The kittens arrived a few hours ago. They're all orangey-buff tabbies. I can barely tell them apart. I got them settled and took a few photos which I'll upload in a bit. I'm distracted. Kittens, yes, great. I hear thudding coming from the foster room above me, but my thoughts are elsewhere.
Three years ago today, my Mother died. Three years ago tomorrow, I found her body. Not a fun confession, but compared to all the others regarding my Mother's life, it not as bad. Like everyone else, my relationship with my Mother was complex. Often it was difficult, but with time softening my memories and the fact that I finally know the truth about some things; I'm to a place where I'm starting to just miss her.
Circa 2001. Mother at The Last Post in Falls Village, CT
My Mother introduced me to cats. When she was about to give birth to my brother, I was sent to stay with some friends of hers who lived on a farm. In my Mother's journal from those days she writes; "Robin thrives with Mary Ann, cats, horses, dogs etc. Her suggestion for naming the baby: Candy. Shows how her mind works. Like Mama, like daughter."
She also got me my first kitten when I was just four years old. Her name was Sarafina (my little Angel) -a pure white kitten with blue eyes. Sadly, we moved not long after we adopted Sarafina and we were separated during the move. My Mother told me that she was staying at a Vet's in Ohio until we were unpacked. I kept asking about the kitten. Then one day, my Mother told me she got sick and had died! She never even had a chance to grow up. I never knew if that was the truth or not. It was not out of the question for my Mother to lie. Of course, I was devastated.
While I'm in a confessing mood, I can add that the biggest point of contention between us wasn't about my relationships or my career path or my weight; it was about cats. As far back as when I was in my teens, I remember my Mother being against taking the cats to the Vet. She thought it was cruel to make them suffer! When my brother's cat got sick, I took him to the Vet and cared for him. He was very very ill but I never gave up. Eventually Yukio, our big lug of a cat, got better for a few more years before he passed away at just nine years old.
As an adult, our conflicts grew worse. It started out to be charming that my Mother felt she needed to feed every creature that came to her door. She put food out for birds, squirrels, raccoons and any cat who came by. At any given time there were scraps of food or seeds on the deck. Once in awhile I'd see a friendly stray or neighbor's cat munching away a bowl of dry food.
We gave many of these cats nicknames. One was called, OJ. He was a big orange tom. He was always covered in scratches from fighting. He was intact, I'm sure. One day he disappeared and never came back. My Mother was very upset for a long time. She could have taken the cat in, but she felt he deserved his "freedom" whatever the cost.
She continued with this attitude, which I didn't pay much attention to, until she began to feed a new big orange tom cat she named; Bob Dole. Bob got his name from his injuries. He showed up at her door with a serious leg wound. I nagged at her to get him to the Vet. For once she agreed to get me off her back. Bob got the treatment he needed, but that was it. Bob was not neutered. Again, a conflict. My Mother didn't want to take anything away from Bob that would effect his FREEDOM. She was SO BIG on that term. I'm sure it had nothing to do with Bob and everything to do with her. She felt trapped in her life with my Father and probably with her kids, too. Knowing Bob was out there populating the neighborhood was fine with her. He could do as he pleased even if she could not.
I had to tread carefully and pick my battles. It was "too expensive" to get Bob fixed, so I worked out a trade with my Vet. He would do it for free if I trained his wife on how to use the computer. Great! She couldn't argue with me now, even though I knew she was pissed when I figured away around her argument. I got Bob neutered, all his shots, then Dr. Larry said his teeth looked really bad. I knew this was not going to go over with my Mother.
As best I could, I brought up the topic of Bob's teeth with my Mother and she said NO WAY. Too much money. Not going to make the cat suffer-though apparently it was FINE to make him suffer with a painful mouth.
We also had a big fight over another stray, a small gray cat. One day my Mom says the cat's EYE is hanging out of her head. Too bad. "I guess nature will take its' course."
That's it? No taking the cat to the Vet? I bullied my Mother until she promised to let me know when I might be able to get my hands on the cat. The next day she called me and I drove over to get the kitty. If you look back a few posts, you'll see a photo of that kitty-her name was Sasha and she not only needed her eye removed, she was SO FULL of parasites that after she got treated, she was pooping worms like they had never seen before!
The worst was how she treated her own cat, Blue; a chocolate point siamese. Blue got a urinary blockage and my mother let him suffer and die. When I found out, I was so angry I didn't speak to her for many months. In my heart, I could never forgive what she did. I could never understand WHY someone who literally had the IQ of a GENIUS, could not get her mind around the fact that she was responsible for this life and feeding it and cleaning the litter pan wasn't enough. She had the money to help the cat. That wasn't even an issue.
A rare photo of Me with Mum. 2001.
So this is my private, now public shame. My own Mother, who I did my best to love; who I'm not sure how she felt about me, could have easily been arrested for cruelty to animals. I feel like I have to make up for the suffering she caused and you can bet that every time I look at Bob and see his shiny coat and hear his deep purr, I feel like, at least I could save him. I couldn't save my Mother from her private Hell and I can assure you, it WAS HELL for her in this life, but I can do this one thing. Maybe in some twisted way, I'm doing for my Mother, what she could not find the courage to do for herself-get involved with the suffering of another being and be willing to face the consequences of that, whatever it costs.
I'm left feeling confused and sad, ashamed and distraught. I can't change the past. I can only do what's best for the animals in my life now, and every day from now on, and hope that it's enough.
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