July 2011 From the Editor
Author: Maggie Washo | Photographer: Photography by Anne
So there I was, minding my own business.
I had just picked up a few boxes of our June issue (coincidentally, our PET issue) and was heading back to the office when I found myself in the wrong lane. Was I texting while driving? Absolutely not. How then, did I end up in Belfair Village? I blame the ongoing construction on Buck Island Road. I was confused by the bright orange cones.
So there I was in Belfair Village, just trying to make a U-turn to get me back onto Hwy. 278, and what do I see but four little black fur balls in the middle of the parking lot. Now let me stop for a minute. I know there are hundreds (thousands?) of feral cats in this area. We’ve all seen kittens scurry away into the bushes near our favorite restaurant while the momma cat stops to hiss at us. This time, though, there was no momma cat—just four abandoned kittens about three weeks old in the middle of a parking lot.
What’s a girl to do? Of course Lucy and I (did I mention I had my giant Bernese mountain dog was in the car with me?) made a quick detour into the bank parking lot to rescue the kittens. Thankfully, I had several boxes of magazines to empty into my trunk. They would make great temporary “cathouses” on the way to the nearest rescue. I scooped up two with little trouble. I’m not going to lie. When they hissed at me, I thought, “Dear Lord. Please don’t let me to get rabies from these cats.” Thankfully they were so tiny that their teeth couldn’t actually puncture flesh yet.
With two in the box, I thought our little morning detour was almost over. And then the other duo darted across the parking lot. After them I went in my four-inch heels. I grabbed the third one and placed him in the box. There was only one kitten remaining—my nemesis. He or she went back to where my car was parked and proceeded to hide underneath it. I am sure I was a sight on my hands and knees trying to coax a kitten not much bigger than a mouse out from under my vehicle—in 90-degree heat, no less. The little bugger finally made a move for my left wheel well and proceeded to climb underneath my car towards the engine.
Panicked, I rushed over and turned off the car lest I have one dead kitty. So let’s recap: giant Bernese mountain dog baking in 90 degree heat, three kittens in a box, one in the engine, and one editor late for a meeting—all before 10 a.m. I needed to phone a friend. The conversation went a little like this:
Me: “Kel. At Belfair Village. Gonna be late for a meeting. Three kittens in a box. Can’t turn on the car and the air conditioner because fourth kitten is in my engine. Lucy is dying in this heat. A guy on the lawnmower next to me thinks I am crazy and is trying to convince me that the kitten ran out from under my car when I wasn’t looking; but I know he’s wrong, and if I try to start my car, I will have an even bigger problem. HELP!”
Kelly: “I’m on my way. Where the hell is Belfair Village? What are you doing in Bluffton? Call Brooke. She’ll know what to do.”
Of course. Brooke Fisher from Brooke’s Bed & Biscuit. Why didn’t I think of that?!
Long story short, Brooke came to pick up an overheated dog and the three kittens in a box. Kelly and Tom came to my rescue. After an hour of trying to coax the fourth kitten out with food and jacking up my car in a failed attempt to reach it, Tom finally handed me a nine iron out of his golf bag. In one last effort, I shoved the club underneath the car to try and push the kitten off the ledge where it was perched. It worked.
When we brought this poor malnourished kitten to join its siblings at Brooke’s haven and I watched Brooke feed it with an eye-dropper, I knew I was done for.
Meet Ethel, the newest member of the family.