In this story, I was 14 years old and had a boyfriend that was 16, and a pick-up truck. He was my first boyfriend, my first dance, my first kiss and the first one to participate in my kitten-saving quests.
One night, we were at a drive-in restaurant called Big Boy's in Livonia, Michigan. We were sitting in his truck having a burger, fries and a chocolate shake. While sitting there, I noticed two gorgeous kittens that I would estimate were about 6 weeks old looking for scraps to eat in the parking lot. This was unacceptable to me. These poor babies, on there own, searching for food. And so I plotted my plan of action to capture one or both of them. This included the use of my chocolate shake.
I quietly got out of the truck and snuck around the front of it where there was more light. I poured my shake onto the pavement and hid around the corner of the truck and waited. It was cold out, but I didn't even notice. My adrenaline level was sufficient in keeping me warm while my breathe created white clouds of steam as I exhaled. My heart was pounding with anticipation.
Finally, the kittens came to the freshly poured meal and began lapping it up with a nervous but ravenous demeanor. As I had hoped, their backs were to me. I moved slowly, much like a wild cat myself, not making a sound as I moved in towards the clearly hungry kittens. In a swift and decisive move, I grabbed one of the kittens by the scruff and quickly tucked it under my sweater to preventing it from escaping.
I got back in the pick-up and told him to go! The kitten was tearing my body to shreds as it tried to free itself, but I didn't notice that either until a couple days later and saw all the scratches on my torso. We made it back to his house, and I brought the kitten into the bathroom, shut the door and set it free. It was so wild and so scared that it was literally trying to scale the walls to get out. I just sat on the floor until it settled down and eventually let me touch it. I'm pretty sure I gave it something to eat, but I don't remember that detail. All I knew was that I had saved this kitten.
Eventually, when my boyfriend's family wanted to use the bathroom, I put the kitten in a box that we had found and transported it to my house, where I hid it from my Mom for some period of time. The kitten had long snow-white fur with patches of grey. It was a beautiful little girl. I named her Tippy because the tip of her tail was also grey.
She came to trust me and was an incredibly sweet and affectionate pet. Four years later, I moved to Florida to live with my grandparents and brought Tippy with me. She was loved by my Granny and Papa so much that they let her eat ice cream from their spoons from the back of the sofa where she would perch. I think that first taste of my chocolate milkshake made her an ice cream addict.
Stay tuned to Tippy, Part Two, LOST.
As a side note, the other kitten ran off by itself, and I remain sad to this day that it was left alone. I made my boyfriend take me back there several times to look for Tippy's sibling, but to no avail.
I don't have a digital photo of Tippy. That happened long before smart phones. So here is a photo of two of my rescue cats cuddling on my unmade bed. This is Chanel, aka Baby, and Pops.
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