From Chicken Soup for the Soul: I Can't Believe My Cat Did That!
By Linda S. Clare
By Linda S. Clare
It is surmounting difficulties that makes heroes.
~Louis Pasteur
Early on a crisp October morning, I stood on our back deck and shivered. The temperature had dipped below freezing for the past two nights, unusual for an Oregon autumn, but it matched my mood.
A day earlier my sixteen-year-old, Nate, had been caught smoking near the high school. He and a friend had climbed into a tree to hide their activity. Now he was suspended from school for a week. My hands stuffed in my jacket pockets, I clenched my jaw. I couldn't believe it. He had embarrassed the whole family. I felt ashamed.
His ten-year-old sister, Alyssa, tugged my sleeve. "Mom," she said frantically, "I can't find Oliver. He's gone!" Oliver was her orange-and-white shorthaired tabby kitten, rescued a few weeks before from a collection of cats our neighbors kept.
Alyssa had used her ten-year-old cuteness until I agreed to let her adopt one of the healthier kittens. Because he was an orphan, she'd named him Oliver and given him a bright red collar.
"We have to find him, Mom!" Her eyebrows bunched with worry. "I can't go to school until Oliver's home safe!" She burst into tears.
The patio door opened. Nate, his hair spiked into a Mohawk, walked out onto the deck where we stood. He was dressed in black, with a spiky dog collar around his neck. A dog collar! He generally did well in school, but lately seemed rebellious. Why couldn't kids stay in that cute stage?
He tousled his sister's hair and asked, "What's wrong?"
She shot him a look and wiped her tears away. "Ollie's gone!" she wailed. "Get Ollie back, okay Nate?"
"Are you kidding? I can't find him," he replied, shrugging. I drilled him with The Look. He sighed loudly. "Okay. I'll try."
Try! If he tried a little harder at school instead of getting into trouble, I'd be a lot happier. I sent Alyssa off to school, promising to scour the neighborhood. Nate, suspended from classes, was to clean the garage as partial penance. He slunk away to do his chore. I swept leaves from the deck, scanning the horizon, listening intently.
Then I saw it: a glint of red near the top of our neighbor's towering fir. Ollie's bright red collar. But the tree was almost one hundred feet tall. How could a kitten climb so high?
"Oliver," I yelled over and over. Cold air stung my eyes each time I searched the dark boughs. Finally, a faint mew floated down. Somehow Ollie was stuck in the tallest tree in our neighborhood on the coldest morning of the year. The poor kitten clung to a branch at least seventy-five feet up. I ran inside and called the fire department.
I was shocked when the dispatcher said, "Sorry, we don't rescue kittens from trees. That's on TV. Try the utility company."
I ran back outside to comfort Ollie. He mewed every time I shouted his name, but now other voices joined in. Several large crows circled around, their caws loud and coarse. They dived at Oliver, again and again. I hurried back inside to phone the utility.
"You're outside the city limits, ma'am," the woman said. "We don't service your area. And anyway our ladders only extend fifty feet."
I tried not to cry. "Doesn't anybody care about a poor kitten?" I imagined Ollie cowering in terror on the branch while the mob of crows tried to peck him.
By noon the sun was out, but things in the tall fir were no better. All morning I'd been running outside every few minutes, alternately praying and trying to coax down the frightened kitten. Yet no matter what I did, Ollie wouldn't budge.
To make matters worse, the tree was in our neighbor's fenced back yard and he was away at work. He also owned two huge dogs that were fierce enough to warrant a "Beware of Dog" sign. I doubted any kitten could survive another freezing night without food or water.
Three hours later my voice was reduced to a hoarse whisper. I'd screamed at the crows and kept up a pep talk for Ollie, whose own cries were getting fainter by the minute. I told him to hang in there, and visualized that poster of a kitten hanging from a bar by its paws.
The crows must have had a nest near where he clung, for they didn't let up. Their black shiny wings shone as they struck and Ollie yowled in pain each time. How much more could the poor thing take?
