A young Gordon Tracy - ten years old to be exact - looked up from his book
on Orcas as his youngest brother came marching through the door, holding a
rather scrawny looking ball of fur. The human part of the pair was covered
in mud and soaked to the skin because of the rain pouring down outside
their Kansas home. He quickly closed the door and pulled off his sopping
jacket, never letting go of the bundle in his arms.
Gordon stood up, closing his book and dropping it on the couch. "What's that, Alan?"
The eight year-old boy looked up at him, his damp blond fringe hanging in his blue eyes. "It's a kitty."
"A kitty? Alan, what did you do to him?"
Alan put on a defensive expression. "I didn't do nothin' to him! I found him under the big tree at the end of the driveway."
Gordon took a step forward and reached out for the cat so that Alan could finish getting his wet boots off. His younger brother quickly shook his head. "You can't touch him. You might hurt him."
"I wouldn't. Give him here. You're getting the floor all muddy."
Alan reluctantly handed the small calico kitten over to his brother and stepped out of his boots, putting them back by the door. Gordon looked down at the shivering animal in his arms and felt his heart melt as it let out a soft meow, opening it's small eyes as it glanced up at him.
"What happened to him?" The elder wondered, stroking the wet fur carefully.
Alan shrugged. "I don't know. He sounded like he was crying, so I picked him up."
"Maybe we should show him to Grandma. She'd know what to do with him."
Alan nodded agreeably, following Gordon into the kitchen where Grandma Tracy was preparing a roast for dinner.
"Grandma, I found a kitty!" Alan called, excited about his discovery.
Grandma Tracy turned around, wiping her hands on her apron as she looked down at two of her grandsons over her spectacles. Her eyes focused on the cat that Gordon was still holding protectively against his body. "So you did. Does it have a collar?"
Alan shook his head, spraying small drops of rain from his hair. "Nope."
"Where did you find it?"
"It's not an it," Alan said matter-of-factly. "It's a he. His name is Mortimer."
"You can't name a cat Mortimer," Gordon protested.
"I can too! I found him, not you!"
"Quiet, boys. Your father is trying to work." Jeff's study was just down the hall from the kitchen. She looked back at Alan. "Where did you find him?" She stressed the last word this time.
"Under the tree at the end of the driveway."
The cat took that chance to meow pitifully. "I think he's hurt," Gordon said, refusing to call the kitten Mortimer.
Grandma Tracy carefully took the cat from Gordon and examined him. Having lived on a farm all her life, she had a decent knowledge of most animals. "His leg is fractured, I think," she concluded finally.
"Fractured?" Alan's eyes filled with tears, though he hardly knew what the word meant. "Will he die?"
Grandma Tracy smiled reassuringly at him. "No, child, he won't die. We'll take him to the vet after supper to make sure it really is cracked."
"Can't we help him before dinner, though? He looks so sad." Gordon looked worried about the young cat.
"We can try, Gordon. It's a good thirty minutes into town, and we don't have time to get there before supper. Come on, let's find the first aid kit." Grandma Tracy held the kitten delicately as she got the small white box out of the cupboard above the fridge. With five young grandsons running around, she seemed to always need something from it.
Handing the cat back to Alan, Grandma pulled some gauze and medical tape out of the kit, making a small cast-like bandage for the animal.
"Be careful, Grandma," Gordon warned.
"I will be, Gordon." She gingerly wrapped it around the kitten's sore leg for some extra support. The cat meowed in remonstration, but once it was done, he seemed much more comfortable.
Alan smiled. "You should be a doctor, Grandma!"
Grandma Tracy chuckled quietly. "I may as well be one with how often you lot get hurt. Now go on and wash up for supper."
"But what about Mortimer?" Alan wondered, peering down at the cat he was holding.
"We'll make him a bed and he can sleep while we eat."
"Grandma, do we have any cat food?" Gordon asked, reaching out to pet the kitten.
Grandma Tracy shook her head. "No, Gordon. You know your father is allergic to cats. Why would we need any?"
"Can he have some of my dinner, then?"
"I don't think roast beef is very good for cats, Alan."
Alan pouted. "But he'll starve!"
"We'll give him some water to begin with, Alan. We don't want to make him sick with foods foreign to his system, just in case."
