How we got our cat Ebony

Ebony’s Story

The last thing anyone expects to bring home from a Christmas bazaar is a cat – but I did – and this is how it happened.

When I went to St. James Presbyterian Church’s annual Christmas bazaar that late November afternoon three years ago, I had planned to bring home the beginning of my Christmas shopping, or at the very least some of the tasty treats they are famous for.

But when I arrived at the sister church of our local Presbyterian church, I came face to face with their ongoing problem. At the back door of the church, a small black cat feline that appeared to be only a kitten was being unceremoniously put back outside as quickly as it gained entry.

It was a cold day and I was not surprised that the little waif was anxious to get inside and down the stairs to the warmth of their kitchen. While I was there, several times it made it as far as the aforementioned kitchen, only to be thrown back out again.

I stayed long enough to buy some goodies and white elephant sale items and have a cup of tea and muffin. But when I was about to leave, I again encountered the frustrated kitten again trying to reach the kitchen. Outside, I made my way to my car, my thoughts on the kitten. Turning back, I saw one of their many senior women customers kicking it away as it approached her. A lump formed in my throat as I turned back and walked on to my car. As if knowing I was watching, the kitten began to follow me. With mixed emotions I wondered what would happen if I opened my car door. Would the kitten jump in with me if I let it?

I opened the car door and got inside as the kitten stopped and stared at me. Sitting in my seat, I held the door open and waited. Sure enough, the kitten jumped up on my lap and that’s when I discovered the real reason why the little black waif had been so anxious to get inside the church. When it turned itself around in my lap, I not only discovered that it was a she, but that she had two ugly open wounds, one on her hind quarters and the other on one leg.

Now that I had her, my next question to myself was what do I do now. The church is about fifteen minutes from our home, out in the middle of nowhere, with its closest neighbours a couple of farms. Judging by the kitten’s friendliness, I didn’t think she was a barn cat.

All the way home I worried what my family would say about me bringing home a stray. We had a very senior dog, Tatum, at home and our daughter’s cat, Curbey, having lost our son’s cat a couple of years before prematurely due to poisoning. Over the past year my husband had been offered several free kittens, but had always vetoed the idea. And here I was doing the very same thing without consulting him first.



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When we got home, I carried the kitten into the kitchen and proceeded to try her on Curbey’s food and some milk. The little waif devoured three bowls of food and lots of milk, all the while telling my dubious daughter and me her life story. My husband was taking a nap, and we had no idea what his reaction would be when the two met for the first time.

True to her nature, the little kitten’s non-stop talking when they did finally meet didn’t give my husband a chance to say anything. He did, however, suggest that we put up posters around our village in case anything had lost it and was looking for it. Judging by where I’d found her, the chances were more likely that she had been unwanted and dropped off there to become a barn cat.

We dutifully put up the posters, meanwhile doing as much first aid as we could to her hind end while filling out the rest of her. When she’d arrived, she was skin and bone, and after deciding that we would keep her, she was officially named Ebony by my reluctant husband – because she was black (except for two white patches on her chest and tummy) and because she was so boney.

Once her being ours was decided, she was taken to the vet to be properly administered to. While it was never definitely decided whether she had been attacked by a dog or ran afoul of a car radiator, the result was the same. He did say that due to her size she was actually not a kitten and older than she looked, one and possibly two years old. Several stitches, lots of antibiotics and love later she had grown from about 5 scrawny lbs. to 9 lbs. of feisty cat.

The only downside of her medical treatment was the day she had her stitches was the day we also made the decision to have our beloved dog put down due to his legs failing him. While I held her paws as the stitches came out, my husband held Tatum’s and said goodbye to him for the last time.

Ebony’s age became official when she came into heat for the first time on New Years Eve and drove poor Curbey crazy. She was soon fixed and officially celebrated her first birthday on Valentine’s Day 1999.

Two years later we got a new dog named Skye who now thinks she’s a cat because almost everyone else around here is. And of all of them, Ebony is the boss - because she says so.

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