It was love at first sight. There she was, walking surreptitiously across the garden, up the steps of our deck, watching every movement around her; ready to scuttle away if I so much as breathed. She was tiny and I guessed no more than 6 weeks old. She was also skinny and wet and bedraggled, but her eyes had a fierce look to them, her demeanor of a warrior resolved to survive against all odds. All my life I had believed and told the story that I was a “dog person”, and definitely not a “cat person”. But, in that very moment, I knew that my heart was making a special place for this warrior feral kitten that had showed up on my deck.

I bought my first ever cat-food and started putting it out for her. Notwithstanding my growing affection, I did not want to separate a kitten from her mother who I expected would show up for the food as well. She didn’t. I put the food out every day for the little warrior, getting increasingly worried for her safety; it was late October, the weather was getting cold especially at nights, and if a raccoon, opossum or another feral cat attacked her, she didn’t stand much of a chance. I waited with baited breath every day and thanked life when she showed up each morning & evening for her meal, tiptoeing up my deck with the stealth of a Navy Seal!

The mother never appeared. I called up the local shelter and was advised that if the mother hadn’t showed up in two weeks, the kitten had been abandoned. I drove around to the shelter to pick a humane trap. That evening the kitten walked defenselessly into the trap my husband and I set for her.

Even before we brought her in, I had chosen the name for her – “Grace”, in appreciation of life’s grace to have bestowed another being upon us to love and care for. So imagine our surprise when we took “Grace” to the vet for her first visit, only to be told “it’s a boy!” Why on earth did we think it was a girl? My husband says he did that because people often refer to cats in the feminine. I think I did it because I had always wanted a daughter. So, this “pet-baby” who had miraculously showed up in our garden and walked into my heart at first sight; my little warrior had to be a girl!

Well, I was already head over heels in love with her– I mean him! I asked the kitten what he wanted to be called.

Mummy: “my sweet little kitten, my lovely little fur-ball, what shall Mummy call you now?”
Kitten:  “meowwwooo-oo-oo-oo!”

I decided to let the name come to me. In the meantime, the kitten; my gorgeous little tabby with his luscious brown coat dotted with specks of gold, this mini-tiger who a friend suggested we name “tiger”, had decided I was his mother. He was “picture-perfect” cute; the kind that you see on pet calendars and go “awwwwww”! the kitten had decided I was his mother. His favorite spot in the house was the little gap between my butt and the back of my chair, so while I spent my days working, he spent his days sleeping behind me, nestled up in the warmth of his human mommy’s body. When he awoke, he would jump on my desk and sit on my keyboard demanding I play with him – which I was only too happy to oblige! My husband who was still warming up to the idea of being “daddy”, jokingly called me the kitten’s “Human No. 1” and himself “Human No. 2”! The kitten spent most of his time with Human No. 1 and occasionally went to play with Human No. 2.

I do not remember exactly when the roles changed. Maybe the kitten understood that having conquered mummy’s heart, he had to do some “cute-work” to convert Human No.2 into “daddy” to secure his position in the household. Or maybe it was a “boy” thing, you know, “sons & fathers” hanging out; watching a game or doing their “thing” together, which in this case, happened to be the kitten scratching his chin against daddy’s stubble. Or maybe it was the cat just being fickle. Whatever the reason, one day I saw the kitten waking up, stretching himself, jumping off the couch and walking straight past mommy to daddy’s desk, jumping up to daddy’s lap to first rub against his stubble and then sat there comfortably. Over the coming weeks, this behavior became the new norm. Daddy was well on his way to becoming the NEW Human No. 1.

I come from a broken family. I had lost my mother to stroke as a teenager, and my sister to cancer as an adult. The fractured relationship I have with my father; my one living relative in my immediate family, and his preference for his other family with my step-mother harbored in me a certain kind of lonely knowledge that I was now first for no one. Although if I think this through for just a minute, this is actually not true at all; I am definitely FIRST for my very loving husband (and also I am told now by my very loving exchange student-daughters)! BUT emotions are not logical and family trauma shows up in unexpected ways. And so it was, that one day as my warrior-kitten walked past me to nestle himself in daddy’s arms that I burst into tears that stung with rejection.

Mummy: “my sweet little one, are you angry with mummy? Did Mummy do something wrong?”
Kitten: “meowwwooo-oo-oo-oo!”

My husband, being kind and considerate, tried to re-establish Mummy as Human No. 1 by occasionally ignoring the kitten when he meowed at Daddy for attention. They say that it’s the only way to train or re-train a cat. I say “occasionally” because daddy is a softie, and finds it hard to ignore the kitten. Besides, you ought to have a heart of steel to be able to ignore the sweet sound of a kitten. The ignoring works sometimes and then it doesn’t. Time passed – the cat following his new routine. He definitely knows I am mummy, comes to me when he wants food rubbing his body gently against my legs, and often blinks softly at me offering me what is called the “kitty kiss”, but when he wants a real cuddle, Human No. 1 and No. 2 seem to have reversed, for now anyway.

One of the remarkable things about life is how transformative seemingly small events can turn out to be. A little kitten can become a mirror that shows the wounds of one’s childhood. But it can also be a conduit for healing and emotional maturity. Loving my furry boy is a reminder that love is a gift, not a transaction. And having heard numerous stories from friends about both their furry and human children’s fickle whims, at once endearing and frustrating for the parents, I have come to believe that there is much in common between human and furry babies. Both are bundles of joy who rule our hearts. And both tend to break it from time to time.

I finally decided to name the kitten “Evan”; Welsh for “God is Gracious.” So, “Evan” is the masculine form of “Grace”. Because no matter which human Evan prefers on any given day, I am thankful for life’s grace to have brought him into my life, he will always be my Cat No. 1.

Mummy: “So, little one, what do YOU think of your new name – ‘Evan’?”
Kitten: “meowwwooo-oo-oo-oo!”

Swati is a loved wife & mother – of cats as well as two daughters; her miracle-children, whose given names are Sophie & Iara, but to Swati they can all be called “Grace”!
More than a filmmaker/storyteller, Swati turns ideas into experience. She is also an environmentalist and a first generation immigrant to the United States. She can be reached via Linkedin and swati@TiredAndBeatup.com