The youngest Tracy son sighed. "Okay."
Grandma Tracy ruffled his hair affectionately. "That's a good boy. Let's make him a bed out of some sheets so he can rest."
"He can use my bed, Grandma! I don't mind," Gordon offered, already having a strong liking for the cat.
"There are some clean sheets in the laundry room, Gordon. Will you go get them for me? He can sleep on your bed later."
Gordon nodded and dashed off to get what his Grandmother requested him to. He returned a few minutes later with the clean sheets of one of the guest rooms. Grandma and Gordon made a nest on the couch out of them for the cat and Alan carefully laid him down on it before pushing the blankets up around him.
The three stood looking down at the kitten as it yawned and promptly fell asleep, seeming much more at ease now that his leg wasn't causing him as much pain.
"He's so cute," murmured Gordon.
Grandma steered her grandsons away from the cat. "Let Mortimer sleep while we eat supper. Go on now, hurry and wash up."
Gordon and Alan ran off towards the bathroom to do as she told them. Jeff came into the kitchen then and immediately sneezed.
Grandma Tracy tried not to smile. "Are you alright, Jeff?"
Her son nodded, eyes slightly watery. "Fine. I guess my summer allergies are just setting in early this year, that's all."
Scott, Virgil and John, Jeff's three elder sons, walked into the room, arguing animatedly about a sports match they'd just watched on TV. Grandma Tracy was quick to quiet them down as they sat at the table with their father.
Alan and Gordon raced back into the kitchen and sat down with their family as Grandma placed the bowls of food on the table.
"Dad, dad!" Alan cried excitedly. "Can I keep him?"
"Keep who?" Jeff asked, helping himself to some mashed potatoes before passing them on to Scott.
"Mortimer!"
Jeff glanced up at his youngest son. "Who's Mortimer?"
"My cat! I found him, so he's mine!"
"Cat?" Jeff turned his eyes on his mother, who smiled innocently. She hadn't told him about a cat in the house.
"Yeah, my cat! His name is Mortimer. Dad, he's so cute, but he's hurt his leg. Can I keep him? Can I, can I?"
"Alan, calm down. You know you can't have a cat."
Alan pouted for the second time that day. "I know they make you sick, Dad, but I can't give him away!"
"He might belong to someone else, Alan. Maybe he couldn't find his way home and got lost after he got hurt." John entered the conversation, pouring gravy on his meat.
Alan shook his head energetically. "He didn't have a collar, John. So he's mine."
"We can put signs up saying we found a cat and then someone can call if he belongs to them," Virgil suggested.
Jeff nodded. "We'll keep him until we find his owner, okay, Alan?"
Alan sighed. "Okay, dad."
Later that evening at the vet's office, Dr. Alcott confirmed Grandma Tracy's guess that Mortimer's leg was fractured.
"What happened to him?" Gordon asked the vet.
"It looks to me like your cat was run over by a car." Dr. Alcott finished checking out Mortimer and rewrapped his leg in a better form of a cast before handing Grandma Tracy a bottle of small pills. "If she seems to be in a lot of pain, give her one of these. It's just like a painkiller, but for cats."
"She? Her?" Alan put his hands on his hips. "He's a he and his name is Mortimer!"
Dr. Alcott smiled at Alan. "I'm afraid Mortimer is a girl cat, not a boy."
Alan looked dumbfounded. "A girl? How do you know?"
She smiled at the youngest Tracy. "I'm a vet, I know these things."
Alan made a face. "But girls are gross."
Dr. Alcott chuckled. "I'm a girl, Alan. I'm not gross, am I?" She knew the family well. She'd been the vet for Grandma and Grandpa Tracy's farm animals for the last twenty years.
Alan shook his head. "Well, no, but you're an older girl. Are girl cats as gross as girl people?"
Dr. Alcott smiled. "Of course not. Girl cats are just like boy cats. See? She likes you even though you're a boy." Mortimer was snuggled deep in one of Jeff's flannel nightshirts in Alan's arms and if she could have smiled, she would have.
"Maybe you should change her name, Alan," suggested Grandma Tracy. "Now that we know she's not a he, you might want to call her something more feminine."
Alan pondered this for a moment, thinking of a different name for the cat.
