17 years ago as I was walking to my barn on a starry moonless night close to midnight, across the pasture and out near the road, I heard a plaintiff wail of tiny kitten. Because I have always had a thing for cats, I spoke out, "Kitty?"
From the distance, the kitten replied, "Meooooow!"
"Kitty!" was my response.
Again, only closer, came the wail, "Meeeeooooow!"
I responded with, "Kitty!" once again.
The pattern of kitten calling and me responding continued. By the time I reached the barn, there was this tiny little bundle of brown-striped fur at my feet, calling me constantly. I picked it up and carried it inside to the middle of the barn where the horse grooming bays are and where the cats get fed.
I put it down, opened the tack room door to get a scoop of cat food, and put it in the large circular pan. The cats milled around and the kitten knew immediately what to do. Since she was bound to get plenty of access to cat food, I went ahead and began the chores.
Fed the horses, sheep, alpacas, goats, and chickens. I gathered the eggs and made sure there was plenty of water and feed for everyone. I then spread the hay around in the feeders as well. When I was finished, I flipped the light switch to off and headed to the house.
Imagine my surprise when I found the little brown ball of fur sitting on my porch waiting for me!!! I gingerly picked it up and took it back to the barn, using the flashlight instead of the overhead light to put the kitten back where the feed pan was.
Upon my return to the house, there she sat, once again, awaiting my arrival back at the house. "Hmmmm. Let's try this again," I said to myself. So I picked her up, carried her back down. I put her back where I had left her before, closing the bay area door all but a small crack, then raced back to the house.
As my foot hit the top step, the kitten hit the bottom step and mewed at me as if to say, "You forgot me."
By then it was after midnight and I certainly wasn't going to make another trip to the barn so I brought her into the house. Big mistake! The next morning, the kitten had left me many messes to clean up. With daylight streaming through the windows, I could plainly see this kitten was extremely thin. Scrawny would be a better description. And tiny, very tiny, or as I told people, she was an itty-bitty kitty. So I put her in the cat carrier and away we went to Bean Blossom Animal Clinic 45 miles away.
Upon examination, Dr. Brester stated, "She has a bad case of worms. How she is still alive is unknown. I will give her a shot that will help eliminate the worms, but the stress of it all may kill her. But then there is the chance the worms are going to kill her anyway."
I gave my permission to do whatever it took to bring her back to health and was sent home with the kitten and an envelope of syringes with stuff to give her at intervals. When I got to the window to check out, the receptionist asked me what the kitten's name was. I hadn't even had possession of her for 24 hours and I was already being asked her name. "I've been calling her Kitty Cat, so put her name down as K.C."
And so she became K.C. ever after. After she decided she didn't want any part of barn life and would sleep in the house, she also let us know that she wanted to spend time outside. I tagged her as my indoor/outdoor kitty. Each evening, she came to the door to be let in and every morning she raced to the door to be let out.
As she got a few months old, I began finding headless mice beside my car in the gravel, a tradition that must have been her way to let me know she was doing her job. She also was good at keeping the mouse population down in the house.
She had the silkiest coat of any brown tiger kitty I had ever petted. I enjoyed stroking her fur as it was like stroking satin. K.C. would purr so loud anyone could hear her across the room when she was being stroked. But God forbid anyone should try to pick her up! She did not like that at all.
I loved watching her run straight out of the house of a morning, down the steps, through the fence, turn right at the drive way, and march almost all the way to the road and then back through the fence on the opposite side of the driveway into the pasture. If the grass wasn't too tall, I could stand on the porch and see her head and ears standing tall above the grass. As summer progressed, the grass grew and when I looked out, I could see only her ears above the tall grass.
Of an evening, I liked watching her trot back up the driveway, turn left, march up the steps and wait for me to open the door. It was a routine that she developed and followed regardless of the weather. During the winter months when snow and sleet would fall, I would try to keep her from going out until I could not longer endure her protests of being confined. Then she would go out for an hour or two but would then race back to the front door anxious to be let back in. K.C. always knew I'd be waiting for her.
Then in the Fall of 2024, K.C. came in for the last time. She lost interest in going out and sat in the window and watched the birds, the weather, and the dogs when they went out in the yard. But never once did she go to the door. I knew from this change in behavior we were approaching her final days.
In the late winter, early spring, K.C. began vomiting considerably and then she quit eating. I bought all sorts of canned cat food, pouched cat food and anything I could find that might entice her to eat more than a teaspoon of cat food. With each feeding she ate less and less. Finally, she quit eating.
I know cats are finicky, but after 24 hours of hunger strike, I called the vet. We got in the next day. Poor K.C. was suffering from kidney failure. Her kidneys had shrunk to the size of peas and she was suffering greatly. Her weight had gone from 6.5 pounds the last visit to 4.2 pounds. She was nothing but skin and bones. As hard as it was, I made the decision to have the vet put her down while she was cradled in my arms. It was hard. Many tears have been shed since that day on April 1, 2025. It will be hard to find a kitty with an attitude of determination like K.C. had. But like K.C., I will let that kitty find me.
