The Cottage Home urban neighborhood in Indianapolis was
pretty close-knit. I knew everyone who
lived on my Polk Street block. Three children with dirty faces and shaggy
clothes often wandered, played and explored the area freely during summers
together. I was never quite sure where their parents were, or where the kids
lived. They’d saunter by daily trying to make eye contact and make some
conversation about what they saw or did that day. I was usually friendly toward them, but
guarded. I didn’t know their parents, and it was a rough neighborhood, around
the edges. I did like to lightly inquire
about their care-free activities if I happen to be outside. On this one
particular summer day in 2001, I heard strange sounds of peeps or squeaks and the
kids were walking briskly talking excitedly.
I could not quite figure out what they had as they were walking toward
me.
As they made their bee-line approach
toward my steps from a distance, they were holding their arms up in front of
them as if trying to protect their chests. Still, I could hear the odd peeping sounds,
but I could not make out what they were doing or what they had. When they were within about 10 feet of my stoop,
they began to proudly announce “We found kittens!! Do you want one??” They happened upon a litter of kittens, which
they proudly and openly displayed as their new treasure. It all became clear
when I could see that each child had 2-3 kittens hanging for dear life
from the front of their shirts like live kitten-jewelry, screaming in their own
kitty words “HELP!!! SOMEBODY
SAVE ME!!!” I felt on that day that I
could understand the language of the feline species. My heart sunk a bit, and soon thereafter, my
next-door neighbors, Dana and Emily, as well as Jen, who lived across the
street, came outside to see what all the commotion was about. They likely saw
the group of us out their windows and heard the talking. We adults were all friends and knew each
other. We also knew that the children were clearly without much parental
guidance. I suspected each of us felt a
similar amount of helplessness for the kittens’ situation, as we had no idea
where the kids had found them, and they were already taken far from their
mother and their home. If I remember correctly, Jen took two grey kittens, and Em and Dana also adopted one of them.
When I asked to see the only tiger-striped kitten of the
bunch, the child removed the screaming "kitten-ornament" from their
shirt, handed it to me, and I gently held it in my arms. The kitten became quiet, and I could see that
the fear on his little kitten-face relented as I held him. His whole demeanor was
calmed. I knew at that moment that I could never hand it back to the child, or
anyone else, and that the kitten was now mine..... Peanut.
