Hestia/Hestia
Hestia is (was?) a beautiful lilac-point birman. We had saved her from a filthy clandestine breeding place after it had been brought down by the cops. We have been told that she had spent her first year on top of a fridge, her only refuge from which she could get down only when every other cat was "fed". She was a shy cat, and was beaten by the other ones. Her sanitary condition was awful. The flat that housed this lousy business was dirty. The cats were too numerous and underfed. No medical care, of course. Her skin was full of crusts, infected by fleas and other hardly known species of parasits. She was stinking...
The very first days, she infested our flat with fleas (of course) before we could take drastic measures. Vet, treatment, etc. Her skin and fur became sane, clean and fluffy.
Then we realised that she was half... mental. Remember the fridge ? For weeks, we were having an invisible cat. Hidden all day long behind the toilets seat, coming out at night. Well at night... When all light were turned off.
Once, we tried to get her outside, in a grass-covered courtyard. She was wobbling on her legs, half paralized with fear. It was her very first time outside of all her life. A shame.
She grew. After a year with us, she became sticky like glu. Oner of us would sit, she would come and grip him. Her prefered position was to have her head on one of our shoulders.
Then we moved to rent a house in a small medieval town (Langeais, France). She felt more at ease, dared frequently get out, never farther than some meters from the door, running inside the house at every unusual noise. She began to chew some weeds.
And then she disappeared. She disappeared for a whole week. When she came back, running in the dew a morning, she was... not alone.
She was with a big smoke-grey cat, the kind of was very common in the town. The fucking asshole !
During her pregnancy, she became really, really demanding of pats, loved to stay anyhow on us.
And she bore four. One died after three days, being malformed. Another one was also malformed, but lived. His tail was contorted, and he walked with a curious angle, nor like a crab, but... Well, he lived. Another was a grey striped cat. The last one was a perfect replica of his father. It's him on the photograph.
Even if unprepared, she has been a good mother. After some month, her babies had been given. She kept on being friendly with us, but she spent her time as often as she could outside.
And we had to move again. I had to find another job. We had to get back to town, get a flat. I had to leave my garden and my cat. We gave her to a family of farmers. Hope she has been fine in this place, better that she could ever have been in the flat we've been in.
To be translated...
