My Misty

Misty watches from the living room window

I had a crush on Billy Doe in first grade, and I’m not sure which motivated me to go to his house more–the excuse to see him or to get one of the kittens he was giving away.  My best friend, Mary Neester, told me about it.  Her mother said she couldn’t have one, and so she thought the next best thing would be for me to get one.

I never did anything without asking permission first.  The rath of my mother was a strong deterrent.  But we decided we could at least ride our bikes over to look at them without getting into trouble.

It was love at first sight–a little gray ball of fur with dark tiger stripes, a sweet gentle face with a little pink- peach-fuzzy triangle nose that quivered as she breathed.  I have no recollection of discussing the kitten.  A possible memory is tugging at me that I cannot verify as truth, but I may have had Billy’s mother call mine.  Perhaps, anxious to find homes for the kittens as soon as possible, it was Mrs. Doe’s initiative that suggested calling for permission.  Maybe I just said, “I’ll take her!” and risked the consequences.

Whatever it was, I found myself peddling as fast and furious as I could, carrying precious cargo in the white-woven basket of my stingray bike.  The sweet, little kitten hunkered down in the cardboard box while the flaps bounced up and down with the wind and bumps.  I put one hand on the box whenever I dared.  Most of the time I held the handle bars with a death grip.

I called her “Misty” because the soft, lightest grey of her fur reminded me of the color on a misty day.  I loved that kitty and felt very special to have her.  My younger sister had a Siamese cat named Ko Ko San; “Ko Ko” for short, and she wasn’t apt to share often–my sister, that is.  Now I had my own cat to love and feed, to watch and play with.

When Misty got a little older, she got fat–or so we thought, until my mother told us that Misty was going to have kittens.  She said I should start finding friends that wanted a kitten–they’d be born soon.

Misty gave birth to six tiny balls of fur on the floor of the closet in the bedroom I shared with my sister.  We all gathered around often to watch them, and were very careful not to touch them.  Mom said Misty wouldn’t take care of them if we did, and that they would die from neglect.

Misty started going out again, as she always had–through the front door.  She’d be gone for an hour or two.  I didn’t always notice how long, but she’d make it known when she returned and some one of us would let her in.

One day after school I came home and went directly to the closet to see the kitties.  Ko Ko San was laying there surrounding the kittens with her body.  She was pretending to mother them.  Misty didn’t come home that day, and I figured it was because Ko Ko had touched her kittens.

Every night I’d watch out the living room window for Misty.  Every day I’d come home from school hoping to find her inside.  My mother eventually told me Misty would not be coming home, but I secretly watched for her for a very long time after that.

I still have a picture of Misty and I still use Misty’s name on internet security questions.  Even though I’ve had several wonderful cats since her, I will always love and miss My Misty the most.