When our neighbor finally got home, school was over. Alyssa would be home any minute. I called to Nate, still toiling away in the garage, and we raced next door. The man secured his dogs and brought out his tallest ladder, but the top step was still about six feet below the bottom branch of the tree.
I knew from the incident at school that my son was an expert climber. But I couldn't dwell on his mistakes now. "Don't worry Mom," Nate said. He clambered up the ladder, grabbed the bottom branch and hoisted his body up. I smiled at him.
Nate scaled the huge tree toting a Strawberry Shortcake pillowcase, to keep Ollie from scratching or jumping, just as Alyssa burst into the yard. We prayed for Nate to be sure-footed, and Alyssa screamed at the crows to leave her kitty alone. Finally her big brother descended, a squirming lump inside the pillowcase.
Alyssa hugged Nate. "You're my hero!"
By some miracle, Oliver only suffered a couple of cuts on his face where the crows had attacked. The tiny orange-and-white fur ball was cold and hungry, but he gobbled some food and water, crawled into Alyssa's lap and fell asleep.
I slipped into the garage. The entire space had been tidied and swept, and Nate stood to one side, his chin resting on the handle of the push broom. In the commotion of rescuing the cat, I hadn't noticed that my son's hair was still spiked but the dog collar was gone. Still, he wouldn't look at me.
"Son," I said, "I hope you won't keep smoking — cigarettes can kill you."
He held up a hand. "I know, I know, it was stupid." He shook his head. "I'm sorry I disappointed you."
I placed my hand gently on his shoulder. "I was going to say that what you did was heroic — rescuing Ollie that is. I love you and I'm proud of what you did to save the kitten."
"Really?" The rebellious glare softened to a contrite smile.
"Just don't go climbing trees for the wrong reason, okay?" I said and we laughed.
Later Oliver padded into the kitchen and rubbed against his rescuer's leg, as if to say, "Thanks." Nate stroked Ollie's ears. Heroes, I thought, aren't hard to find. You just have to be willing to go out on a limb.
~Louis Pasteur
Early on a crisp October morning, I stood on our back deck and shivered. The temperature had dipped below freezing for the past two nights, unusual for an Oregon autumn, but it matched my mood.
A day earlier my sixteen-year-old, Nate, had been caught smoking near the high school. He and a friend had climbed into a tree to hide their activity. Now he was suspended from school for a week. My hands stuffed in my jacket pockets, I clenched my jaw. I couldn't believe it. He had embarrassed the whole family. I felt ashamed.
His ten-year-old sister, Alyssa, tugged my sleeve. "Mom," she said frantically, "I can't find Oliver. He's gone!" Oliver was her orange-and-white shorthaired tabby kitten, rescued a few weeks before from a collection of cats our neighbors kept.
Alyssa had used her ten-year-old cuteness until I agreed to let her adopt one of the healthier kittens. Because he was an orphan, she'd named him Oliver and given him a bright red collar.
"We have to find him, Mom!" Her eyebrows bunched with worry. "I can't go to school until Oliver's home safe!" She burst into tears.
The patio door opened. Nate, his hair spiked into a Mohawk, walked out onto the deck where we stood. He was dressed in black, with a spiky dog collar around his neck. A dog collar! He generally did well in school, but lately seemed rebellious. Why couldn't kids stay in that cute stage?
He tousled his sister's hair and asked, "What's wrong?"
She shot him a look and wiped her tears away. "Ollie's gone!" she wailed. "Get Ollie back, okay Nate?"
"Are you kidding? I can't find him," he replied, shrugging. I drilled him with The Look. He sighed loudly. "Okay. I'll try."
Try! If he tried a little harder at school instead of getting into trouble, I'd be a lot happier. I sent Alyssa off to school, promising to scour the neighborhood. Nate, suspended from classes, was to clean the garage as partial penance. He slunk away to do his chore. I swept leaves from the deck, scanning the horizon, listening intently.
