0611/25th June 2024 . Fifty-five years ago today I reported for my first shift with BOAC at Kennedy Airport. The weather was hot and the following day I got stuck in a dreadful traffic jam on the Long Island Expressway which made me late as we…
Fifty-five years ago today I reported for my first shift with BOAC at Kennedy Airport.
The weather was hot and the following day I got stuck in a dreadful traffic jam on the Long Island Expressway which made me late as well as dishevelled, despite all the extra time I had given myself for the 30 mile drive.
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As I clocked in, as supervisor warned me that the surest way to fail probation was to be late for work.
In the ensuing 38 years, I was only late twice.
The second occasion was when I was working a day trade with another girl. This was also a classic offence!
But my car's engine seized up on the parkway and it was way before cellphones, so it took some sorting out, tow-trucks and taxis etc.
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The other lateness was due to weather. The Belt Parkway leading to JFK was so flooded, kids were swimming in it. And my car overheated.
Abandoning the car in the chaos, I went to find a telephone to advise my employer that I was delayed but so were all the flights. I think they were happy when I eventually did at least turn up, wet through and bedraggled.
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What a different world it was then.
What a lot has changed.
25th June, 1969 - my date of joining. It was one of those important numbers etched in your brain like your date of birth and social security number.
It has no importance now, except as a memory.
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25th June, 2024 held a different sort of challenge.
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Today, we would find out about him.
Yes, it's a boy.
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Friday 14th, the day of my very disappointing medical appointment, one thing I most particularly did not need was a new kitten in the house.
There would be repercussions and complications and heart-break. All this went through my mind when I saw Grant scoop the little boy up and carry him in.
At the same time, I had to be relieved because a storm and a heatwave were coming. The kitten had taken up residence beneath the hedge next to the groundhogs. He was not wordly-wise enough to be out, especially with hungry foxes running around.
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Bringing him in was the responsible thing to do.
The poor creature had barely got to know us and his first reaction was to be terrified.
He literally climbed walls.
We set up one of the spare rooms with everything he could need and left him to de-compress.
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We immediately called our vet to make an appointment to have him checked for a chip and more importantly for a health evaluation, but we would have to wait 11 days!
This would be a long time to keep a kitten confined to one room, but that was our intention.
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The boy soon got over his panic, perhaps realising that meals were being catered three times a day, a benefit his liberty had been lacking.
As for us, - out of nowhere a six month old kitten had arrived, as sweet and adorable as could be.
We had said "no more cats" long ago and most particularly not a young cat.
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But, we had only brought him in to keep him safe. A kitten like this, someone would be looking for him.
We are some distance from any other dwelling, so it was a little hard to imagine where a kitten could have come from, but he didn't drop in by parachute.
The very day before the boy's first appearance, Grant had observed while dishing up cat food that 7 was an awkward number, leaving half a can that tended to go in the fridge and get forgotten.
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Nibbs was our clean-up committee, but his visits are rare these days and when he comes by it warrants the opening of a fresh can, just for him.
The way things work out, Grant does the dishing-up and I do distribution. Often I am in the middle of something when the man decides it's time, so I carry on until I hear: "COME on!"
If I dished up, somehow I think would make the portions work out, but it's not my function!
When Grant announces a need, the Universe responds:
Voila. Another cat. No more leftovers.
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This was exactly how Willow arrived, out of the blue. That was nine years ago and I thought back then that I was too old for a kitten.
But no-one said the boy would be staying. We would not fall in love with the little scrap.
We spent a lot of time not thinking of names for him.
We had to call him something, right?
The fact that nothing seemed to stick was because we were sure he would not be staying.
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A couple of days went by.
The boy seemed happy enough, locked in his quarantine room. The girls must have known he was there but chose to ignore him.
Perhaps they knew we could not possibly invite a young whipper-snapper in to their home.
A kitten. A boy kitten. Never.
Grant fretted about the kitten being locked up by himself. We visited him, of course, but we were studiously not bonding with what's his name.
