And Then There's Baby

By Christy Lee

The kids have all left the nest.  Our life has settled into that special place between children and retirement when we begin to experience all the things we've always wanted to do.  

An empty canvass sits patiently on an easel, waiting for brush and paint to bring it to life.  Work gloves adorn a potting bench littered with all sorts of tools and seedlings, waiting for my hand to set life in motion.  The old mini van has been replaced with a sportier model--the PT Cruiser--a cross between a street rod and elegant comfort.  The house resounds with the delicate jangle of wind chimes--an attempt to bring good chi into my home as I search for the true meaning of life.  The acetylene torch sits ready on the shelf, waiting for the copper flashing I hope to turn into a piece of garden sculpture.  It is all just as I planned.  And then there's Baby!...

...Oh, we're not talking about just any baby.  I know, you're probably thinking that I'm a little bit prejudice.  Well, you'd be right!  But when you hold this helpless soul in your hands for the first time... I'm getting ahead of myself.  I had better start at the beginning.

It was a normal day--nothing memorable.  There had been none of the usual crisis phone calls from  the children.  My husband was in Washington DC working feverishly on some crucial military project.  The fall day was warm and sunny--a usual occurrence on a southern September afternoon.

I noticed the red flag was up on the mailbox.  I looked at my watch.  It was that time of day.  I strolled casually down the graveled drive that led to the gravel road that ran in front of our rural home.  We liked the space that a rural lifestyle provided. I could still see the dust from the postman as he sped toward his next delivery.  It was a pleasant day.

My attention was drawn to a peculiar, but inviting sound of a song bird.  The warble was coming from somewhere in the tall grasses of the adjacent property.  The rural setting draws all sorts of God's creatures to our acreage.  It is one of the benefits of living in the country.  I was privy to all the comings and goings of creatures, great and small, that crossed our land.  This bird song was new to my ears.

As I was returning to the house the bird song grew louder.  It was a strange occurrence, as the birds seldom ventured so close to us.  As the sound grew in intensity, I stopped.  My eyes were drawn to the sound that seemed to be coming from somewhere at my feet.  

As I looked across the gravel that covered the massive driveway, my eyes tried to focus on a small charcoal-colored ball of fluff that seemed to be dragging itself towards me.  It was at this moment that I first laid eyes on Baby.

According to the vet, he was only two days old.  His eyes were sealed tightly shut.  He had heard my footsteps across the great expansive drive and had litterly drug himself, (with belly scraping over the sharp crush and run), until he lay at my feet exhausted, yet hopeful.  How could I turn my back on this helpless, yet determined feline infant.

I scooped him up into my warm hands and cradled him as I walked back to the house.  His fervent mews tore at my heart.  If I did not care for this ball of fluff, his fate would be sealed.  I agonized over the decision.  The freedom, I was enjoying since the kids had moved out, would be detoured as I took on this new responsibility.  And, from the pets we had already endured while the kids had been young, I knew that they took a lot of care and work, not unlike children.

We had no pets besides the wild ones who lived upon our land.  We had birds of all shapes and sizes that frequented the bird feeders we kept year round.  We were often visited by anole lizards, writing spiders, and the local, but amusing pests like our resident squirrels. We had talked about pets on occasion, but both of us had come to enjoy the freedom of not having them--no encumbrances, though I longed for the companionship that it would provide me during the lonely weekdays that Jim was working

The urgent mewing seemed to shatter the familiar silence of my day.  I found a small box that I lined with an old doll blanket left over by my grandchildren's last visit.  I placed the kitten into the box and wrapped the blanket snuggly around it to ward off any draft. 

I think the ball of fluff had known that we would not abandon it.  Somehow, animals seem to sense things.  We bottle fed and cared for Baby just as if he were one of our children.  We worried over every aspect of his upbringing, fearful that our maternal instincts would somehow be inadequate.  It was not long before our Baby grew up.  Suddenly the name "Baby" did not fit him. While we still called to him and talked to him as if he were still the small baby we had nurtured, the name, coming from someone else's mouth seemed foreign and inappropriate. 

It was during this time that our daughter and grandchildren came to live with us, after her divorce. She had been accepted at Winthrop college.  We would provide her daycare and support until graduation.  It was the logical next step, of course.  We already were tied down with one "Baby". 

"Baby" took to the change with a bit of trepidation.  He was not used to the chaos and activity surrounding young children ages eight and eleven.  However, soon they had been welcomed into the family and we all settled down to the business of living...as settled as a three generation family can be.

It became obvious immediately that change was upon us.  The name...just didn't work.  Baby sat quietly, looking at me with those loving eyes that would flash to red in an instant of impish playfulness.  My daughter walked in and his new name was coined. 

    "What ya doing, Putty?" she addressed him, happily.  I knew then that "Putty" would be his new name. 

It has been a year now.  Baby, who  once was small enough to sit on my shoulder and cuddle against my cheek, is a full grown guy now.  Occasionally, when I am feeling motherly, I still call him Baby and he will still answer to that for me.  However, "Putty" has stuck and fits him well, it seems. 

Thinking back, that ball of fluff who approached me so determined to make a connection, has changed the direction of our lives dramatically.  Who knows, he might have been the catalyst that moved us from a lonely, singular path of hobbies and travel to a family unit where I have some influence over the next generation.  There is something to be said for extended family environments. 

You see, just when you think you have life figured out, a small ball of fluff no bigger than the palm of your hand enters your life...and your life will never be the same again...and isn't that marvelous?