Nuzzy Wuzzler's Tale - A Kitten Love Story
A Short Story By Will Dugan

Part 1 - The Rescue

As he walked down the sidewalk of Central Avenue, mixed in with the sound of the traffic, came a faint cry. The cry was not loud enough to be heard over the sounds of the cars whizzing by. The plaintive plea cut through the ambient noise of the city street and he felt it as much as heard it. It was not a human cry, but the wailing of a kitten in distress, and he was somehow attuned to the cry for help.

He stopped in his tracks and listened closely, turning his head this way and that, trying to discern the direction he must go as he felt compelled to investigate further. "Across the street", he thought almost out loud, and he crossed the busy downtown avenue, all the while listening intently.

On the west side of Central Avenue, just south of the railroad tracks, the dilapidated old jewelry store gave no clues. If the kitten had managed to get inside, he would be unable to come to its rescue without calling for help himself - there was no way inside. He checked around the corner of the building where a gravel alley ran alongside of the tracks. He saw no sign of a troubled kitten, but still he heard its faint cry.

However, he knew just what to do. He waited for a lull in the traffic and called out, "kitty kitty kitty". The answering mewl was almost immediate, but not obvious; he knew he was close, but just where could that kitten be hiding? "Kitty kitty kitty," he called again, doing his best to communicate by inflection that he wanted to help. The kitten understood, and out from under a tire well poked a tiny, multicolored, whiskered face - "meow".

A tentative "meow" questioned the calico kitten. Despite all of its previous mewling, now was the moment of decision - did the dirty dainty furry face and the kitten hiding behind it in the tire well trust the man? The man stooped down on his haunches, held out his beckoning arms, and a "kitty kitty?" convinced the calico kitten to jump down from the wheel of the car and cautiously inch forward.

The emaciated kitten's appearance was alarming, not much more than a furry sack of bones. The baggy coat of fur that did not hide the poor kitten's rib cage was filthy white. It was spotted in several patches, orange and white, black and white, black and orange. The mismatched ears looked much too big for its tiny sad face. Its tail was a mostly black and white scraggly adornment to the tiny body, but there were a few multi-colored splotches on it as well. But what most caught the man's attention, and his heart, was the pathetic kitten's eyes. The black, orange and white fur around the calico's eyes hung limply on loose skin that seemed to be not-quite-attached to the eye sockets. And the expression in those diminutive windows-to-the-feline-soul spoke clearly to the man; they cried out at the miserable kitten's plight, "what have I done to deserve such a fate, please rescue me."

There was a dialog between the two souls. The kitten's anguish was greeted by the man's compassion. An instantaneous bond was formed, and an interspecies love blossomed - a love that is very hard to describe to someone that has never experienced it, but well known by pet lovers the world around. The kitten managed a wobbly run to the man's outstretched arms and weakly leaped into his hands. The man stood and brought the kitten up close to his face. The pleading kitten nuzzled its dry, dirt-encrusted nose against the man's face. The man shed a tear, and the kitten lapped it up with its coarse tongue.

"Let's get you home, you definitely need some nourishment". The kitten nuzzled in agreement. The man cradled his newfound soul mate in one arm crooked against his body while he petted the bony frame. The feel of the backbone and the front and rear haunches was even more alarming than the kitten's looks. The man quickened his pace; the kitten desperately needed food and water.


Part 2 - A Home and a Name

After letting himself in through the back door, the man took the calico directly to the kitchen counter where he prepared a small dish of water. The kitten stuck its dirty little paw into the water and proceeded to lap. Keeping one eye on his tiny charge, he retrieved the storage container of left over canned cat food from the refrigerator. The two other feline household members, whose usual backdoor greeting was feigned indifference, now knew that something was up (it was not yet time for treats) and took an active interest in the man's activities. He portioned a half of a spoonful of some chunky meat and sauce mixture into another small bowl, covered it with a paper towel and warmed it in the microwave. Both Patches and Gretta, who would certainly be willing to eat some treats even if it wasn't "chow chow chow" time, took in the aroma of the warmed cat food and gathered at his feet.

