Little
Smudge first made her presence known as a tiny kitten when she and her mom were
discovered by guests somewhere in the veld near Caracal. The guests began feeding them, at which point
mom disappeared leaving a squealing baby unable to sustain itself.
The
mountain has a large population of ferals, who like our Fitzi
(AKA Osama), trace their lineage not so distantly back to wild cats, civets and
caracals. Mortality rates are high,
which is what controls the population. The other side of this is that survivors
are often quite extraordinary, being genetically primed for survival. This
married with the nature of their early experience, determines their chances.
Feeding ferals, one can see,
interferes with this process, and especially with
kittens, disadvantages the individual’s chances. The knowledge
of this, is however all very well. Here
is this particular kitten with its small face peeking through the bushes or
behind the corrugated iron– dependent on us, not to mention being very dear and
beguiling .
So with a somewhat
resigned feeling of déjà vous, and knowing that our cats would not
countenance a new addition, I contacted a cattery nearby who agreed to take her.
I then set about feeding her and teaching her to be sociable with us humans so
she would be easily re-homed.
At
first I could only leave food and water for her under the scaffolding in the
utilities area where she hung out. Then she
ventured out squeaking loudly and let me snuffle her neck and stroke her back
before darting back to safety. The periods with me playing with her and
stroking her increased over the next days and by day 4 she ran to greet me with
gusto and settled happily purring (loudly) on my shoulder.
As
the days went by, needless to say, I grew inordinately fond of her feisty
presence and her sweet little face with a smudge of colour across her nose.
Then
one night after I got back to the farm late, she was nowhere to be found,
despite the fact that she would have been starving. And the
next day and the next and the next she didn’t come either. I was mortified and
felt sure that in neglecting her she had wondered off away from safety and had
been taken by a buzzard or been attacked by other cats. I lay
awake at night.
Then some three
weeks later, when I told my visiting son and daughter-in-law how I had caused
Smudge’s death, daughter-in-law Andrea pricked up her ears.
`Smudge’ she said. `That that was the name of my first cat’. What a pity she has disappeared’.
Well as things
do sometimes pan out, when the next day they went for a walk, Andrea tall with
Liam on her back and Pete hand-in-hand with 3 year old Dani, they were assailed
by fierce shouting from behind the rubbish. None other than Smudge herself - not only quite
clearly fit and strong but with a lot to say.
By
8 o’clock Sunday night Smudge had found her way into her new Cape Town home, where she has been, happy as can be,
ever since. Dani is particularly taken with her, though she is having to learn
she can’t simply bend the kitten to her will.
Originally
a township rescue Sweetpi was adopted by Sue and Mike who adored him and taught
him the best of manners. They named him Peehee which we were told (though we
may have got this wrong) was the Maori name for a crunchy vegetable.
After some 6 years Mike and Sue left to live in New Zealand and they were
heartbroken to leave their darling boy behind. But they blessed us with
his presence and he has been a wonderful part of the farm ever since. He
trotted about head high, did wild waggy laps around the lawns, loved children,
played mother to many of our new dogs like Ziggy and Carlie and has been
friends with our cats and the various dogs that we have fostered through the
years. He had many an adventure – including running with the pack up the mountain,
once losing his way and taking 3 weeks to find his way home. 
