I hated cats! Growing up, cats always killed our baby chicks, ducks and bunnies. Then one day, while walking along the Chesapeake/Delaware canal, Stephanie and I saw a wet little kitten that had just crawled out of the cold, salt water. She was shivering and looked like skin and bones. Apparently someone had thrown a litter of kittens in the canal and this one managed to swim to shore.
Stephanie called out to the little kitty, "Come ?ere, little one," and turning to me said, "If it comes to me, I?ll pick it up." The little gray tabby staggered and stumbled over the rocks adjacent to the canal towards Stephanie, who rewarded the brave effort by picking her up. We named the kitten the Little Rascal and called her Rascal for short. We made a warm bed for her and heated up some milk because that?s what we thought kittens drank.
The first snowfall of winter came that night and it blanketed everything in several inches of snow. If we had not been walking and if that kitten hadn't?t approached us at that precise moment, Rascal would have died that night.
From that day on, Rascal lived on our property, electing to spend the night inside only during blizzards and freezing rain. When they thought we weren't looking, Rascal and our golden retriever Mac would cuddle together with Rascal using Mac as a pillow. We never had a problem with mice and rats after Rascal came on board.
We tried to take Rascal with us when we moved, but she chose to live out her days on the land she grew up on and loved. Now, whenever I see a cat, I think of Rascal.