"Hey, you kids can't be hungry. I fed you just a while ago. But you won't mind sharing your treats with my dirty little nose-nuzzling friend will you?" Neither Patches or Gretta had noticed the "new kitten", but the tone of the man's voice told them all they needed to know - the food activities weren't intended for them. Patches and Gretta went back into "ignore mode".

Not surprisingly, the kitten made short work of the warm morsels. While she ate, the man proceeded to give the kitten a more thorough looking over. He found no noticeable fleas, ticks, wounds, or sores. The scrawny, under-fed calico was very much in need of some cleaning though, and a bath was next in order.

Little calico's benefactor lovingly ran a sink of warm soapy water with some flea-n-tick shampoo. Like many young kittens, it had not yet become aware of the fact that it did not like water. Little Miss Dirty seemed to enjoy the bathing; the man was very gentle in carefully lathering all of her - taking extra care around her sad little eyes. All the while that he was washing her, he reassured her - "It's OK", "We've got to get you all clean - we love a clean kitten", "Easy now, I need to get your face clean too" "It's OK little girl - I won't hurt you", "You'll be happier when you're clean".

And she was, too. He wrapped her up in a big thick towel and softly patted, petted, and rubbed her as dry as he could. He then got another towel, and wrapping her up for warmth allowed her to nuzzle his face to her heart's content. She lavished tiny kitten love on the man, first putting her wee front paws on his chest and nuzzling all over his face. Then, boldly climbing onto his shoulders, she made her way all the way around his head - licking his ear, and nuzzling his hair, and rubbing her still damp back against his neck, and licking his other ear. And coming full circle, she climbed back into the towel, lay down and purred herself to sleep.

She continued to purr against the man's chest as he cuddled and covered her. He could feel the vibration of her purr. It was a one note melody backed up by the steady beating of his own heart, a two-instrument symphony of bonding.

He kept her quarantined from Patches and Gretta and made arrangements for a visit to the vet; she needed a clean bill of health before being introduced to his other "kids" (as he was fond of calling his cats).

The vet poked and prodded, he examined and tested, he explained and recommended. The kitten returned to her new home with special kitten food, medicine, and advice. She was free of fleas and disease, and certified safe for fellow feline contact.

Patches hissed, arched her back like some Halloween cat, and swatted at her newly adopted sibling. Gretta was a perfect study of measured indifference. "Welcome to the household" was communicated in different ways and in varying degrees of sincerity. But the little calico, who was still nameless, took it all in stride and commenced to exploring her new home, pausing long enough to eat and drink, and be introduced to the litter box.

The man engaged himself in deep contemplation; the kitten needed an appropriate name. He discussed possibilities with the little nose-nuzzling kitten, and after many tests between the two of them, they decided on Nuzzy Wuzzler.

Nuzzy Wuzzler
Is a fuzzy nuzzler

In his mind, he penned the first lines of her very own poem, hers and hers alone.


Part 3 - Kitten Love

Nuzzy Wuzzler is a kitten
By Nuzzy Wuzzler I've been smitten
By the puddy tat love bug I've been bitten
And for Nuzzy Wuzzler this rhyme's been written

Some might think that cats and kittens don't appreciate poetry or song or dance. But they would be wrong. The man's cats, or his kids as he liked to call them, each knew her own song or poem when they heard it. And even though they might not always like it, they were agreeable enough to be occasional dance partners - the man would bend over and swoop up whichever cat happened to be near; cradling the ball of fur against his chest as he playfully danced about.

And so it was that Nuzzy Wuzzler became a family member; her poem was versed and she became the tiniest of furry dancers in the household. It mattered not to Little Miss Nuzzy Wuzzler that Patches had nothing but hisses and an occasional swat. She didn't seem to be bothered by Gretta's total apathy. The man knew that, with time, they would all come to accept each other and play with one another. He looked forward to watching Nuzzy Wuzzler take part in an episode of "the kitty-cat-grooming-love thing", where one cat pretends to hold the other down against its will while the prisoner puts on a show of distaste at all of that licking.