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Wherever it came from, this kitten had obviously not been out long as one could easily tell from its appearance and it looked the picture of health.
"Maybe we should let him out."
said Grant.
"The others all have their vaccinations."
So the door was left open...
Cats have to explore.
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When Panther came into my care, as a foster (ha!), he too was very young and poor old Yeti was not interested in playing. I thought long and hard before going down to the local shelter to find Panther a playmate.
A fine idea. But Annie wanted to be an only cat. She hated Panther on sight. But there was no way I was taking her back to the shelter.
Yeti rolled her eyes and ignored them.
Before long, Cisco arrived and became Panther's best buddy and things settled down.
In all my years of having multiple cats, that was the only time any of them objected.
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But I have never before had a group of aging girl-cats and tried introducing a boy-kitten.
The girls are not pleased.
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"It's not staying, is it?"
"It's eating all our food!"
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"It" is certainly very hungry.
He's a growing boy, after all.
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At first the boy was returned to his room at night but he soon learned to evade capture.
It's all fine until about 10 pm when I am winding down to lights out. That's when it wakes and wants to play.
He's not being naughty. He's being a kitten.
A lonely kitten.
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Muffin is the same size as the boy, but she has not been a kitten for a very long time.
Like Yeti, she is not interested in playing with a boy-kitten, but Muffin is more demonstrative about it:
"Go away!"
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Our major concern is for Sophia who after so many years of hiding, has ventured out.
The last thing she needs is to be terrorised by a kitten.
On the other hand, she has been desperate to find a cuddle-buddy and this kitten is a big cuddler.
It is an unlikely match but so far Sophia has only seemed wary. We keep a close eye on that situation.
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The cat who is most likely to express her displeasure is Willow.
Just like my beloved Panther who quite clearly demonstrated his annoyance.
"Pissed-off!" his face said as he watered the object I most especially did not want peed on.
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"Who would put up with that?"
Alternatives being unacceptable, I do.
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In any case, the kitten was probably not going to stay.
The vet would find a chip, or we would see a notice posted about a lost kitten.
As the days passed though, we were less sure that we would give the kitten back to an owner who put so little effort into finding their missing animal.
From its behaviour, we are certain that this is not the offspring of a barn cat because it has obviously been accustomed to being around people.
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We chose a tentative name which we tried to persuade the kitten to accept, but he wasn't having it.
The wrong names just don't stick.
Panther started out as Luca which was a name I liked but he soon set me straight.
In due course the un-named kitten was taken to the vet. Yesterday.
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The vet visit gave me a late start yesterday but I would have finished this little tale if circumstances had not put the whole thing on hold.
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Because the kitten had appeared so terrorised when he was brought in, Grant thought he would resist being placed in a carrier and give the vet a hard time.
Yesterday morning, it just happened to shoot past me into the guest room, so we contained it and Grant took in an open carrier, hoping it might go in!
Imagine our surprise and relief when that is exactly what happened. All we had to do was close the door.
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There came not a single wail of protest, all the way to the vet and the boy behaved like a star, submitting to the examination and blood test without complaint.
He is now a certified healthy, nameless cat and we were beginning to think he might be staying.
Then...
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Back home, Grant took the boy inside as I collected mail from the car.
The kitten shot out of the carrier and vanished. It's what cats often do. When he had slept off the effect from the shots and trauma, he would come out for food...
But he didn't, so we went looking and looking and looking. And looking again.
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Having checked every possible hiding place three times, or more, we became...upset.
He must have got out. Had the door been closed after Grant went in and I was getting mail from the car?
You begin to doubt yourself. I walked around outside asking how could he have got out?
Would I never see its sweet face again?
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Having quite sadly said goodnight, Grant retired downstairs and took one last turn around the basement.
Something made him look up and there, perched on a beam above the basement window was the boy.
Who was soon coaxed down with the offer of food.
And 3 am play time resumed.
He is still nameless but when Grant summons it he calls out:
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