The Spicket River Kitten

The Spicket River Kitten

S. Hileman

8/6/2021

She spent a lot of her time alone. Lost in the confines of her imagination. She had just turned 12, and even in January, being outside was better than being inside. Inside her apartment, nothing was predictable. Nothing was guaranteed. Nothing was normal, and it sure as fuck wasn’t the Brady Bunch, though she did love that show. Everyday, returning from school that was across town, after pedaling home, she would leave her bike in the hallway and run upstairs to see what there was to eat. Lots of mustard and bread sandwiches in her day. She didn't' mind, unless the bread was stale. If she was really hungry, she’d go steal a bunch of quarters from her brother's change jar. Never once did she feel an ounce of guilt for this trespass, he was 8 years older than her, a drunk, an addict and he had a mean streak a mile wide. Loads of times he would hit her, smack her, pull her hair, push her down, loads of times she’d cower under the kitchen table, or better yet, run out the door, down a flight of stairs into the fresh air. She’d stay gone until she knew someone else had come home. Her mother worked second and her father didn’t know what went on when he was at work. Forbidden to “snitch”, to make waves, to stir the pot, cliche cliche cliche, the young girl, took her licks and whenever possible beat feet out of there.

Summers were easy, she’d spend her days on the South side, surrounded by her raggedy friends who accepted her without condition. Winters though. Winters were a whole ‘nother creature. She didn’t have boots, so her sneakers would usually be in a constant state of damp. Gloves and a hat and a couple layers of sweaters did enough, cept’ keep the wind off her cheeks. Still, outside was better than inside, even in January, even in Massachusetts. When no one was around to stave off her brother's temper, she made it a habit to walk around the neighborhood, killing time and spending his quarters on tonic and chips.

If she cut through a few yards and hopped a fence, she’d find herself alone, sitting on the water's edge of a small pool that formed in the shallowest part of the Spicket River. It would freeze over, but not enough to slide on, mostly she just threw rocks at it and poked at it with thick branches. Lost in a world she created for herself, she’d imagine she was living in a cabin, she’d be exploring the forest, which wasn’t a forest at all, just a small tree line next to a deserted baseball diamond. The area was always empty, she never really saw any other kids ‘playing’ there. But that was ok by her. Sometimes she’d bring a book, and she’d sit on the edge of the thin ice, reading about the girls at Sweet Valley High or if she could manage it, she’d knick a cheap romance novel from her mothers nightstand. She found them boring and predictable, but compared to home, she welcomed boring and predictable.

They had only been living in the three family tenement for a short time, they only ever lived anywhere for a short time. Second floor, across from a dive bar. On Fridays and Saturdays she and her mother would watch out the window to see if any drunks were being roughed up by the local police. More than once her brother was one of those drunks, the kid in her silently applauded watching the cops dump his beer on the ground. Fuck him, he deserved it, she’d think. More often than not, they’d let him go, which was a huge disappointment on her end. Her mom would unlock the door and let him in, sloppy, slurring and angry. Late at night like that, I’d run to my room and slam the door, climb to the top bunk of the bed that I shared with my sister and try to sleep through raised voices and sometimes things breaking. Couldn’t go outside in the middle of the night, not in Lawrence, and not at her age.

When we’d lived there a few months, and she discovered what she imagined was her own hidden place, she’d go there often. And always alone. She had no friends on this side of the city, and it got dark so early she wasn’t allowed to hang around for long after school. Don’t want to get kidnapped biking home after dark, better to get home directly so her adult brother could continue to drill fear and pain into her life.

Then, one day, sitting in her usual spot, on some dry cardboard she’d found, she saw the kitten.

He was scrawny as fuck, malnourished, and his eyes were crusty with goop. A small grey tiger. He was skittish at first, and she realized he wasn’t alone. His mother was nearby. She’d had enough cats in her life to know that there had probably been 3 or 4 kittens at one time, but only this single, sickly kitten remained. The girl sat as still as possible, coaxing the duo to come closer. They would not.

She ran home, grabbed a fist full of quarters from the dickheads stash, pulled an old towel from the laundry and hopped on her bike. She left the store with a pint of milk and four cans of wet cat food. When she returned to her spot, she was actually surprised that the mother hadn’t taken her lone kitten and wandered off. She used the cardboard to fashion a poor excuse for a shelter, added the dry towel and popped the top off one of the cat food cans. The kitten didn’t hesitate, he pounced on the free meal, while his mother hung back for a few minutes. Eventually the odor of cheap processed tuna’ bits was too much, and the mother cat joined her baby in the feast the girl had prepared. She used an old jar lid to pour milk into. They eagerly lapped that up as well. The kitten allowed her to hold him close and pet him. He even purred a little bit.

The girl wanted more than anything to bring them home with her, it being so cold and wet, but when she asked for permission, her mother could not have been more vehemently against it. When her dad came home, she switched tactics and tried to convince him to let her bring them in. Just for one night as the weather was calling for freezing rain. Please. Please. Please. They’ll die out there! A resounding NO from both parents. Some lame excuse about outdoor cats needing to be outdoors and wouldn’t appreciate being kept inside. She felt like saying she didn’t especially like being kept inside either. She waited til she was back at the pond sitting on her knees cradling the sick kitten, while his mother lapped at the last of the milk, before she let herself cry.

She took a walk, hoping to find something bigger and stronger to shelter them against the weather that night. She found a box, and with what little innocence she had left, she lovingly tried her best to build a shelter for her kitten and his mother. She stayed as long as the daylight would let her, fed them both, she spoke to them in hushed tones, telling them to stay put tonight.

She cried again when she stood to leave, the rain had just begun, and even at 12 she knew the odds were against this pair. She took her time walking home. At dinner she was angry at both her parents and she even balled up enough to say as much. “My kitten is going to die,” she said, pushing her plate away, but not raising her head. “They’ll be fine, cats are survivors” was her fathers only response.

That night when the girl went to bed she tossed and turned with worry for her little hobos. Finally she managed to sleep. The next day they cancelled school due to the streets being so iced up. She got dressed quickly and hurried to her secret spot. Right away she saw what remained of the box, the crumpled frozen towel, and a few feet away, her kitten. He was stiff and lifeless. His eyes were closed, and when she tried to lift him off the ground, he didn’t stir. She knew. Her kitten, that she had tried so hard to save, had died sometime during the night. The mother cat was nowhere to be found, and she knew mama cats would leave dead or sickly kittens to die in nature. The tears came, and the 12 year old girl wrapped the kitten in the knit hat she took from her head, she held him, and she cried. She bawled when she realized the ground was frozen solid and she couldn’t give her kitten a proper burial. Instead, she cleared a spot, laid her friend down, and covered him as best she could with leaves and sticks and rocks. Even in death, she couldn’t stomach the thought of leaving him outside. For once, outside was not better.

After taking her time walking home, occasionally wiping snot from her nose, trying to stop crying so as her brother wouldn’t notice and begin to pick on her. She went to her room, laid down on her bed and slept. That night at dinner, someone asked her how school was going. “My kitten died” was all she said. She pushed her chair away from the table, and unable to stifle the sound of her heart breaking, she left the room.

The girl never went back to her secret spot, it made her sad, but mostly it scared her. She never wanted to see her kitten again, not dead and stiff on the January ground. She still preferred outside to inside, and soon enough her family would move away from that little pond in the Spicket River and she was glad for it.

Fin