"What about Madeline?" Gordon piped up.
Alan nodded, breaking into a grin. "Okay, Madeline!" He stroked the young cat's fur. "You're not a gross girl kitty, Madeline."
Grandma Tracy smiled down at him as Dr. Alcott cleaned up her materials. "If we don't find a home for her, Alan, maybe your father will let you keep her in the barn."
"Yeah!" Alan cried. "She could chase mice!"
Dr. Alcott shook her head. "Not for a couple months, Alan. It's going to take a while for that leg to repair itself, if it heals perfectly at all. She may end up with a permanent limp or surgery could be involved."
"I'll take good care of her, Dr. Alcott."
"I know you will, Alan."
The moon was rising when Jeff quietly opened the door to Alan's room a week later. His youngest son was cocooned in the blankets, one foot sticking out at the end, eyes closed and looking more peaceful than Jeff thought he'd ever seen him awake. A fluffy shadow was curled up beside one arm, a harsh looking white band around one leg.
Every night since Alan had found her, Madeline had slept on his bed. Jeff had tried to protest the kitten sleeping in the house because of his allergies, but with two pleading sons, it was hard to keep the barrier up long. To make matters worse, John, Scott and Virgil had become fond of the little cat and pampered it just as much as Alan and Gordon.
No calls had come in after his three oldest sons had hung up posters. It looked as though Madeline didn't have a home, or was not noticed to be missing yet. Watching Alan sleeping beside Madeline made Jeff realize that none of his sons had ever experienced the loyal and undying love a pet could offer them. He figured that was why Madeline was such a big deal in the household these days.
He crossed the room to the bedside and gently sat down next to Alan's sleeping form, looking down at his son and the cat he was sharing his bed with. Alan stirred, murmuring something incoherent before his eyes fluttered open.
"Dad?"
"Sorry I woke you, Alan."
Alan turned over onto his back, careful not to disturb his kitten. "Did someone phone about Madeline?" He asked worriedly, hoping that wasn't the case.
Jeff smiled faintly and shook his head. "No, son, no one phoned."
Alan let out a sigh of relief. "Good." He rubbed one eye and yawned. "Can we keep her then, Dad? Please?"
Jeff nodded, his smile widening slightly. "Yes, Alan, we can keep her."
Gordon stood up, closing his book and dropping it on the couch. "What's that, Alan?"
The eight year-old boy looked up at him, his damp blond fringe hanging in his blue eyes. "It's a kitty."
"A kitty? Alan, what did you do to him?"
Alan put on a defensive expression. "I didn't do nothin' to him! I found him under the big tree at the end of the driveway."
Gordon took a step forward and reached out for the cat so that Alan could finish getting his wet boots off. His younger brother quickly shook his head. "You can't touch him. You might hurt him."
"I wouldn't. Give him here. You're getting the floor all muddy."
Alan reluctantly handed the small calico kitten over to his brother and stepped out of his boots, putting them back by the door. Gordon looked down at the shivering animal in his arms and felt his heart melt as it let out a soft meow, opening it's small eyes as it glanced up at him.
"What happened to him?" The elder wondered, stroking the wet fur carefully.
Alan shrugged. "I don't know. He sounded like he was crying, so I picked him up."
"Maybe we should show him to Grandma. She'd know what to do with him."
Alan nodded agreeably, following Gordon into the kitchen where Grandma Tracy was preparing a roast for dinner.
"Grandma, I found a kitty!" Alan called, excited about his discovery.
Grandma Tracy turned around, wiping her hands on her apron as she looked down at two of her grandsons over her spectacles. Her eyes focused on the cat that Gordon was still holding protectively against his body. "So you did. Does it have a collar?"
Alan shook his head, spraying small drops of rain from his hair. "Nope."
"Where did you find it?"
"It's not an it," Alan said matter-of-factly. "It's a he. His name is Mortimer."
"You can't name a cat Mortimer," Gordon protested.
"I can too! I found him, not you!"
"Quiet, boys. Your father is trying to work." Jeff's study was just down the hall from the kitchen. She looked back at Alan. "Where did you find him?" She stressed the last word this time.
"Under the tree at the end of the driveway."
