The Story of Babyfred

Back in my youthful days before I became a sedate full time housewife, I had a job and lots of responsibility. The job responsibilities were not as amusing as the day to day antics and shenigans. One of my break time hobbies was capturing the kittens from the feral cat community that lived in and among the compound. They lived in drainage pipes, which we discovered you could upend and the kitties would slide mewing into an awaiting box, they lived under sheds, much protected and watched by the mommy and much harder to capture. The various older cats were impossible to catch, so we named them and fed them winning their trust enough to begin capturing the supply of kittens at an alarming rate of 30 kittens per summer. About 150 guys worked in this compound, and being a rare female amongst them, they would pretty much do anything for me. So once I had enlisted help, the kittens would be washed in the bathroom to get the oil and grease off their coats. Pictures were taken and e-mails sent around the whole company. They lived in the boxes that reams of paper came in and shredders were emptied into the boxes to make nice little nests for them. We took them at such a young age we could tame them, if you waited too long they became fiesty as hell, and nobody wanted the little spitting, hissing, clawing 7 week old monsters. We bought formula for them and fed them with droppers, we petted them, carrying around our favorite ones showing them off.
One particular litter was extremely hard to get to, but we kept trying, one day hung over as hell (ok still drunk) I had some extra bravery and managed to catch one in each hand, when momma kitty showed up and began to wail loudly, it was heard in the back offices through a few sets of doors. I'm in a dress and heels (Clack, clack, clack, clack) and I hightail it back to the first door to the building pulling the door shut behind me so momma doesn't come in and beat the living crud out of me. These little guys were pissed, pretty soon everyone is rolling at the whole thing. These little fuckers were spitting, hissing and clawing. Shit, they were ruined, too old. I grabbed a set of leather gloves from one of the landscape guys to hold them. They never did get baths that day, and they didn't like their new home. Nobody wanted these guys, they were going to ruin my success rate of placing the kittens in loving homes. Take them to a shelter , oh no, not happening. Release them to were they came from, uh uh. I finally get them cleaned up and take them home after a week of people going oh kitties again! My daughter wants one! Hiss, spit growl! Hands snatched backed by the owners that wanted to keep their digits intact. So, I'm thinking okay, I'll take this batch home and try to, oh hell I don't know what I was trying to do. I take them home in a box with a lid, I put a book on the lid, air holes are there, they chewed there way out! So now I have these mean creatures in my house hiding for sure, not using a litter box like any other of the 18 million kitties just do. I have had it, I 'm going to take them to the no kill shelter after two days. I get them out from under the bed using a curtain rod. I grab them quick throw them into a box, place a Webster's Unabridged dictionary on the lid to keep them in there while I find my keys .Meanwhile back at the ranch called work, I come in, put all my stuff away, fire up the puter. I hear a mew. An effen mew. This is so not funny. I have those monsters at home at this point and there are more kittens. I look around everwhere, no box..Ok. I'm hearing things. Mew. My officemate and bestest work buddy ever, is trying not to laugh, his shoulders are shuddering. I sigh, plop back into my chair, roll up to my desk and start reading e-mails. Mew. Ok, John is about to lose it laughing. WTF?!! Where is it coming from? I look under my desk, shoved all the way to back corner is a very small box. Not like a jewelry box small, but smaller than a box you put reams of paper or in my case, kittens in. So at first glance, I just skip right over it. Mew. You have got to be kidding me right? No way is there a kitten or kittens in there. I pull it out unfold the flaps and in the box is the prettiest kitty I ever saw. Tiny, with huge ears and white whiskers longer than she is. Blue, Blue eyes. A perfect white star on her throat. Tiny black limbs dipped daintly in white. I gasp, like she is a 3 carat diamond engagement ring. Mew. Mew it is my new little friend. Off to the sink to wash her. I wrap her like a baby and keep her inside my shirt to keep her warm. I walk down to the guys responsible for putting her there. Her mother (not one of the ferals, but an unfixed housecat) had died tragically by being hit by a car. She was the only kitty that lived, she was also the runt. They thought she would be the kitty to steal my heart and replace my own cat that had died of old age earlier that year.I couldn't take her home right away because those bastards were still there, and there was no way I was mixing those cats with her. So I got those kittens corraled by the curtain rod, managed to give one away while I was in the shelter and only had to surrender the other two to the no kill shelter.She was so tiny , that we kept her as an office pet for awhile anyways, that way we could feed her and keep her from being alone. She would sleep in my shirt while I sat at my computer, she slept on John's shoulder. Everybody loved her, but she was mine. So it came to the name, Whiskers, Boots, Socks, Mittens. Boring, I said boring. This is "My Dog Fred" was my standard response. Because she's a cat and because she's a girl and because "I am not going to give hera name like every other cat". And so it was. She has many other names as well, like babyfred (most common), baby, frederique (when she's in trouble), babywaby, sugarwooger, pumkinlumkin...well you get the idea.
The end.