You can find a bit more about some of our rescued (and other animal stories) at Momma Dawg's Multiply
site. Auntie Mame's story goes something like this: My Second Daughter taught gymnastics in a small town about fifteen miles from here and her drive home is along unmarked county roads. While she’s used to seeing deer jump out, a possum or skunk along the edge of the road, she just couldn’t place what she saw in any of her known categories. So, at eleven at night, she’s stopped along the side of the road walking back to see what “didn’t belong there.”
Holding her own in front of this approaching human was a small kitten, mewling loudly. According to Second Daughter, who speaks Cat fluently, she was saying, “I’m trying to get to your mother’s house. I’ve heard that she takes care of kittens, and I need lots of help.”
The next morning when SD brought this buddle of skin stretched thinly over tiny bones, it was evident that she needed a lot of help! No cat food in the house, of course, and we knew that milk would only create diarrhea, so we mooshed up some dog food and the kitten devoured it. Yep, desperate – she’d never look at dog food now. She’s too good for that.
Her eyes were still blue, and she fit in the palm of our hand. She wanted to lick any skin that came close to her. Instead of being covered in soft fur, there were single strands standing alone. All of her strength had gone into surviving, not covering her body. You couldn’t tell what color her fur would be, though her skin was spotted grey and white.
We took her to the vet and this “free” cat came home worth $135, got her shots along with medicine to remove worms, mites and ringworm. Quite successfully I might add.
It took a while before we could figure out her name. We tried calling her by different names, but we got them all wrong. As her fur grew in and we understood that she was a gray tabby, we even tried Smokie, but she never responded. Princess, Ghost, Shadow – none of those caught her attention. We were sitting in the den about a month later, my husband and I, and I told him that maybe she didn’t have a name.
When I said “name”, she turned quickly and looked at me. I looked right back and said “Is your name Mame?” She came to me and jumped in my lap. I said, “Is your name Auntie Mame?” thinking of Rosalind Russell’s portrayal of that colorful character. She leaned over and licked me on my check, and she’s been Auntie Mame since then.
Her eyes eventually turned green, and being thin is no longer her problem. She became even more valuable with another trip to the vet to be certain she leaves no kittens to be found on the side of the road. Unlike Second Daughter, most people don’t speak Cat. During her recuperation, Beloved Husband (despiser of feline creatures) held her on his chest and the bond has only strengthened since then. I may be the one to feed her and clean out her bathroom (yes, she has one of her own -- it just worked out that way, it was not built for her!) but he's the one she goes to, settles in his lap, throws her head back so she can stare into his face then reaches out a paw to touch his chin and settle on his chest.
PS -- She remains fearful of cows!!