The cat took that chance to meow pitifully. "I think he's hurt," Gordon said, refusing to call the kitten Mortimer.
Grandma Tracy carefully took the cat from Gordon and examined him. Having lived on a farm all her life, she had a decent knowledge of most animals. "His leg is fractured, I think," she concluded finally.
"Fractured?" Alan's eyes filled with tears, though he hardly knew what the word meant. "Will he die?"
Grandma Tracy smiled reassuringly at him. "No, child, he won't die. We'll take him to the vet after supper to make sure it really is cracked."
"Can't we help him before dinner, though? He looks so sad." Gordon looked worried about the young cat.
"We can try, Gordon. It's a good thirty minutes into town, and we don't have time to get there before supper. Come on, let's find the first aid kit." Grandma Tracy held the kitten delicately as she got the small white box out of the cupboard above the fridge. With five young grandsons running around, she seemed to always need something from it.
Handing the cat back to Alan, Grandma pulled some gauze and medical tape out of the kit, making a small cast-like bandage for the animal.
"Be careful, Grandma," Gordon warned.
"I will be, Gordon." She gingerly wrapped it around the kitten's sore leg for some extra support. The cat meowed in remonstration, but once it was done, he seemed much more comfortable.
Alan smiled. "You should be a doctor, Grandma!"
Grandma Tracy chuckled quietly. "I may as well be one with how often you lot get hurt. Now go on and wash up for supper."
"But what about Mortimer?" Alan wondered, peering down at the cat he was holding.
"We'll make him a bed and he can sleep while we eat."
"Grandma, do we have any cat food?" Gordon asked, reaching out to pet the kitten.
Grandma Tracy shook her head. "No, Gordon. You know your father is allergic to cats. Why would we need any?"
"Can he have some of my dinner, then?"
"I don't think roast beef is very good for cats, Alan."
Alan pouted. "But he'll starve!"
"We'll give him some water to begin with, Alan. We don't want to make him sick with foods foreign to his system, just in case."
The youngest Tracy son sighed. "Okay."
Grandma Tracy ruffled his hair affectionately. "That's a good boy. Let's make him a bed out of some sheets so he can rest."
"He can use my bed, Grandma! I don't mind," Gordon offered, already having a strong liking for the cat.
"There are some clean sheets in the laundry room, Gordon. Will you go get them for me? He can sleep on your bed later."
Gordon nodded and dashed off to get what his Grandmother requested him to. He returned a few minutes later with the clean sheets of one of the guest rooms. Grandma and Gordon made a nest on the couch out of them for the cat and Alan carefully laid him down on it before pushing the blankets up around him.
The three stood looking down at the kitten as it yawned and promptly fell asleep, seeming much more at ease now that his leg wasn't causing him as much pain.
"He's so cute," murmured Gordon.
Grandma steered her grandsons away from the cat. "Let Mortimer sleep while we eat supper. Go on now, hurry and wash up."
Gordon and Alan ran off towards the bathroom to do as she told them. Jeff came into the kitchen then and immediately sneezed.
Grandma Tracy tried not to smile. "Are you alright, Jeff?"
Her son nodded, eyes slightly watery. "Fine. I guess my summer allergies are just setting in early this year, that's all."
Scott, Virgil and John, Jeff's three elder sons, walked into the room, arguing animatedly about a sports match they'd just watched on TV. Grandma Tracy was quick to quiet them down as they sat at the table with their father.
Alan and Gordon raced back into the kitchen and sat down with their family as Grandma placed the bowls of food on the table.
"Dad, dad!" Alan cried excitedly. "Can I keep him?"
"Keep who?" Jeff asked, helping himself to some mashed potatoes before passing them on to Scott.
"Mortimer!"
Jeff glanced up at his youngest son. "Who's Mortimer?"
"My cat! I found him, so he's mine!"
"Cat?" Jeff turned his eyes on his mother, who smiled innocently. She hadn't told him about a cat in the house.
"Yeah, my cat! His name is Mortimer. Dad, he's so cute, but he's hurt his leg. Can I keep him? Can I, can I?"
"Alan, calm down. You know you can't have a cat."
Alan pouted for the second time that day. "I know they make you sick, Dad, but I can't give him away!"
