In Part 1, Alison and I find a cat that is in the road on Blackshear's Main Street, hit and broken, blood pouring out of ever orifice. Even though it is late Sunday evening, we find the vet Dr. Kimbrell at his clinic. No one believes the cat has a chance to survive.
Dr. Kimbrell believed that the cat would most likely be dead by Monday morning.
But when Monday morning came, Dr. Kimbrell had different news. "I can't really believe this, but your cat is doing much better. If you're sure, we could go ahead with the jaw operation," Elation was mixed with dollar signs, but we told him to proceed.
The surgery was a success, and the cat grew miraculously stronger every day. Dr. Kimbrell couldn't help but notice that this was not some polite, sweet domesticated pussy, but instead a cantankerous alley cat, around two to three years old, having had kittens within the last six months. Just a regular cat, no special breed; still her gray and blue stripes and cagey black eyes emphasized her wild, tiger-like qualities.
When it became apparent that the cat was going to survive to come back to us, a whole new set of problems arose. She would have to be contained and watched for the next six weeks, fed soft foods and given medicines, How were we to do this in our little one room apartment, with an already full contingent of pets?
We had a training crate in which we had housetrained our Maltese, Bailey. We got that out and set it up in a corner of our apartment. The cat eyed us warily, hissing if any of us got too close. Alison's cat of five years, a beautiful sweet calico named Patches, was quite indignant at first, but had established a position of mutual non-acknowledgement by the end of the first week, Our birds, two lovebirds named Lucy and Ricky, and Goldie, s Sun Conure, were blithely unaware of any risk, and just thought of it as something else to watch.
As we watched the cat slowly heal, and its fierce independence take hold, we began to wonder what would happen on that day when it was healed and had to be uncaged. We would let the cat out and never see it again. What would our investment of time, money, and care have been for then?
We knew to even have a shot, we would have to have a home of our own. But most homes were well beyond our limited means. Nevertheless, we redoubled our efforts to find someplace to live.
Our increased efforts paid off. Alison's mother's boss owned three homes in Blackshear, and they had always been kept as a unit, but he had decided to sell them as separate lots. One was a small two bedroom, which considering where we were, was absolutely huge to us. And the price was, amazingly enough, within our meager budget. So we managed to secure a new residence, at about the same time our Main Street cat would be ready to be released.
We went to the vet one more time, taking the wiring out of her jaw and decided that the least we could do is limit future strays in Blackshear, and paid to have her spayed. We realized that "Cat" wouldn't do for her medical records, so we named her Main, after the street where she was found.
When we got Main into our new home, Alison thought it might be nice to have another indoor cat, like our lovable Patches. This experiment lasted approximately one hour, with our Sun Conure, Goldy, barely escaping with its life.
This was a traumatic moment for us. When we opened the door to let Main out, we knew we were probably saying goodbye, as she resumed the life of a wild stray. I consoled Alison by saying that the good deed itself was worth doing, even if we would no longer share in Main's life. But I barely believed it myself, thinking - there goes one ungrateful, nasty cat.
But she didn't just disappear. What disappeared were all the squirrels and birds in our yard. She would meow at the back door for us to set out cat food (I guess the squirrels and birds were just delicacies). We would open a window shade and staring back at us would be....Main!
Even more strange, as time went on, she became less wild, more friendly and docile. She had used her freedom to become more attached to us, not less! At first she did not want to be touched, but she grew to the point where you couldn't just go out to feed her. no, she insisted you stay and pet her before she would even consider eating.
She started to get jealous of our walks with Bailey (and later our two dogs, as we added a rescued Pembroke Welsh Corgi named Ivy), and decided to come on the walks with us. What a sight! The group of us marching down the residential streets of Blackshear, looking more like a circus caravan. Sometimes she would go the whole walk with us, and sometimes she would go part way and then wait for us to come back, happily crashing into out dogs (who were too tired to care).
More than two years later, our miracle kitty is still with us, growing more loving every day. She has indeed led us, to more than I could have ever imagined. We love our little home and community, we have gone on to much better and brighter jobs, our finances have stabilized, and our spiritual faith has grown. And our little family is growing yet again. Alison is pregnant with our first child, one whom I pray is as big a pet lover as we are.
And I pray that our Main continues to be there in our back yard, so that I can take our child by the hand and say, "Do I believe in miracles? Why, of course I do! Let me open the back door, and I'll show you one!"
Sadly, Main disappeared shortly after this was written. We don't know what happened, whether he decided to go elsewhere or had an accident somewhere. Benjamin never got to meet him. Still, he has this story. And he has a mother who has continued to rescue animals, including ones that have been abused, shot, beat, teeth filed, and throats slit; and she has turned them into sweet and loving pets.
God bless the Miracle of Main. God bless what love, hope and faith can do.
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