When I was young, an event occurred that has always remained with me. Watching a litter of kittens be born. It was the first time I had ever seen anything like it. It was amazing to watch. To see the mother cat instinctively know how to handle the event... each baby was carefully cleaned, and moved aside as the next would greet us for the first time.

It was a little disgusting, but clearly miraculous.

During the summer of 2004, an abused baby kitten was abandoned at the entrance to the camp. I had never seen or heard such a loud and persistent feline. I got out of my vehicle, cradled the limp and lame baby kitten, and took it to a place of safety. I did not think she would make it. She could not walk, her front and hind legs on the left side were badly out of working order. I thought I was nursing her along to make her death a little less painful.

Much to my surprise, she began to improve rapidly. She ate aggressively, and even began to limp around. Before long, she was walking normally. She remained loud and boisterous, but was very friendly. I named her after one of our summer missionaries, Jillian... Jilly for short. She was brought to our camp home, after she healed, and became our resident mouser (and we needed one, this is the country).

During the late winter of 2005, we noticed that tomcats started to hang around. It wasn't just one or two, but several. I figured a simple solution. I closed her in the garage with a litter box and food. I had the upper hand in this little situation!

Last spring, I learned how wrong I was. Jilly was a teeny little cat. She was malnourished before she came into our possession, and had never gotten very large. It didn't take much to reveal her pregnant state.

I cannot explain how attached I got to her. When her time was drawing near, I began to hope that it would happen when BJ was home from school so he could see the miracles I had seen, first the kittens, then years later, each of my children. The day came. BJ wanted to stay home from school. I almost let him. I wish I would have.

Jilly went into labor, and it became apparent that her small size was causing complications. I had two options. Let her and the kittens die, or take her to the vet. Whether or not you are a pet lover, this decision came down to the fact that Jilly had cheated death once, and did not really have eight lives left. I could not let this happen. I took her to the vet.

Did you know that kitty c-section rarely happen? I didn't. When they told me how much it was going to cost, I could see why. I spent the money, and four little fur balls were presented. They showed me a large male that had been stuck in the birth canal. His head was kind of triangular. They told me he would probably not make it.

I brought them home, and began to call family. When BJ got home from school, he ran straight to his closet. You see, we had set up a little den in his room for Jilly. When the time to deliver drew near, she frequented that little space. It now was filled with four tiny little kittens and one disoriented mother. BJ was elated! He cuddled them up close to his face, and spoke softly to them.

It wasn't long before we noticed that there was a problem. Jilly had not delivered naturally. She had been sedated, was still woozy, and since she had not had the opportunity to clean off each of her little bundles, she could not figure out who they were, and why they had such a fascination with her underside. She resented the little invaders. They were loud, noisy, and very hungry. They knew she was the solution, but she didn't.

BJ and I worked to show her what to do. We helped her lay down, and "plugged in" her little ones. She reluctantly complied. In time, she learned her role, and even became protective. But soon, another issue arose.

Her small little body was not producing enough milk. I picked up a substitute from the vet, and Beej and I fed them with little medicine droppers. We worked hard to give them enough nourishment.

On day 5, the unthinkable happened. A small female died in my hands. I could not believe it. We wrapped her up carefully, and buried her, together. I wept for her loss.

On day 6, it happened again. This time, a male, but not the one who wasn't supposed to make it. I grieved hard. I was surprised by how much this hurt. BJ and I had tried to give them a good chance of survival, but the simple fact was, I had not gotten to the vet soon enough (during labor). We stood side by side, and buried him beside his sister.

The other two would survive. The large male still runs around our yard, chasing anything that moves. The female does likewise at my brother's camp. BJ loved on them daily.

Jilly became a good mother. She mothered the male for too long. He just did not want to stop, nursing.

A week after BJ passed, so did Jilly. The grief, though not as deep as we were already feeling, was evident. The timing was hard to understand.

Deanna and I have had frequent conversations about whether or not we reacted to BJ's illness quickly enough. If we had gotten him to the doctor earlier, could he have survived? By his symptoms, we would only have gained a day at most. That would not have been enough. We did not have earlier symptoms, or more time, because God had a plan. BJ fulfilled that plan. But not before he poured his gentle spirit into the lives of many, including, a litter of kittens.

dad