The Kitten with Mittens

It was the Summer of 2020. Covid had become the norm at this point, and more and more time was being spent at home. Although strictly speaking I was an indoor kind of gal anyways. I would much rather trade a night out on the town for a cozy night at home, cuddled up with my cat Puddin’. The little furry love of my life. Puddin’ my thirteen-year-old blue-eyed sweetheart. It had just been Puddin’ and I for over a decade. Being a cat lover, I always thought I would have multiple feline friends, but Puddin’ never got along well with other kitties. I never thought in a million years there would be another creature coming into my life. Well, I was wrong. This is the story of Remmington Mittens.

My roommate and I were watching TV when she got up to let the dog in. She went outside, and when she came back, she had a look on her face.

“Don’t freak out.”

Oh God, what could be going on outside?

“There’s a black kitten outside.”

I was outside as soon as she finished that sentence; not even bothering with shoes. I love cats, and even though I could not have another cat, that did not mean I did not want to spend time with other felines. Standing in my socks on the sidewalk, I thought the kitten was gone, but in our neighbor’s yard sat a little black fuzzball. It was only a few inches tall. I thought maybe it belonged to the neighbors, but as we were talking about where the little kitten had come from, they slammed their window shut. This cat belonged to no one; it was alone.

On the first encounter with this kitten, I sat down on the sidewalk and watched the cute little fuzzball explore the neighbor’s yard. The kitten got a little closer, but never came up to me. After forty-five minutes it moved on and went to explore the neighborhood more. This first encounter started a long attempt at befriending the little creature, and I was all in. The first few times I saw the little cat, I would stay outside for a little white, and then make my way back inside. Each time the cat would acknowledge me, but never get too close. It was too excited about everything to explore. The neighborhood was its playground, and it had a lot of energy. Climbing on fences, getting into yards, running down the sidewalk; these were just a few things the kitten seemed to be up to. It began to come out in the evenings, and stay under the neighbor’s porch during the day. Their teen daughters had set food out, so that was where the kitten gravitated. At this point it felt like this kitten was becoming the new neighborhood cat. There were a couple that roamed the streets, but always had homes to go back into. This little thing had nothing. Then the breakthrough happened.

One evening the kitten was walking down the side walk when it stopped near our fence. I ran inside and grabbed the first long and dangly thing I could find; my cat’s red leash. The goal was to give it something shiny to chase and to play with. That worked great, because the next thing I knew the kitten was in our yard. As it began to play with end of the leash, I noticed something strange about this cat.

“Oh my God, it has thumbs.”

A polydactyl cat. A rare occurrence, and one was in our yard. I did not know it at the time, but as soon as I said that, my roommate knew this cat was going to be ours. After this, the kitten stayed in our yard for a while. It explored the grass and made its way into the garden. This kitten still had not let us touch it, it was too scared for that, but it was becoming more comfortable near us. That was when the neighbor came home.

“It won’t let you touch it.”

I looked up at the woman next door. “Yeah, it hasn’t let us yet, it’s pretty skittish.”

“My girls gave up on it, but they tried. My husband says he’s going to shoot it.”

“What?” How did she just say that so calmly?

“It keeps running by the window upsetting the dog and other cats. They get all riled up and he gets upset.”

“Well, I’ll try to coax it, and keep it over here then.”

How could they even think about doing that? This sweet tiny little creature sleeping under the rhubarb could get killed because it wants to explore. Because it wants to have fun. Because the teenagers next door did not have the patience to care for it. The matter was settled when she said that, I was going to get this cat. My determination in this matter was key because a few hours later I was holding it.

It took me nearly that long to gain the little cat’s trust. My original tactic was to get it to play. I took a long thick blade of grass from a plant in the front yard. That got its attention. This cat had never had anyone else to play with, and it was loving this blade of grass. As it was playing, I was able to reach my hand down and scratch its head. At first it flinched back, but then its face went completely relaxed and was very happy to have the pets. The little kitten was loving pets, and loving playtime. After about an hour of this, I knew it was time. I was going to pick it up. Though hesitant, the kitten let me pick it up and love on it. We had finally become friends.

