Crazy Maybe, Cat lady...not really

I come from a long line of cat haters.

I would list it as a familial gene even.

I call home once a week, usually during the weekends and always before 9pm. I called my mother one gorgeous Saturday and she was talking to me and watering some flowers. In the middle of a sentence, my mother proclaims,

 "There it is; I knew it, I knew it.

   Hold on. Dan? Dan Maemae's on the phone and I saw the cat"

   See there it is!

   I told you!

  There's the cat."

[About a month ago, at the Joyce family home, my mother heard phantom meowing. Upon divulging this information, she was called a crazy cat lady.]
And then my dad greets me, and I ask if mom is okay. I had no idea of the phantom cat noises before my call. He begrudgingly says yes, and explains that my mother is not a crazy cat fabricator as my father and sister had previously thought.

That cat that my mom saw was the mother to two kittens trapped in a drainage well by my house.

Here's where the cat-hater lineage comes into play. My dad takes two yard sticks and tapes them together. He then tapes a rodent glue trap to the end and shoves into the dark drainage ditch. Aptly named, Stickie was brought to the light. At this juncture, my dad was relieved and started the clean up, when they heard another little meow. After many attempts, a small square of carpet was attached to a rod and reel and Jack was reeled up.

Stickie had a rough time. She was tiny, traumatized and not eating. They were unsure if she'd make it. I however am a sucker for abandoned animals. Conveniently my husband is patient and has cat experience. Stickie is doing well now and assimilating to the Davenport clan. She's about seven weeks and 1.5 pounds. Opal takes to her most of the time. So far, as an ardent dog person, my struggle has been hoping she'd be a dog. She's not, but growing on me.  And my research has helped. She’s actually pretty sweet.

There she is, scared of her scratching post. What a cutie.