I aimed my car down the Conifer road. Sun diamonds sparkled on glistening evergreens. Oblivious to this glorious, natural display, I focused on the car’s clock and my job responsibilities and the pathetic driving habits of superfluous Colorado residents who turn morning traffic into a spiritual exercise in patience. (A superfluous Colorado resident is, of course, anyone who moved to Colorado after you.)
The spiritual giant in front of me hit his horn, and I beeped back in a mutual celebration of immaturity.
Then I noticed the traffic obstruction. A little kitten the color of chimney ash pranced on the highway, waving a paw at a Jeep. Cars roared past while the kitten stood fast and brandished claws like Don Quixote tilting at windmills.
I taught deaf students for Aurora Public Schools. Running late for a staff meeting provided an excuse to ignore the situation. Still, I sensed something grand in this grey kitten’s determination and style. The little cat rose, like a prairie dog, and attacked the wheels of a black SUV. I hopped out of the car, momentarily froze traffic and scooped the kitten from the pavement. All ferocity spent, the kitten curled in my hands and drifted into kitty dreamland.
I drove the kitten home and thought about the two cats already in residence and our outlandish cat-related bills and the staff meeting I was blowing off and the strange directions life takes when a guy like me obsesses about work and fails to appreciate the blessings of a day in the foothills.
The other cats greeted the kitten at the door with resounding disapproval. Neither of the cats wished to share his space with an outsider. I hadn’t heard so many feline complaints since we babysat a bulldog for Uncle Boris.
My wife cooed and kissed the kitten while I ran a bath. A close examination revealed grimy, grey, matted fur, weepy eyes and black stains in her ears. Two shampoos and six rinses later produced a shivering, emaciated, blue-eyed, snow white kitten. That day, we brought a litter pan and dishes of food and water and kept her in solitary while we went to work.
Our veteran felines ignored the rookie for 24 more hours, but the white angel operated in such a pushy and adorable manner, they soon welcomed her to join their cuddles by the fire.
Two weeks later, I drove to Aurora to discuss deafness with a second-grade class so they could empathize with a young deaf student at their school. I arrived home, seeking only the serenity of a Friday, greeted by the cacophonous sounds of a vacuum cleaner.
My wife laughed in the living room as the white kitten wrestled with the vacuum cleaner. The little cat danced backwards when the vacuum approached and charged without mercy when the machine retreated. In spite of the obnoxious noise, she showed no fear.
“Why isn’t she under the bed with the other cats?” I asked.
“She’s deaf,” my wife answered.
“No way,” I said.
“Yes. I told the vet about our latest kitten and he told me that cats with white fur and blue eyes are almost always deaf.”
So that’s why the kitten wandered onto Highway 285. She couldn’t hear the cars.
There is a sweet, natural rhythm to life when a deaf kitten jaywalks and finds a loving home with a teacher of the deaf. Sometimes, Colorado purrs.
John Walsh (beaucoupcats@ ) taught deaf and hard of hearing children for Aurora Public Schools.
Colorado Voices
