Just to be is a blessing. Just to live is holy. (Abraham Meschel)
I first met Krispy Kreme and her four little donut fur balls, Nutella, Sprinkles, Bearpaw, and Peeps on April Fool’s Day in the waiting room of a local animal rescue group. They had all been brought to the shelter when the death of an elderly woman had revealed the multitude of cats she had been trying to sustain and support. Now Krispy and her newborns had been brought to Cat’s Cradle to seek their fortune, and I was going to foster them until they were old enough to be adopted.
Krispy Kreme (I know, don’t ask — do you think a morning box of donuts might have been sitting on the counter when the rescue worker assigned them names??) was a diminutive gray and white, delicate and fragile, hardly more than a kitten herself. She was sweet and docile in the waiting room, but as soon as I let her out of her carrier at home, she went totally crackers. Never had I seen a cat climb vertical sheet rock walls before. I stared in bemused amazement as I watched her cling to the ceiling molding with her claws for long minutes before she seemed to concede defeat, and slither down the wall to slink to her babies, who by this time were emitting loud wails of displeasure. For one day old, they did well in calling their young mom to task.
Three of the kittens were Krispy’s, and the fourth, Peeps (have you ever seen or heard tell of a ‘Peeps’ donut? — not I, and I smiled every time I thought about a Peeps’ Easter candy perched on top of a donut — if I ever see one, I’m for sure gonna get it!), was adopted from a mom who had run off before being captured. I imagined Krispy’s human response would have been “in for a penny, in for a pound — what’s one more.”
Krispy, for all her youth and inexperience, turned out to be a fantastic mom, hardly ever leaving the newborns, except to hurriedly swallow a few mouthfuls of food and tend to litter box needs. As they grew, and became the furry terrorists that all kittens are to their moms, she patiently let them chew on her ears, and chase her tail, subjecting her to all kinds of torture, while she endlessly groomed and tenderly cared for them.
One by one, and as they got old enough, the kittens were adopted. In fact, the “girls,” Nutella and Sprinkles, were adopted by the same family, and big ole he-guy Bearpaw, who lived up to his name, became the companion of another guy, a college student. Soon only Krispy and Peeps were left, and he became the recipient of all her tender care and nurturance. Did he become a little spoiled? You better believe it!
Finally I was told Krispy would have to be returned to the rescue group since Peeps needed weaning, and I reluctantly took her in, afraid that no one would ever adopt this scrawny, skinny little mother cat, when there were so many cute little kittens to be adopted. But imagine my delight when within a week, I was told that Krispy Kreme had also been adopted!
And so Peeps wouldn’t get a complex over being the only one left, I decided to adopt him myself, adding him to the farm gang. Our thugs accepted him none-too-readily, and, even though he has grown into a large, strong adult, they still lurk around corners to catch him unawares — it’s the principle of the thing, you know? — he’s the youngest.
Is there a moral, or even a point to this story? Nope. As Mr. Peeps lies curled up on my shoulder, watching the magic of the letters appearing, and putting out a tentative paw to see if he can catch them, I just wanted to share a piece of the joy that a couple of retired shrinks have been blessed with by being able to share the lives of some furry donuts over the last year.
