me and every cat i've loved before

I found a kitten in a bush a couple of weeks ago. It's not the first time it's happened.

The first time I found a kitten. It was a rainy day in November. My older brother, Omar, and I went to school together every morning in the old, beat-up silver Mercedes. Every morning, we'd drive the thirty minutes to our school ever since we moved out to the middle of nowhere. And every morning, Omar would play for me Bring Me The Horizon or Linkin Park. And I, being an avid reader with no money and a debilitating fear of receiving fines, insisted that every Friday, we would stop at the library on our way to school so I could leave my books in the book drop. 

The rain came down relentlessly. The sun was not visible. Everything was cold, wet, and grey, except the book drop. The book drop was this metal box outside the library, with an extended door that reached out toward you, making it easier to put your books in from the driver's seat. That day though, sitting underneath that extension, was a tiny orange tabby kitten. He huddled against the side of the royal blue metal, the extension providing a roof over his head, but other than that, he was completely exposed to the elements. 

I exited the car. I usually exited the car to use the book drop. I liked putting the books in there myself and Omar always was in the driver's seat. The kitten scurried up to me immediately, meowing. I covered the kitten with my jacket and looked to Omar. He was motioning for me to get back into the car.

"Grab it! We're going home! We'll be late to school, but what's new?"

So, I did as my brother said. I took the kitten in my arms and held it as my brother drove the fifteen minutes south back to our house. We set the kitten up in the laundry room, making plans for how we would explain to our parents why we were late to school and why there was a kitten in the laundry room. 

I think we already knew there wouldn't be too much push back though; my parents would never turn away a person or an animal. 

When school got out, I had to stay for basketball practice, but Omar rushed home to beat my parents. He bought pet shampoo and conditioner to bathe the kitten in. Apparently, our little tabby reeked; I hadn't noticed. My mother, a cat-hater at the time, could hardly reject the tiny thing once she saw the kitten all cleaned and dry. 

Even though I was the reason we found the kitten in the first place and it was me who picked him up and held him in the car, it was Omar who was allowed to name him. And he named him Felix. 

There were a few more cats after that day. The next time we found kittens, they came to us in a pair. So I guess in that case, the kittens actually found us. For some reason, some people think it's okay to drop animals off the side of the road to fend for themselves. I stepped out of the front door with my younger brother, ready to drive him to his basketball practice, and two little kittens ran up to us.

One of them was orange like Felix, and the other was a tortoiseshell. At the time though, we didn't know any better. I think we never expected to keep the two little kittens because the tortoiseshell we just called Calico until it stuck. Fortunately, my younger brother gave Calico's brother a more original name: Scooter. 

The next kitten we took in was a black tabby cat, but I can't take any credit at all in finding her. My dad and my brother noticed her for a couple of weeks living underneath the chicken coop. She was too skittish to catch, too cautious. And so, my dad set up a live trap with cat food inside. 

When my dad caught her, he released her into the house. This proved to be a mistake though, because for about a week, there wasn't a single sign of the skittish cat anywhere; she had completely vanished into thin air. For that week, we left all the bedroom doors open, so that she could at least get to the food bowl while we were sleeping if she was too scared to do it while we were awake. 

After the week ended, the black tabby made her reappearance, sitting on the kitchen counter. She meowed at my dad, and my dad gave her a small dish with milk. He dubbed her Skitty the Kitty. And Skitty still sits on the counter at the house, meowing until someone gives her a bowl of milk. 

Now, I don't live in that house anymore. And I couldn't take Felix with me. It's a big property out there, out at that house. All the cats are used to going outside every day without worry of busy roads. They are used to visiting the chickens, the goats, and the cows. Calico wouldn't understand why she'd be cooped up in an apartment all day. Skitty would miss the tall grass. 

But I found a kitten a couple weeks ago. My friend and I parked the car in the lot of my apartment complex. I carried my treasures from our outing: a gold framed print of a painting by Gustav Klimt and a bag of carrots. I paused and I turned to my friend.

“Oh my god. There’s a kitten.”

“What? Where?”

“There. There in the bush.”

The kitten sat just under the bush, her blue eyes peering out at the two of us, watching.

“My husband’s not home still. I’m keeping it. We’re catching it right now.”

The kitten, as it turns out, was easy to catch. My friend walked over to the bush, and offered a piece of grass to the kitten to play with, and the kitten accepted her invitation. Just like that, my friend scooped the kitten into her arms, and we went back to my car to go straight to the nearest pet store for all the necessities.

Together, we bathed the little kitten and picked out every flea out of her long, white fur. She meowed in protest, claws digging into whatever she could get a hold of. After that, we blow-dried her until she was a little ball of fluffy white fur. I decided to call her Luma, after a character from a video game that I played with my older brother. 

Yesterday, I took Luma to the house to visit my mom, my sisters, and my brother. After a while, I went outside alone and I sat with her out in the grass of the field in the shade. The sun went down the horizon and painted the clouds in pink strokes. My aunt had come over to help my mom plant some flowers in the backyard. 

She sat next to me, and I introduced her to Luma. 

"She's pretty cute," she told me. "Where did you get her from?"

And I told her about the bush, the pet store run, and the flea bath. 

She nodded her head, "Did your dad ever tell you about the two kittens he found out in the alfalfa field?"

He didn't. 

"Well he was out there moving sprinkler pipes one day, and then when he came home, he walked into the door holding these two black kittens. And one of them had socks like your cat has right there. I can't remember what he named the two of them, but he decided to keep 'em and take care of them. I wanna say Kit was the name of one of them, but now I can't remember. He didn't ever tell you about them?"

No, he didn't. I sat and listened while my aunt talked about growing up with my dad in the white house in the mountains. Some things I already knew, and some things I didn't. But none of it surprised me, especially not the two cats. My dad and I have always been the same; I like the reminders. I thanked my aunt and said my goodbyes. 

And Luma and I went on our way home.