My kittycat and Sherlock fic recs
So among the amazing things that happened when I rarely (read: never) posted, the adoption of this teeny tiny calico from a pedestrian bridge stands out the most. My friend and I saw her huddled on the step of a pedestrian bridge on one of Jakarta's busiest thoroughfares. A clear plastic cup of milk sat untouched in front of her. An old Caucasian man was standing quietly a couple of steps lower on the staircase that leads to the bridge. Apparently he was standing guard, so that no one coming up or down the stairs would indavertently step on the bedraggled scrap of kitten.
I asked the man, "Where's her mama?"
"I don't know. Take her with you."
"I can't. I live far from here. How am I going to take her? You take her!"
"I live across the ocean."
"I have cats at home. They're very territorial."
"Not when the newcomer's this small."
I looked at my friend. She sighed, hem'ed and haw'ed and finally said, "I guess I could keep her in my boarding house. But you have to teach me how to look after her."
"Okay!" I said.
A man, a motorcycle taxi driver who had been watching the conversation from the side of the bridge reached up to give me a greasy plastic bag. "Put her here if you're gonna take her."
"Where did you find her?" I asked, taking the bag. It smelled of stale rice cake.
"In the middle of the road!" he said pointing at the busy street.
I scooped up the kitten. She didn't resist, didn't make a sound. I bundled her in the plastic bag and carried her away cuddled to my chest. She hardly moved.
While we were walking on the pedestrian bridge, the old man caught up with me and pressed a couple of coins into my hand. "This is my last Indonesian money. Use it to buy her food." It was only 1500 rupiah, about 15 cents American dollar. You can buy three cups of water with it, but not much more. He rushed away, leaving me and my friend agape. I wish I had asked him his name, and where he came from. His accent sounded Dutch, or German, but I couldn't be certain.
The kitten didn't stir in my arms all the time we were in the taxi going to my friend's boarding house. We bought milk for her. I told my friend to buy just a small one, because I began to have misgivings about the kitten's survival.
Once at my friend's home I hunted around for a shoebox, another friend lined it with thick rags, then I took the kitten out of her thin, greasy plastic bag and put her in the box.
Then she stirred. And crawled out of the box. Followed me around the house. We thought we had to use a dropper to give her milk. It turned out she could lap the milk herself, even though she also put her paws into the bowl as she did it. My friends were greatly cheered.
The next day suddenly she threw up. And pooped ghastly green stuff. Then she slept hard. And no amount of poking and prodding could wake her up. She slept for hours. I tried trickling warm milk into her mouth, she wouldn't swallow. Her body became cold. She almost didn't seem to breathe.
My friend went out in the rain to buy her vitamins. We managed to get some into her and a little milk. We put hot water bottles around her.
Then my friend said, "I don't think I can do this. I work full time. I can't take care of a kitten. What if she gets sick again."
So I said I would take her with me.
I name the kitten Bridgitte, because she was found on a bridge. I left her in the care of my friend for a couple of hours that night. When I texted to ask how she was doing, my friend replied that she had gotten much better and was her old frisky self again. I took her home the next day. She has never been sick since.
Here she was in my back garden, last March.
She is afraid of thunders and firecrackers and would curl up trembling when she hears them. She is the only one of my cats who occasionally kneads me. And nuzzles my armpit obssessively. I was told this isn't unique to my cat. Plenty of cats love burying their noses in their human's armpit. I still find it very amusing though. Not so amusing is her fondness for shredding tissues. I would wake up to find fully half a box in fluffy mutilated heaps in the morning. We've had to hide tissue boxes at home. Once I saw her sitting on top of an unopened bag of tissues, like a lioness above her prey, looking smug and innocent. She also loves to wrestle and gnaw shoes, and lick my fingers when I stroke her. I begin to ponder if she used to be a dog in her previous life. Best of all, she is the one who greets me in the driveway at night. Exhausted from the long day and train ride, I can always find a smile when she emerges from the shadow to welcome me with furry figure-eights around my legs.
So that's my cat. :)
And here is the fic rec:
In Which Mrs. Hudson Has a Gentleman Caller, and Sherlock Needs to Get Over It by Second Skin. Standalone, het, NC-17. A lovely, sometimes funny, sometimes melancholy look into the private life of Sherlock and Watson's landlady. Also, a very endearing, if pesky, Sherlock.
Vlogger John by diminua. Seven parts, complete, PG. Sherlock is called in to solve a case involving a dead ex-army doctor. During the course of his investigations, he finds the video blog the victim recorded for therapy purposes. Sherlock watches the blog, and falls in love with the late John Watson. Wonderful character portrayal, very poignant in places. Lovely.
Enjoy! :)