We've had Bert for thirteen years now, and, on the surface, he's a typical cat. He follows the sun from room to room in the summer, hunkers over the heat duct in the winter, and follows us around the house, meowing, with his ball in his mouth when it is play-time. It wasn't always this mundane, however.
I first learned about Bert from the "Homes Wanted" section of our local newspaper. One of our old cats had passed away from cancer and our remaining cat was very lonely and I felt that a kitten would keep him company. The ad I settled on gave an address in a townhouse complex in the north end of the city.
When I arrived,I was shocked to see the run-down aspect of the development. Garbage littered the grounds, children playing outside were dirty, and disrepair showed on every unit I could see. I knocked on the door of the appropriate unit and was treated to a shout of "Yeah, wait a minute," from within. When the door finally opened, it was all I could do not to stagger backwards. The woman to whom I was speaking was, arguably, the dirtiest person I had ever seen. She was holding the hand of a toddler who was equally as dirty, plus he was wearing what appeared to be yesterday's diapers.
The smell oozing from the house was nauseating and I tried not to gag as I mumbled, "You said you had a kitten to give away?"
"Dave, she's here for the cat," the woman screamed over her shoulder.
"All right, all right," came an answering roar. In a few minutes a beefy man sporting a filthy T-shirt and ragged pants came down a staircase holding a squirming, writhing kitten in one potato-sized fist. He came up to the door and glared at me. I involuntarily took a step backwards.
"Are you going to look after this cat," he snarled.
"Ab-ab-absoutely," I managed to choke out. "We've had cats for years." Meanwhile, the tiny kitten was struggling resolutely in the man's fist.
"He's a runt. The mother won't feed him. We got kitten kibble for him. You better take good care of him."
"Yes, ...yes I will," I told him as I gingerly took the wiggling kitten and placed him in the cat carrier.
All the way home the kitten cried, and each time he did, I said, "hi Bert." When we got home I gently took Bert out of the carrier, turned on a small stream of warm water in the kitchen sink and held him under. The water came away almost black. I thought I had adopted a grey kitten; Bert is three-coloured with a large white patch on his chest and back.
