ve bopped him on the head. Between gritted teeth, I spit, “It’s waiting for me.”

The Subaru inched through the stream.

After lots more “slow down,” “move over,” and a few “you’re doing great” comments, we made it to the low spot in Hadley.

Muddy water rushed downhill.

White-capped waves hurtled across the road.

I stopped the car.

We stared out the windshield.

“This might be the turn around spot.” Spence adjusted the tractor cap on his head. “It’s a crap shoot.”

Watching the traffic from the other direction, I made mental notes. The water flowed faster than the stream by the farm, but ran the same depth coming out of the Rainbow Valley Restaurant parking lot across the road. And the stream was narrower―only ten feet wide.

Three kittens in the backseat. Too far to walk home. I steered toward the shallow water and held my breath.

Spence put his hands on the dashboard. “Slow and steady wins the race.”

The Subaru trundled through.

I exhaled loud enough for Dr. Tammy to hear me back in Greenville. The drive home from Hadley had more puddles, several cross street streams, and two on-coming emergency vehicles―all minor compared to the Hadley crossing.

Spence carried the cat carrier inside to the bathroom.

I fetched baby shampoo, hand towels, and a bucket. I filled the bucket and the wash tub with two inches of warm water. Then I reached into the carrier and grabbed Anne. Keeping my left hand firmly around his middle, I dipped him into the water.

He squealed and thrashed his legs.

I rubbed his bottom with the soapy water and carefully washed his legs and head.

He squealed and squirmed.

After pouring rinse water over Anne, I wrapped him in a towel and rubbed his fur. He purred. I wrapped him in a dry towel and handed him to Spence.

“We could call him Ande with an E.” Spence cradled the kitten against his chest. “That’s the way Ande in Columbus spells his name.”

After rinsing and refilling the wash tub and bucket, I picked up Gilbert and lowered him into the water. He was calm―stoic even. His bath went quickly. When I wrapped him in the towel and patted his fur, he shook. “He’s shivering. He must be cold.”

Spence took Gilbert from me. “Or scared to death.”

Rilla came out of the carrier like he’d gone in―all claws bared and ready to gouge. Once his paws hit the water, though, he calmed and accepted the bath as if he’d bathed daily for pleasure. While I dried him, I cuddled him to my chest. “You could be Rill. A rill is a little brook.” I kissed the top of his head. “You’re little, run like a flowing brook, and had multiple water adventures today.”

The kitten blinked his eyes at me.

“Even better, we could call you Rills. The z sound at the end gives the name spice, and you have plenty of spice.”

Ande with an E, Rills, and Gilbert rested in the kitten room.

I cleaned the cat carrier and looked at the floor below the wash tub. Cool. Dry. No unnerved kittens. No spraying tires. After my long afternoon, the floor tempted me to lie on my side and take a catnap.

Sleeping Kittens - Ande with an E, Gilbert, and Rills