| *Kelda Khronicles* |
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| Tough Choices- The Story of Socks |
| I have always been a firm believer in not making judgments without having all the facts. I do not like to stereotype or generalize people. I take everything on a case-by-case basis. It was the way I was raised. I used this in my career working with children. I believe some clarification is in order. This is most likely my fault for being too gung ho. I love my cats and I perhaps jumped ahead of myself in my article 'When Kittens Have Kittens'. In that article, I was merely trying to express the joy of kittens and motherhood. I seem to have come across in the wrong way. There are some who have expressed their dissatisfaction with me as a cat owner. They have called me irresponsible for not spaying Socks before she got to the point of conception. I take full and absolute responsibility for that. Still, before people go around bashing me as a pet owner, let's get our facts straight. Let's examine why things happened the way they did. After that, everyone is welcome to make all the judgments they want, but not until then. I must caution that this is not for the faint of heart. Some people might find the rest of this article disturbing. You are fair warned. Before and in the beginning of my marriage, I had the resources financially and time wise to help the local shelters. I even adopted my first cat, Kelda, from a private shelter. I attended fundraisers, gave money, donated material things such as food, blankets, toys and litter to the shelter I adopted Kelda from. I cleaned cages for the vet that bordered the cats. I gave because I loved cats and I had the means to give. My husband found Socks in an alley after we had had a fight. It was a big fight. It was the kind where I would end up with a bloody nose and tons of bruises. Actually, I wouldn't call it a fight because I was not arguing. I'd just call it a beating. He brought Socks home to me as some sort of apologetic gesture. I did what I was expected to do to, accept the kitten into our home, to deter any further abuse from my husband. By that time, I had already made plans for Kelda and I to leave the abusive situation. We were moving to my sisters in a month or so. I decided that Socks would just have to come to. I knew if I gave Socks to the shelter, both Kelda and I would be in for retaliation from my husband. During my last tumultuous month with my husband, Socks and I really bonded. The starving alley cat turned plump kitten. Socks rarely left my side. When my husband was at work, the two kitties and I played and played the day away. To both Kelda and Socks, I was protector and nurturer. To me, they were my children and my only bit of joy in the cold, dark world of domestic violence. I would have had Socks spayed while I was with my husband, but I was not allowed to leave the house, for any reason, without my husband. My husband's priority was not for the spaying of Socks. His priorities only involved him. The spaying of Socks would have interfered with his drug habit and his love of cell phones. When moving day finally came for me and the two cats, it wasn't easy. My husband figured out I was leaving that morning and I got a good beating. I then seized a window of opportunity and made my escape for the safe-house. I suspect the cats suffered from my husband's rage like I did. I had a moving party of three people and two of Richmond's finest to collect my belongings and most importantly, my cats. When my moving party arrived, they caught my husband trying to dump Kelda on the street. Quickly they sprung into action and got her away from my husband and into the van. Socks was not so easy to get out of the apartment. My husband insisted to the police officers she was his cat and he was keeping her. He then turned around and in the same breath told my sister that he was going to kill Socks as soon as he could grab her. He chased Socks around the apartment trying to get hold of her, but she didn't want to have anything to do with him. My sister ended up smuggling Socks out of the house in my down quilt with the help of one of the police officers. When I was finally able to contact my sister from the safe-house, my first words were 'The cats, did you get the cats?'. I worried about them the whole day we had been separated. My biggest fear was that he would do something horrible to them- that I would never see them again. My sister assured me they were fine. The cats were taken to our new home, where I met them a few days later. It was a reunion I'll never forget. I don't think they will either. Kelda adjusted well to our new home. She knew my family and already had a report with them. Kelda knew she was safe. Socks did not. She trusted no one at first besides me. She's still adjusting. Being so young and living through abuse is extremely hard on kittens, like it is children. |