Please note: I originally published this story on my first blog, The Cat’s Meow, in 2006. The miracle cat, Paka, is pictured above.

I will never really know what happened to the little black kitten that now plays so joyfully around the house, but one thing I know is true – he’s a miracle.

After a couple of weeks without rain, the sky opened up for two days and smothered the garden, yard, and trees with the delicious drops of sweet summer rain. Collards and green beans were busting off the bushes, so john and I decided to harvest them for dinner that evening. We have three cats around the house – my two cats, Archimedes and Jasmine, and the neighbor’s cat, who we call Junior, that has adopted us – so when I heard a cry, I though it was one of the three cats in the yard. However, the cry I heard sounded similar to the cries I had been hearing for the past two days, and after a neighbor came around looking for his cat, I began to get curious about where the cry was coming from. Hoping over the fence, I looked around the abandoned shed in the alley, hearing the cat, but not seeing anything.

“MEOW!” said the little cat again, in agony. Junior was crawling around my legs as I kept looking around for where the sounds were coming from. Suddenly, I stopped, mouthed wide open as a short gasp escaped. At the foot of a tulip popular tree next to our fence laid the creator of the sound – a small black kitten, covered in flies, looking almost dead.

I hollered over to my company, “The cat’s alive!” I shouted. You see, we had found the kitten a few minutes before I jumped the fence, but thought it was dead, so that was that. When we discovered it was still alive, our worlds wheeled around us and emergency action was taken.

Running back into the house, I grabbed a towel and gloves. Catching my breath and remembering the last black cat that crossed my path ($1,500 prolonged death), I was weary of falling too quickly for the little guy. However, my instincts took over and I began to gather the needed equipment for Operation Save the Cat – eye-dropper for water and some food, hydrogen peroxide, warm towels, and a hot water bottle. The little guy was limp and could not even hold his body or head up. We all shook our heads and sighed, but continued to secure his fate towards life. After bundling the little guy up and debating with my friend about its fate, we sat around talking and sending good energies to him.

Because we had all gathered for dinner, we decided to go ahead and eat and see where the cat was afterwards. The emergency pet clinic was going to charge me $65 just to tell me bad news about the cat, so I decided to not rush over there. Instead, I did what I knew they would do – water, heat, food. Consulting my Practical Guide to Cat Care, I discovered that the kitten might be poisoned or in shock because of his white gums. Based on my non-vet analysis, we kept him warm and elevated his hindquarters a bit to allow the blood to flow to his brain. My friend sat with a Q-tip and slowing picked away at the fly eggs nestled in his fur, as I read more about shock. Considering the cat was probably ill-treated by a human hand and left for dead, I assume shock was the most reliable diagnosis I could conclude, so we continued down the path of water, heat, and food.

After a few hours, his gums began to turn pink and his eyes dilated more when I put my light up to his face. His breathing was getting stronger and his was drying up. A sparkle of hope ran through our bodies, but we did not celebrate, yet.

Once company left, the little guy was tucked into bed, fast asleep. After brushing my teeth and getting ready for bed, I looked in on him one more time. To my surprise, he looked up at me, scared, and tried to get out of the box. I took this opportunity to try and give him more water, which he drank quickly from the dropper. After the short feeding, I tucked him back into the box, gave him a litter pan, water and food bowls, and shut the bathroom door.

At 6:30 the next morning, I heard a yelp, similar to the one we heard from him the previous evening. Being used to getting up at six to let my cats out, I easily slid out of bed to see what all the fuss was about. When I opened the bathroom door, I discovered what I thought was impossible – the little black kitten was crouching in a corner, trying to get the hell out of the way, but very much alive. His coat had dried and fluffed him up a bit, but as he walked, he still looked a bit sickly. An hour later, the little black cat was in the backseat of my car on its way to the vet for a check up.

As I write this, he is still at the vet’s office, but as far as I know, doing just fine. A feline leukemia and AIDS test was negative, and the assistants were picking the fly eggs out of his hair so he would be clean when I picked him up. The vet said he was probably two months old, but was starved and needed to eat. He was surprised when I said he ate some dry food that morning, but said he would put down some dry food for him and see what happened.

My heart beats faster and I think about this amazing creature that has dropped into my life. I have not named him yet for fear of getting too attached to him before he’s out of the clear, but as soon as he eats everything in sight and drinks his water bowl dry, he will become part of our family. I keep telling myself the third time’s a charm with black cats; let’s hope it’s actually true.

UPDATE: Now that the first couple of days have passed, I feel safe in saying that he is alive and well. After a bath last night, he began to purr quite loudly as I dried him off and fed him. Still a bit freaked out, he refuses to trust anyone, but we’re working on that.