The plan to nurse Nuzzy Wuzzler's recovery included special kitten food, which was to be administered in small doses many times a day; her tiny tummy couldn't hold much. She appreciated the lavished attention and responded with hand-licking, and face-licking, and nose-nuzzling. There were repeated trips around the man's head; she would make her way from one shoulder to his back to his other shoulder to his chest, all the while nuzzling and rubbing and purring. And when she was exhausted from so much tenderness, she would curl up on the man's lap and purr herself to sleep. She felt safe and secure in his lap. Her kitten heart was aglow with happiness and thankfulness.

And of course, nothing would do but she had to sleep in his bed; not that she had to try all that hard to convince him - a couple of kitten cries was all it took, and she slept snuggled up to his chest while Patches spread out at his feet. The man slept easily, if somewhat lightly, as he knew that he needed to take extra care not to crush his living care-package. He woke up several times to assure himself that all was well; he petted her bony frame, which seemed to kindle her purr.

For the next couple of days, the nursing plan seemed to be working as hoped. Nuzzy Wuzzler ate many small meals a day; some were a simple dish of dry kitten food, and some were a more delectable mix of the dry kitten food and juicy, aromatic, warmed, canned cat food. Her drinking habits were a bit comical and also a bit puzzling; she just had to put a paw in the water dish before lapping. She didn't seem to understand the whole litter box scheme of things and the man followed her around and put her in the litter when it appeared she was about to make a mess. She developed a jaunty spring in her step, and her leaper was in good working order - she explored her new domain as if by right.

However, she didn't seem to be gaining any weight, and the man was worried. He called the vet and explained "Everything she eats seems to go right through her; she has little control over her bowels and has diarrhea almost all of the time." He made arrangements to pick up some vitamins, and that very day started his furry friend on a regimen that included several drops of the prescribed vitamins along with her diet of special kitten food.

The relationship between the man and the kitten was difficult to explain. Obviously, the scraggly calico recognized the man as a benefactor, a giver of care and affection. The man could not fully understand how or why the rescued kitten meant so much to him. He had rescued cats before; he had even lost one - the memory of a desperately sick kitten taking its last breath on his lap was not a stale recollection even though it had been many years before. But Nuzzy Wuzzler had somehow captured the man's heart, and he felt a desperation he couldn't comprehend as the kitten's recovery became doubtful.

For her part, Nuzzy Wuzzler was very happy. Even though she grew weaker, and her jaunty spring slowly gave way to a stiff-legged wobble; even though her leaper gave out and her explorations were forced to ground level - she had love. She gave love when she purred, and she nuzzled, and she snuggled. She experienced the man's love as he fed, and doctored, and nursed, and held, and petted.

The man found her sprawled out on his TV tray when he returned from the kitchen. His heart skipped a beat as he rushed to her and picked her up. She looked at him with sleepy, satisfied eyes and purred herself to sleep in his arms. It was late and the vet's office was closed; there were no emergency services offered and no after-hours number to call. He knew there was nothing to do but to nurse her through the night and get her to the vet first thing in the morning.

She lost all interest in her special kitten food and wouldn't even eat any of the juicy canned morsels. The man smashed her food and fed her by hand. He had to give her water with the vitamin dropper. She responded by loosening her bowels as the man cradled her in his arms. No matter; the man changed shirts, cleaned himself and took Nuzzy Wuzzler back into his arms. He cried silently, shedding no tears but weeping deeply inside, "Please Nuzzy Wuzzler, you can make it. Hang in there til morning and we'll get you fixed up."

He tried hand feeding and watering her several times through the night; hoping her tiny weak body would take the nourishment. She accepted what he gave her and managed to nuzzle his face when he held her close, but she grew weaker by the hour. The man held her ever so close to his chest as if trying to give some of his life to her, and indeed did cry out to her soul, "take one of my years - I'll gladly give it if you'll just hang in til I can get you to the vet."

Nuzzy Wuzzler never cried out. She purred weakly right up to her last breath. And now the tears flowed freely down the man's face and onto her lifeless body as he cradled her against his chest; his own body fluttered with his uncontrollable sobs.

Nuzzy Wuzzler was my kitten
And by her soul, I've been smitten.
And by her love, I've been bitten.
I'll always love her.
It is written.

Copyright © 2009 By Will Dugan