"He might belong to someone else, Alan. Maybe he couldn't find his way home and got lost after he got hurt." John entered the conversation, pouring gravy on his meat.
Alan shook his head energetically. "He didn't have a collar, John. So he's mine."
"We can put signs up saying we found a cat and then someone can call if he belongs to them," Virgil suggested.
Jeff nodded. "We'll keep him until we find his owner, okay, Alan?"
Alan sighed. "Okay, dad."
Later that evening at the vet's office, Dr. Alcott confirmed Grandma Tracy's guess that Mortimer's leg was fractured.
"What happened to him?" Gordon asked the vet.
"It looks to me like your cat was run over by a car." Dr. Alcott finished checking out Mortimer and rewrapped his leg in a better form of a cast before handing Grandma Tracy a bottle of small pills. "If she seems to be in a lot of pain, give her one of these. It's just like a painkiller, but for cats."
"She? Her?" Alan put his hands on his hips. "He's a he and his name is Mortimer!"
Dr. Alcott smiled at Alan. "I'm afraid Mortimer is a girl cat, not a boy."
Alan looked dumbfounded. "A girl? How do you know?"
She smiled at the youngest Tracy. "I'm a vet, I know these things."
Alan made a face. "But girls are gross."
Dr. Alcott chuckled. "I'm a girl, Alan. I'm not gross, am I?" She knew the family well. She'd been the vet for Grandma and Grandpa Tracy's farm animals for the last twenty years.
Alan shook his head. "Well, no, but you're an older girl. Are girl cats as gross as girl people?"
Dr. Alcott smiled. "Of course not. Girl cats are just like boy cats. See? She likes you even though you're a boy." Mortimer was snuggled deep in one of Jeff's flannel nightshirts in Alan's arms and if she could have smiled, she would have.
"Maybe you should change her name, Alan," suggested Grandma Tracy. "Now that we know she's not a he, you might want to call her something more feminine."
Alan pondered this for a moment, thinking of a different name for the cat.
"What about Madeline?" Gordon piped up.
Alan nodded, breaking into a grin. "Okay, Madeline!" He stroked the young cat's fur. "You're not a gross girl kitty, Madeline."
Grandma Tracy smiled down at him as Dr. Alcott cleaned up her materials. "If we don't find a home for her, Alan, maybe your father will let you keep her in the barn."
"Yeah!" Alan cried. "She could chase mice!"
Dr. Alcott shook her head. "Not for a couple months, Alan. It's going to take a while for that leg to repair itself, if it heals perfectly at all. She may end up with a permanent limp or surgery could be involved."
"I'll take good care of her, Dr. Alcott."
"I know you will, Alan."
The moon was rising when Jeff quietly opened the door to Alan's room a week later. His youngest son was cocooned in the blankets, one foot sticking out at the end, eyes closed and looking more peaceful than Jeff thought he'd ever seen him awake. A fluffy shadow was curled up beside one arm, a harsh looking white band around one leg.
Every night since Alan had found her, Madeline had slept on his bed. Jeff had tried to protest the kitten sleeping in the house because of his allergies, but with two pleading sons, it was hard to keep the barrier up long. To make matters worse, John, Scott and Virgil had become fond of the little cat and pampered it just as much as Alan and Gordon.
No calls had come in after his three oldest sons had hung up posters. It looked as though Madeline didn't have a home, or was not noticed to be missing yet. Watching Alan sleeping beside Madeline made Jeff realize that none of his sons had ever experienced the loyal and undying love a pet could offer them. He figured that was why Madeline was such a big deal in the household these days.
He crossed the room to the bedside and gently sat down next to Alan's sleeping form, looking down at his son and the cat he was sharing his bed with. Alan stirred, murmuring something incoherent before his eyes fluttered open.
"Dad?"
"Sorry I woke you, Alan."
Alan turned over onto his back, careful not to disturb his kitten. "Did someone phone about Madeline?" He asked worriedly, hoping that wasn't the case.
Jeff smiled faintly and shook his head. "No, son, no one phoned."
Alan let out a sigh of relief. "Good." He rubbed one eye and yawned. "Can we keep her then, Dad? Please?"
Jeff nodded, his smile widening slightly. "Yes, Alan, we can keep her."