Although I had spent all this time and effort on this cat, I knew one thing for sure. There was no way I could bring it inside. We already had two pets, not to mention my cat had never gotten along with other cats before. Puddin’ would not let another feline into the house, it was just not possible. At this point I decided it could be an outside cat. As long as it stayed on our porch and did not wonder too much into the neighbor’s it should be fine. In my mind that was settled.

After my decision to make it the outside cat, I started to worry more and more about the little creature. Scorching hot days were occurring, and Fourth of July was approaching. Loud noises, hot days; I wondered if the cat would be okay. After July Fourth I decided to see if the cat would come inside. I was thinking long-term knowing winters were bad and it would need a place to go at night. What I thought would take days to accomplish happened in all of a few minutes. I opened the door, went inside and the little cat ran in behind me. It darted to the bathroom where it promptly hid under the sink.

We weren’t sure what to do, so we waited and eventually it ran back outside, but stayed close to the door. The cat was already adjusting well. The biggest obstacle still remained though. Puddin’ needed to accept this kitten. I brought Puddin’ to the door and opened it just a crack so the two could sniff each other out. This became a two-day process. I would open the door more and more. Puddin’ breathed heavy at the kitten, but did not try to attack. That was a good sign. I could hold the kitten with him around and he seemed okay. This was looking like it was going to work. Now that Puddin’ was adjusting to this kitten being around, it was time to give the cat a name.

The most obvious name was quite apparent with a polydactyl cat, but how many cats with thumbs were called Mittens? Seriously, 90% of all polydactyl cats are probably named mittens. That was absolutely not going to be its name. Now only one problem presented itself while trying to think of a name. I had no idea if this cat was a boy or girl. Don’t let my other cat’s name fool you. I did not name Puddin’. In fact, I have never named an animal a cutesy name before, because that’s ridiculous. Puddin’ came from my best friend and current roommate. His name was established, so it stuck, and truthfully it is quite fitting. For this cat however, I was not going to give it a cutesy name. I needed something that would work for either gender, and one word popped in my mind to describe this little thing. Rambunctious. This cat was insane. It played like crazy, explored everything, and ran around like a racecar. Rambunctious described it to a tee. Most cats with only two colors on them are boys, so I thought there was a good chance this cat was one, thus Remmington was born. From that, we shortened it to Remmie, just in case it was a girl. Everyone on the internet asked why the cat was not named mittens…of course they did. So, then Remmington Mittens became its full name. Now, the cat had a name. Remmie, my outside cat…or so I thought.

As soon as Remmie came in once, it stuck close to the house. That took care of “our neighbor wanting the cat dead” problem. I would sit outside with the little cat every night before bed and play with it. Then cuddle it. Then say goodnight. I sleep in the basement of our house and when I got in bed, I would hear Remmie curl up in my window outside to sleep. Painted glass prevented me from seeing outside, but the leaves gathered around the area told me when the little cat came and went. One night I was lying in bed with Puddin’, and around 3am I heard Remmie meow. Puddin’ and I looked up at the window and then it screamed like something was trying to attack it. I raced out of bed, grabbed a flashlight and ran outside. There was nothing in sight, but little Remmie was still curled up in the window. I grabbed the trembling cat and it clung to me terrified at whatever monster it had just witnessed. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t bring it inside not knowing how anyone would react, so I stayed outside for a while. The kitten climbed into my shirt and held me tight. In that moment I started to fall for this little cat.

Once Remmie calmed down I went back inside, found a box, and put an old shirt in it. I put it on the porch, hoping it would give the kitten a little protection. When Remmie settled, I went back inside and got into bed.

“I think this is our last night alone Puddin’.”

Remmie could not stay out there another night, it was not going to happen.