Then I saw it: a glint of red near the top of our neighbor's towering fir. Ollie's bright red collar. But the tree was almost one hundred feet tall. How could a kitten climb so high?
"Oliver," I yelled over and over. Cold air stung my eyes each time I searched the dark boughs. Finally, a faint mew floated down. Somehow Ollie was stuck in the tallest tree in our neighborhood on the coldest morning of the year. The poor kitten clung to a branch at least seventy-five feet up. I ran inside and called the fire department.
I was shocked when the dispatcher said, "Sorry, we don't rescue kittens from trees. That's on TV. Try the utility company."
I ran back outside to comfort Ollie. He mewed every time I shouted his name, but now other voices joined in. Several large crows circled around, their caws loud and coarse. They dived at Oliver, again and again. I hurried back inside to phone the utility.
"You're outside the city limits, ma'am," the woman said. "We don't service your area. And anyway our ladders only extend fifty feet."
I tried not to cry. "Doesn't anybody care about a poor kitten?" I imagined Ollie cowering in terror on the branch while the mob of crows tried to peck him.
By noon the sun was out, but things in the tall fir were no better. All morning I'd been running outside every few minutes, alternately praying and trying to coax down the frightened kitten. Yet no matter what I did, Ollie wouldn't budge.
To make matters worse, the tree was in our neighbor's fenced back yard and he was away at work. He also owned two huge dogs that were fierce enough to warrant a "Beware of Dog" sign. I doubted any kitten could survive another freezing night without food or water.
Three hours later my voice was reduced to a hoarse whisper. I'd screamed at the crows and kept up a pep talk for Ollie, whose own cries were getting fainter by the minute. I told him to hang in there, and visualized that poster of a kitten hanging from a bar by its paws.
The crows must have had a nest near where he clung, for they didn't let up. Their black shiny wings shone as they struck and Ollie yowled in pain each time. How much more could the poor thing take?
When our neighbor finally got home, school was over. Alyssa would be home any minute. I called to Nate, still toiling away in the garage, and we raced next door. The man secured his dogs and brought out his tallest ladder, but the top step was still about six feet below the bottom branch of the tree.
I knew from the incident at school that my son was an expert climber. But I couldn't dwell on his mistakes now. "Don't worry Mom," Nate said. He clambered up the ladder, grabbed the bottom branch and hoisted his body up. I smiled at him.
Nate scaled the huge tree toting a Strawberry Shortcake pillowcase, to keep Ollie from scratching or jumping, just as Alyssa burst into the yard. We prayed for Nate to be sure-footed, and Alyssa screamed at the crows to leave her kitty alone. Finally her big brother descended, a squirming lump inside the pillowcase.
Alyssa hugged Nate. "You're my hero!"
By some miracle, Oliver only suffered a couple of cuts on his face where the crows had attacked. The tiny orange-and-white fur ball was cold and hungry, but he gobbled some food and water, crawled into Alyssa's lap and fell asleep.
I slipped into the garage. The entire space had been tidied and swept, and Nate stood to one side, his chin resting on the handle of the push broom. In the commotion of rescuing the cat, I hadn't noticed that my son's hair was still spiked but the dog collar was gone. Still, he wouldn't look at me.
"Son," I said, "I hope you won't keep smoking — cigarettes can kill you."
He held up a hand. "I know, I know, it was stupid." He shook his head. "I'm sorry I disappointed you."
I placed my hand gently on his shoulder. "I was going to say that what you did was heroic — rescuing Ollie that is. I love you and I'm proud of what you did to save the kitten."
"Really?" The rebellious glare softened to a contrite smile.
"Just don't go climbing trees for the wrong reason, okay?" I said and we laughed.
Later Oliver padded into the kitchen and rubbed against his rescuer's leg, as if to say, "Thanks." Nate stroked Ollie's ears. Heroes, I thought, aren't hard to find. You just have to be willing to go out on a limb.
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