The smallest of five in her litter, Stella was born to a calico mom whose muted colors were like those in a Monet watercolor garden. Two of the male kittens took on her apricot shades, one other male and a female duplicated her sandy charcoal hues, and Stella reprised the limpid blue of the garden. Her button nose was as pink as a newborn baby mouse.
I had brought the mom and her brood home from the animal shelter to foster just after the kittens' eyes had opened. I named the mother Patience because she had set about her maternal duties with tender regard and longsuffering. Five hungry kittens can seem like a squirmy mass of furry balls roiling about in a tumbler as they scramble for just the right position for both nourishment and comfort.
Patience would lie on her side contentedly opening and closing her forepaws while 10 tiny feet kneaded her belly to obtain optimum milk flow. She kept her poise no matter what sounds emanated from her kids – slurping or squealing. After mealtime, Patience washed each face and bottom to ensure nature's protocols ran smoothly. Observing this most elemental ritual gave me moments filled with awe and wonder. Tending the little family was both privilege and honor. I committed myself to work very hard in finding these beautiful felines great adoptive homes.
When the babies began to grow stronger and to explore their surroundings, a new dimension of wonderment opened to all of us. Legs began to stagger, then to walk, then to run. PLAY came into being, and the rough and tumble of competition.
I noticed at this time something unique about Stella. She made choices. Actually, it boiled down to one choice: me. Whenever I entered the room to clean the litter box or refresh food and water, Stella would ignore her wrestling siblings and come over to me. In my kneeling position on the floor, it was easy for her to climb the Mt. Everest of my lap and plop herself down with a purr that sounded like an outboard motor. Her habit never varied. It didn't take long before I realized Stella had adopted me!
She allowed her natural mom to perform basic functions, but as far as bonding or any show of affection, her preference was clear. I knew she had my number.
Needless to say, Stella joined our family after her mom and siblings found their own respective homes. Today, she remains petite and opinionated with an expressive voice that could almost be said to imitate vocabulary. Her favorite game involves helping me make the bed. Her coat is still blue and white; her nose, pink, and she still thinks I am her real mommy.
— Rae Zimmerling, Gearhart
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