The next day I began preparing for Remmie’s trek inside. I “kitten proofed” the house, put a make shift litter box in the bathroom, and food. Remmie would not be able to just roam around yet, but it would be safe from any predators outside. When evening came, I opened the door and let it in. Remmie hung out on the couch until it was time for bed. First night in the bathroom alone went much better than expected. There were no cries, no destruction, and the litter box was used. During the day Remmie went out, and it seemed like this was working so far. That afternoon Remmie came in, and then wanted to go back out. Evening was approaching and I started to worry about it out there on its own. At first, I wanted Remmie to be an inside outside cat, but then I realized I did not like that idea one bit. Two hours later I was relieved to find out Remmie did not like that idea either. A noise at the door got me up, and when I opened the door here walked in Remmie like it owned the place. That was the last time Remmie went outside on its own accord.

Remmie stayed in the bathroom a few more nights, but when I was cleaning the litter box, I saw worms in the box. I had already called for a vet appointment, but they let me come in for deworming and flea medicine. Remmie did great in the car, and when we got to the Vet, I found out Remmie was a little older than I thought. About seven weeks instead of four, and I found out its gender. Remmie was a girl!

It is said that it takes a lot time for a cat to adjust to a new home. Usually about three weeks before they feel comfortable. Remmie took all of three minutes to feel comfortable. She loved it inside; no more hot days. Food whenever she wanted, and then a new friend. Puddin’ had come to see the new kitten. I was really worried how he would react, but they got along right off the bat. All the time spent with Remmie outside with the door cracked a little, was enough to acclimate them to each other. Remmie would come downstairs with me that night.

Although this was a whole new experience, Remmie seemed to adapt rather quickly to her surroundings. She was hesitant to explore, so she slept with me all night. Puddin’ was not happy, but stayed at the foot of the bed. There were no fights. No problems. Remmie was excited to have a bed for the first time in her life. I was a little surprised Puddin’ was doing so well with her, but he treated her like his own.

While Remmie was making herself at home, I was on my way to spoil the heck out of her. I went to the store and bought her food, bowls, and toys. When I got home the neighborhood gossip, Shelia, was outside ready to talk.

“Do you have that cat?”

“Yeah, we decided to keep her.”

“It’s a girl?”

“Yep, she’s really sweet.”

“Well, I have food I bought for her if you want it.” That was very nice Shelia, but Remmie has had terrible gas and diarrhea since we found her. She needs to stay on the same food.

“Oh, that’s okay, I just bought a bunch of food for her, so I have a lot.”

“I wanted to keep her, but I’m really allergic, so I thought she could be an outside cat. I’ve been feeding her cheese.”

Thank you Shelia, no wonder she has gas and a constant grumbling stomach.

“Oh, yeah, I think she likes it inside. It’s been really hot lately.”

“Yeah, we just had to spray poison around the house to get rid of the chipmunks.”

Shelia! Are you kidding me? That was practically the same sentence. You wanted the thing the size of a chipmunk to roll around your house that is surrounded with poison? I talked a few minutes more, and inched slowly into the house.

“Remmie, you can’t go outside anymore, everyone is trying to kill you.”

Only a few times did Remmie bolt out the door, but she never ran far. She always stayed in the yard, and let me scoop her up. She became so good at listening. Remmie sits. She stays. She high fives and she is learning to jump through hoops. Now Remmie gets to go out on a leash and enjoys it, and I don’t have to worry about anyone purposely or accidently killing her. Every night Remmie runs around the house and then demands her dinner. She snuggles up to my feet when it’s time for bed, and is there to wake me up every morning. I had no idea this cat would bring me such joy. Watching her and Puddin’ play is like watching siblings wrestle. Puddin’ makes sure her ears are clean and teaches her the nightly routine. Remmie has gone from a little fuzzball, to a full blown, three-foot-long cat. I will never forget the night I fell in love with her, and now I am so happy that she can think of this place as her home.