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</o:shapelayout></xml><![endif]--></head><body lang=EN-US link="#0563C1" vlink="#954F72"><div class=WordSection1><p class=MsoNormal>The Ugly Barn Cat<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Marcia J. Wick, the Write Sisters<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>May 2019<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Word Count: 1135<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Born in a barn, my cat mom abandoned our messy brood when we arrived early into the world. Orphaned, we were likely to die without warmth or food or protection. Fortunately, when the barn lady brought oats to the horses, she spotted our perilous lot. <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>“Oh my, kittens. I wonder where the mother is…I don’t think they’re being fed.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>One by one, she lifted us into a slippery box. We scrambled over each other, half-blind and shivering. Premature, our pink skin wasn’t yet covered with fur. <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>The barn lady carried us into her home and helped us feel our way to a water bowl. Then, she placed us in a laundry basket heaped with warm towels from a nearby dryer. The next morning, the lady returned with a milky substance in a bottle. The enticing aroma created a frenzy of squealing and squeaking until each one of us had nibbled the nipple. Our faces were splattered with crusty residue since we didn’t have a mom cat to lick us clean.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Shortly after we moved into the laundry room, a sad lady came to stay in the spare bedroom in the basement near us. She slept and cried a lot like us; she seemed to need nurturing as much as we did. From a distance, she watched as the barn lady fed us, but she was reluctant to touch our matted fur or boney bodies.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>“They look more like rats than cats,” I heard her say. At that point, I didn’t care what I looked like; I was happy to be alive.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>It seemed I was always last to suck the bottle, so I learned to count to seven. Then, a funny thing began to happen. Each day, my turn to eat came sooner and more often. I moved up from the seventh spot to the sixth, then the third, then second. I didn’t mind getting fed more but I wondered where my siblings had gone. <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Slowly, I grew stronger although my legs were still spindly, my hairless ears twitched in the cold, and my green eyeballs bulged out of my malnourished face. Because my brother was stronger and looked more like a cat than a rat every day, he pushed me around. He rubbed his new fur against the sad lady’s ankle, vying for attention. <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>The sad lady also was growing stronger. She laughed on occasion and began talking to the barn lady about moving on. The barn lady suggested her friend take one of us kittens with her.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>“I can’t take care of myself, let alone a sick cat,” she protested. <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>That night, I slept in the laundry basket alone. I suspected my brother had sneaked into the lady’s luggage so he could leave with her. The runt, I dreamed of changing from an ugly barn cat into a beautiful feline with soft fur as white as an elegant swan – then, the sad lady might love me. <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal> My pink ears trembled in the morning when I heard the barn lady tell the sad lady, “There’s only the runt now. Why couldn’t the one who was starting to look like a kitten be the one to survive? The way this one’s eyes bug out and her ears are too big, she looks like Yoda from Star Wars.” <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>“Maybe she’s a Jedi,” the sad lady joked. <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>So, that’s how I got my unusual name. <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>“I’ll have to take Yoda with me,” my new mom announced. “No one else would want her. She’s so messed up … pretty much the way I feel.” <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>My thin hair prickled in excitement at her words. Only weeks old, I knew my new mom needed me as much as I needed her.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>The night before our departure, the barn lady decided I shouldn’t sleep alone, so she selected three of the older barn cats to have a slumber party with me in the laundry room. Smothered by a pack of unruly mousers, I didn’t get much sleep.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>The next morning, my new mom deftly rearranged luggage in the back of her hatchback to make room for my cat box lined with towels. We headed south the first travel day for a rest stop with family before our long journey west. When my new mom lifted me out of the box to introduce me to her favorite aunt, she screamed and dropped me back into the box like a hot potato.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>“She’s crawling with fleas! Oooo! That wasn’t a good idea to have her spend last night with the barn cats. Now, what am I going to do?”<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>My mom’s quick-thinking relative grabbed an old box of 2-in-1 flea and tick powder for cats. Holding me in her palm, Mom peppered me with powder. For a moment, the fleas stopped biting then my skin began burning like I was in a frying pan. The fleas, reactivated, crawled desperately over my eyes and ears, as anxious to escape the fire as me.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>“Oh my gosh, the label says ‘Not for use on cats under six months…’” They screamed, “oh, no!” <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Next thing I knew, we were in the car again, racing to an emergency vet who could “dip” me while Mom’s aunt bombed her house for fleas. Why had I thought life with a lady would be safer than hanging out with feral cats and huge horses in a cold barn?<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>After my bath, my soft skin began to feel fuzzy, then furry. By the time we reached Mom’s Colorado home for the holidays, I resembled a Christmas kitten, all white except for a black smudge on my forehead which Mom said “looks cute!”<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>My mom’s mom was allergic to cats, so I was relegated to Mom’s bedroom. Too early for me to learn potty manners or clean myself after falling into the food or feces, Mom washed me clean with a damp cloth and let me into the bed with her at night. I didn’t talk much since there weren’t other cats in the house to teach me. I adopted a chirping sound to indicate my excitement whenever I saw my Mom.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Although my life was getting off to a rough start, I wasn’t alone. My new mom spent most of her time sleeping and crying in the bedroom with me. She didn’t go out often. That suited me fine. <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>As the days grew longer, Mom perked up and played with me like a real kitten. I was climbing out of the litter box one spring day when she announced to her mom, “I think it’s time for me and Yoda to move on.” <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>I fell on my head and rolled over to hear more. “They’ve offered me a job in California and I’d better take it. I’ve been moping around here for three months, long enough.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>(To be continued.)<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p></div></body></html>