09/07/2015

I recall feeling entirely conflicted as I drove home with a crusty-eyed, wheezing, filthy little ball of fur in a box next to me.  I love a good rescue, particularly when it comes to animals, but this one seemed particularly inconvenient.  Kittens, even healthy ones, can be a lot of work and, in addition to the four children already causing noise and messes joy in our house, we had another little one expected in just a few months.  I told myself that we would just do what we could for the kitten and once it was healthy it would be easy to find him a home.  

"Grumbles" was gingerly placed in an old dog crate with a worn-out towel and a pudding-turned-litter box where he wheezed and sneezed through the night.  I had enough experience to know that between his age (he was very young) and the severity of his condition, his chances of survival were, at best, slim.  I had forewarned the kids:  Grumbles may not make it through the night.  He was in terrible condition.  But in the morning, long before I would have awakened on my own, four delighted children brought the report:  He was still alive!!!  

So, as planned, I took Grumbles to the vet and within days he was looking and acting like a healthy kitten.

About 12 seconds after Grumbles arrived at our house, it became clear that Nathan had a particular love for the kitten.  And Grumbles had a particular affinity for Nathan.  Perhaps that was just coincidence.  Or perhaps kittens, like people, can sense when they are loved and just gravitate toward the affection.

After Grumbles had completed his rounds of antibiotics and steroids, he was part of the family.  Nick only accepted him on behalf of the rest of us, who would spend hours giggling at Grumbles as he did nothing spectacular.  He just charmed us with the antics that any 6-week-old kitten would exhibit.  And then, completely exhausted from countless haphazard leaps and wobbly-legged chases, he would snuggle up with Nathan and sleep.  

This post really isn't about Grumbles.  

This post is about Nathan.  Let me try and describe him.

He is thin; particular about the color, temperature, smell, texture, and ingredients of every. single. meal. ever placed in front of him.  It's exhausting to try and cook for him.  He's particular about his things, with almost unending requests for a little sewing repair between the toes on one of his stuffed animals or in an absolute panic because he cannot find his blanket.  And, no, a different blanket will not suffice.  What a ridiculous suggestion!  He is particular about the books he reads, the games he plays, the schedule of the day, the sounds around him, etc.  

Nowadays we call this type of behavior OCD.  But for hundreds of years prior to the psychological boom, people probably would have said he was just a little high-strung.  

Let's be honest, it can be wearying to live with someone who's blood pressure is high on a relaxed day.  But it is much worse to BE the person who is constantly fighting the instinct to panic.  And that's Nathan.  It's one of the things that makes him special.  

And that's why Grumbles is special.  Because Grumbles loves every single little thing about Nathan.  Grumbles knows how to wiggle his way into the empty spot next to Nathan just when Nath needs a friend the most.  Grumbles listens to all the worries and, without saying anything, says "It's okay, buddy!  I'm here."  

Grumbles is patient and tolerant.  Grumbles is soft and just the right size for small people to lug around without excessive difficultly.  Grumbles makes Nathan (and the rest of us) laugh.  Grumbles doesn't know he isn't a person.  Grumbles is irreplaceable.  

Tonight I snuck into Nathan's room and there he was, sleeping soundly.  And right next to him, as I have grown to expect, was a sleeping orange kitten.  There are some things about Nathan's personality that I can easily understand.  There are many other things that are solely his experience and that I cannot wrap my mind around.  For years and years I have wished I was better at filling the void that is created when you feel like no one has ever felt the way you feel or seen things the way you see them.  

But along came Grumbles, a mess of whiskers and claws and pillow-stealing, and he was a perfect fit!  Years from now when Nick will have to dig a small grave in the backyard and I'll have to seek out a shoebox worthy of burial, I will stand graveside and weep buckets and buckets of tears for a little boy (who will then be not-so-little) who will be brokenhearted.  And I will tell him that forever and ever I will be glad that, with sweat dripping down my face and my back, while hugely pregnant, I coaxed that sick little kitten out from his hiding place behind a Thai restaurant and brought him home.  I didn't know it then, but I was saving his best friend.