Growing up with cats and their kittens, we always had several meandering around our house.

One was Emma, so named because she had distinct spots of color like M&Ms. Muzzy sounded like a fuzzy motorboat when he purred. Baby aka Bambino was “adopted” from the little grocery store in Triangle.

Some don’t get names, like the imperious stray all-gray cat that I believe I feed every night – I don’t know if he is homeless or just very opportunistic.

When I first encountered The Gray Cat in Pinedale, he sneaked into my cabin to hang out with my orange and white Finley, when I left a door open for Fin to come and go. I would hear the gray cat downstairs, crunching on kibble in the dark, and when I tried to meet him, he fled.

Finley is so named because his orange fur and kitten-blue eyes reminded of Finley Cook, a young red-haired English ski instructor when we took night skiing lessons at Greek Peak. As a tiny kitten, he was “infinitely sweet” until he learned to climb, watch sparrows and attack ankles

Cats like Finley shape our habits rather than fitting into ours.

As has the Imperious Gray Cat. When I’d see him in daytime, he walks past me just out of reach without looking at me once. Most winter nights I put a small bowl of kibble in the woodshed it’s gone. Recently he walked into my yard at night and seeing me, turned and stalked away. The other morning his paw prints in fresh snow led from an old building across the alley to my porch and back

Homeless, by choice or chance? I’ve never touched him.

Now grown, Finley expects a certain high-energy “playtime” before I leave in the morning. Then he wanders off to check the neighborhood or burrows under blankets for a stuporous cat nap. We accept each other.

Watching a kitten’s personality unfurl can be like potting a little houseplant and seeing what color it blooms.

The most amazing kitten story I will ever relate is about Streak and how he became Kevin’s companion. Last spring in Bondurant as I led a colt around the corral, I heard a screeched meow from the old calving shed. Astonishing, as no cats lived outside after we lost Beanie Baby, who adored Kevin and went to the corrals with him and cowdog Zeb every morning.

Still holding the colt’s lead rope, I stepped into the shed and heard the slightest scrabbling. Catching a vague movement on a high log, I grabbed a tiny screeching furball smaller than my hand. It was so furious, I set it back down; certainly there must be a stray mama cat hiding nearby. The furball disappeared – and silence.

It was too young for cat food, but I set some out. We didn’t see the kitten (or its supposed mother) for days. The red food dish was moved to a straw-filled stall and chows disappeared. We had split-second sightings, from a distance only, of a yellow and white kitten with no mother. I saw the kitten jumping and playing with moths and worried he ate them to survive before he trusted anyone. A flash of white and he’d be gone.

It became obvious that someone did what I consider to be very cruel – dumping a tiny kitten off at a ranch where it was supposed to survive – which somehow he did.

Kevin started making a production of opening the cat food bag, filling the dish with kibble and setting it down in front of him. The kitten slowly began to approach and eventually rubbed against his legs. Then, he let himself be petted.

He named the kitten Streak, because that’s what he does, vanishing under sills and into sheds.

A wild kitten, people told me, will never be tame. They didn’t count on Streak and Kevin. Streak is the gentlest, sweetest “wild kitten” who tamed himself.

He doesn’t hide anymore – he leaps in the air as he trots up and down the driveway, twisting like a fish. Streak comes inside with Kevin at night and back out when he wants.

He purrs, plays with a stuffed animal and races to the corral when Kevin starts his truck and back to the house at night. He races along railings and gates, through the corrals, happy, gentle and free.

In spite of the callousness I ascribe to whoever dropped off a tiny kitten alone  – there couldn’t be a happier ending to this story.

So shame on you, thank you – and please don’t do this again.

Please: If you have extra or stray kittens, puppies, dogs or a pregnant mama, please contact and support Happy Endings Animal Rescue in Pinedale.