Castañeda is a deputy editor at The San Diego Union-Tribune. She lives in Chula Vista.
It was 1972. I was about to turn 8 years old. Richard Nixon was president. And the Bee Gees were at the top of the Billboard charts. At the time my family lived in a three-bedroom apartment on the Northwest side of Chicago. For those of us who lived in the city, it was not uncommon to see a rodent sometimes, especially living close to an alley with trash cans. So when a mouse made its way into our kitchen, we freaked out.
We were terrified. So I knew I had the advantage when I asked my mother to let me have a cat. The scent of a cat is supposed to scare mice away. It just so happened we were visiting her friend, Emily Martin, at her pet grooming business around that same time. An elderly man came in with a shopping bag. Inside he had four little kittens. He was trying to give them away after saving the pregnant mother’s life, he said.
I looked up at my mother with big hopeful brown eyes and begged her to let me take home the cute black and brown one with the white paws. She hesitated and Emily said, “Oh, let her take it.” Mom looked at me and warned, “You will have to feed it and change the litter box every day.”
As we boarded the public bus on our way home, I stuffed the little kitten in my jacket to hide her and keep her warm from the frigid February winter.
I named her Mittens. And it wasn’t long before she became my best friend. But she was a tough little girl. She was picky about who she’d let near her. She often hissed and attacked those she didn’t trust. But we never saw a mouse again. She became the protector of our family. My dad used to tease her and talk to her as if she were a baby. “Oooh, she was like a little queen. But if she didn’t like you she would let you know,” my dad recalled. “I remember she attacked some extended family members and friends who came to visit. She could be mean.”
Over the years, Mittens ruled the apartment, sprawling out on the dining room table as if she owned the place. But she had a few bad habits. She kept peeing on a bean bag chair we had in the living room. And she tore up not one but two of mother’s sofas by using them as personal scratching posts.
When I was about 11, my mother was fed up with Mittens. She put her in the car and drove her to the Humane Society to have her put to sleep. Once my sisters and I came home from school that day, we were outraged. I remember crying uncontrollably. My dad convinced my mom to give Mittens another chance. So we rushed back to the animal shelter. By the grace of God there she was, still alive. The technicians were afraid to touch her.
Ironically, as Mittens aged, she would end up cuddling with my mom once I had left for college. She was with us for 18 years until her kidneys just gave out. I took her to a vet who said there was nothing he could do. He convinced me to put her to sleep so she wouldn’t suffer. It was a first for me, and one of the hardest things I’d ever have to do in my life. By now I was in my 20s.
Burying Mittens at home was not an option. We didn’t have a backyard, and we rented our apartment. Instead, I decided to bury her at Elm Lawn Memorial Park, a cemetery for both people and pets in a Chicago suburb where she remains today. My family, including my parents and sisters, attended a funeral service for her that day. We put our family photo inside her tiny casket, and each of us laid a single rose on her grave once they lowered her into the ground. I chose an appropriate headstone for her, “We’ll never forget you.” My mom remembers, “We all cried. It was very sad because she was with us for so many years.” Even my dad took off work to be there. He knew what she meant to us.
It took me 10 years before I would allow myself to get another cat. The pain of losing her cut deep.
Next spring, I am going to exhume what’s left of her remains and cremate her, so I can bring her back with me to California. She’s been gone a long time, but she was my first pet. One that taught me love, responsibility and how to cope with loss.
She will remain in my heart forever.
