Kitsch

Someone asked me a seemingly simple but actually very complex question once: “What is love?”. After a few moments of hesitation I answered to him: “Love is…difficult…” . And indeed, my opinion is that in today’s ever distrusting and constantly changing society, where everyone is seeking interest, pure love is something very difficult to find, and even if you stumble upon such a rare occasion and find it, there is a great possibility you may not have time for it.
That is the case of humans, of course. With animals it’s not like that, it’s much simpler. An animal you caress and care for offers you pure, unconditioned love. He doesn’t care who you are, what your job is or how you look like.
I know about this kind of love too well, this special bond between humans and animals, I have experienced it many times. I’m pretty much of a cat person myself, but most of the cats I have owned and cared for in time have some quite common background stories. Some were given to me by relatives, others weren’t exactly owned just by me: they were the village’s cats, who strayed from home to home and were cared for and fed by multiple owners, some sort of “temporary pets”, but they still had a tranquilizing( and, some experts say, therapeutic) effect on us.
However, one of my cat pets has a story to match its fur: it’s quite unusual and special. The story begins with me returning home from school on a rainy autumn afternoon. The grim surroundings were an auspicious setting for what was about to happen next: moments after I got out of the car I heard a heartbreaking meow coming from my neighbor’s house, which was still under construction, and completely empty. At first I thought it was just in my imagination, but when I heard it again I stopped, and realized there was a tragic note to the sound. More out of curiosity, I decided to cast a look over the fence. What I saw next immediately shocked me and filled me with compassion and utter sadness: there was an abandoned little kitten probably no older than a month, tied up in a plastic bag.
It was a truly horrifying sight to watch: rain drops were rapidly falling on the plastic, creating a constant ticking sound, as if nature was counting the hapless kitten’s last moments. Its breath and body heat condensed inside the bag, cloudening its vision, like a fog of perdition. The fence was separating its pitiful image from the rest of the people on the street, who were cruel and careless anyway. If it were after them, the kitten would have left this world just how it briefly entered it: helpless and screaming. But I decided that it didn’t have to end like this, that I could make a difference. I jumped the fence and ripped the bag open as fast as I could. It seemed to me that the poor kitten could die any second! I hurriedly took it inside my house and wiped it dry with a towel. My family, also deeply touched by the happening, allowed me to adopt it without a moment of hesitation and it soon got better.
Being an amateur painter, I started to jokingly call it “Kitsch”, because of the motley coloring on its fur: the main color was white, with light brown spots scattered all over, and three specks of black: one near its nose, another one on its ear and the last one engulfing one of her paws. The name seemed to fit it very well, so it stayed that way. But, the problems weren’t exactly over for unfortunate little Kitsch, as if the excruciating torture it had suffered until now wasn’t enough, it was also given a pretty hard time from my other cats, who weren’t even remotely willing to accept it as their new companion, and were constantly picking on it whenever it got near them. At last, as the days went by, they started liking Kitsch more and more, eventually accepting it completely in their little gang. After the closing of this chapter, Kitsch finally turned into the overly curious, mouse-exterminating, wool-tangling jolly cat we would all like to have in our households (unless you’re a dog person, or allergic, of course) all the time enchanting us with the aforementioned pure, unconditioned love. Three years later, it gave birth to lots of kittens and then I swore to myself I would always care for them and make sure they don’t share the same fate as their mother.

A bit longer post than usual, but different, like I promised. And, since cats are mentioned, here is a photo of my current pets:

We got "little" Jean on the left, and his dad Roger on the right, a bit grumpy as usual.
Consider this a little reward for reading the whole post ;) but seriously, thanks if you did!
'Till we meet again!