153. Oscar

Back to the pet stories... this one is about Oscar - in photographs, forever the silhouette.

It was 1998 and Curtis and I had just returned from our honeymoon in June. The Lakers were in the playoffs and we drove up to Paso Robles to visit my Grandpa for a combined birthday/Father's Day party. While hanging out in my cousin's backyard I heard the mewing of a young cat. I looked over the fence to see a creature that resembled a black hamster. I had never seen a black hamster, much less one that sounded like a cat. Oscar, as we would later name him, was young, very young. His eyes were barely open. His ears were flatten back against his head (hence the hamster look). My cousin explained that the mama cat was a young, feral cat in the neighborhood. She assumed that an owl had eaten her along with the other kittens in Oscar's litter. Oscar had been smart enough to hide in a junk pile in the neighbor's yard and stay clear of the owl. Not bad for someone born deaf, dumb, and mostly immobile.

June in wine country is hot and it was obvious that Oscar wouldn't make it another day on his own. I asked my cousin what she intended to do about the little guy. Her response, "Nature will take care of itself." I couldn't accept this. I went over to the neighbor's house. Knocked on the door and asked him what he was going to do about the struggling kitten desperately in need of an intervention. He looked at me like I was crazy and again said, "Nature will take care of itself." My response? "Call me nature!" I climbed into his back yard and picked up the tiny kitten.

We drove home that day in horrible traffic on the 101 between Santa Barbara and LA. The back drop to the ride was the Laker's game on the radio. Oscar sat in a box lid in my lap mewing softly. The next day we took him to the vet and discovered that he wasn't likely to survive the next couple weeks with human parents - he was simply too young. We purchased kitten bottles and formula, but he would have none of it. Oscar scooted (he wasn't yet walking) over to the dog's food bowl and nursed on kibble. Right in between two large dogs - he was fearless. Slowly he grew and gained strength. He had the will to survive.

Curtis wanted to find him another home. We already had two dogs and another cat. But I begged to keep him. In the end I got my wish. We named him Oscar in honor of my Grandpa - Bert Oscar Westberg.  My Grandpa Bert passed away in January of 2004 and we miss him dearly but think of him often. Oscar the cat spends most of his time sleeping between the two of us and he is no longer a little guy.