Frosty and Noel

Marcus Bokowski, Illinois, United States

As they say, everything happens for a reason.

December 9, 2010: An emergency kept me at my job much later than usual. After a 15-hour shift, I went home at 3 a.m. on a chilly, -22 degrees morning. Upon backing into my garage, I heard something that sounded like a cat crying. Once parked, I went out into the snow-covered alley to see where this was coming from. But as soon as I reached the point where the cries were loudest, they quickly silenced. Two things worked against me: I had no flashlight, and there was an abandoned garage that I saw shadows rush into. Figuring there was nothing I could do (and going into this garage could cause me harm), I decided to go home.

Ninety minutes passed. I just finished my meal and went outside for a smoke. Standing out in the bitter cold, I again heard the cries. With a sigh, I went back into the house, dressed warmer, put on my head-light, and ventured back into the dark of the alley. As I approached the garage, I continued to hear the cries, and even saw something dash into the garage. But the cries didn’t stop. I turned my head to shine the light in the direction of one of the tiny voices. There, against a garage door, lay a white kitten. I walked over, and thankfully it did not run. No doubt, it was way too cold. I scooped up the little bundle of fur and walked back to my car, only to hear another couple voices. I put the kitten in my car, and set off to the next voice.

There, in the same area, was another shivering, white kitten, huddled next to a truck’s “mudder” tires. I scooped this one up as well, noticing the blue eyes the kitten had. I put the cat in my car, and started it up to heat up the inside. I closed the vent so no fumes got in, and left the garage door open. See, I could not bring them in my house as I already had other four-pawed kids inside, and didn’t know if these little ones were sick. I could not take the chance of infecting any of my current kids. So I brought out food, a small litter box, and put it in the car. It was now 5 a.m. They gobbled down the food, drank, and, well, stunk up the car. Oh well. I went down the alley again, to see if there were more, but all I saw were shadows and a heard few faint cries. Sadly, there was little else to do but take care of my new charges. I sat in the car, and socialized with them. They were at most 6 weeks old. One had bright blue eyes (female), and the other had yellow (male). Immediately I could tell the female was deaf as she did not react to my finger snapping. But the female had no problem with being friendly, and cuddly. She was very inquisitive, and the little boy was shy and laid on my rear window deck, occasionally coming over to me to say hi.

Time went on, and I continued starting the car, and warming up the interior until it became light out. I texted my girlfriend, “I did it again, found a couple of snow balls.” She later told me when she read it, she knew exactly what I meant. As 8 a.m. rolled around, I called a vet clinic nearby. They were just opening, and I explained what happened, so they let me come in quickly to have a look at them. The vet said they were in good health, gave them some shots, and bathed them. My intent was to put them up for adoption, but keeping them safe and healthy was a main concern. As time went on, I named them Frosty and Noel. Again, it was my intent to re-home them. But Noel became very attached to Frosty, so the option to separate them was not acceptable.

A week later, I was on my way to work, driving down the same alley. Huddled in the snow, in the alley, was another white kitten (male) and a grey/ white, older female. Thankfully they did not bolt, as there is a very busy street nearby. I kept saying, “Please don’t run, please don’t run.” I picked them up and put them in my car. I called a friend and he brought a large cage by. His wife knew a fellow, locally, that worked for a local shelter. He was able to get them into the shelter (thanks, Pete!).

Weeks passed, and no takers; just jokers. So, as time went on, they became a part of the fur-family. Eight years later, they are as precious as my other four-pawed kids, all of which were strays.