Finding Frannie

Finding Frannie

The little grey tabby cat showed up on June 26, 2023, on what would have been my mother’s 99th birthday. My husband named the kitty Frannie and started feeding her. Although feral, Frannie finally allowed petting at feeding time. She was just one of the neighborhood cats that would come by for food. I would always laugh and say, "Cats happen."

Our indoor cat family included our 15-year-old Molly Ann and our 8-year-old Checkmate. Molly and her sister, Sophie, were adopted as babies shortly after we built our house. (Sophie died in 2020.) Checkmate was our foster fail. He arrived in 2015 with his three 5-week-old sisters as emergency fosters. It was our first and only time to foster; we learned we have no self-control and will inevitably keep a kitten. We named him Checkmate on the first day. He was vision impaired and the runt of the litter. He knew he was staying before we did and proceeded to make it happen. We think he said “checkmate” when we told the shelter we were adopting him.

As the Cat Distribution System already had showered us with its bounty, we thought we were done. We had enough cats. 

But we wanted to help this little kitty we called Frannie. We had no idea where she came from; she looked to be about 8 months old. It was August in Texas, and the summer heat was sweltering. We decided to open the garage a crack. We made her a kitty bed and provided an electric fan and food.

I began planning logistics to have Frannie spayed. With her being feral, I knew this would be a challenge. Ah, TOO LATE. One afternoon, my son came running in to say he saw kittens in the garage. We ran downstairs; we had never heard kittens crying in there. We suspected that Frannie delivered her kittens elsewhere and then moved them to our garage. 

Frannie was nursing her babies behind a work table against the wall. After the kittens “got founded”, we saw them popping their heads up. Five of the CUTEST kittens ever. One tuxedo, three progressively lighter tabby kittens, and one almost white kitten with light tabby stripes. It literally looked like Frannie ran out of ink. 

Still stunned, we quickly got our guest room ready and carried the babies inside. We searched carefully to make sure we found all the kittens. It took awhile to lure Frannie inside, but her maternal instincts eventually brought her to the guest room. The kittens were about 4 weeks old, still nursing but ready to eat kitten food.

While Frannie was feral and likely had never used a cat box, she instinctively knew how to train her babies to use one. She grudgingly accepted our help with the kittens. The new family of six snuggled together in air conditioned comfort.

Cat pregnancies last approximately nine weeks, so it's clear she was already pregnant when she showed up on our porch. There had been signs. I thought her tummy looked a bit swollen, but my husband said it was because she was finally eating regularly. I later realized that I felt nipples when I rubbed her a few days before we found the kittens. 

Life changed for us over the next several months. Kittens crawling all over us was a daily treat. While we wanted to keep all the kittens, we knew we couldn't. We tried not to get too attached—a losing effort. We reached out to Facebook friends and to the public through a local Facebook pet group.

I decided we needed to take Frannie to a vet to make sure that she (and her babies) were disease-free before any outsourcing of cats could proceed. Possibly due to lack of sleep from having a total of eight cats in the house, I foolishly thought I could simply put my pal Frannie in a cat carrier. Right . . .

We had an appointment within the hour, so I tried to pick up a sleeping Frannie to put her in the carrier. This crazed action resulted in one of the most painful cat-human interactions on record. I couldn’t let go because her teeth were attached to my hand. She couldn’t dislodge her teeth because I wouldn’t let go. Instead of the vet visit, I ended up getting emergency treatment for severe cat bites. Live and learn.

We decided to have the kittens tested; we were delighted that they were disease-free and ready for adoption. The tuxedo, Felix, now lives with my best friend; I still get to visit him. The medium light tabby, Toji, found a home with a former coworker. The almost white kitten went to a family in a neighboring town; they named her Betty White. 

We ended up keeping Frannie and the remaining two tabbies, Catsby and Daisy. They were literally airborne for the first year. Daisy, a spirited girl, loves to chase the other cats in the house. Catsby is a sturdy 16 pounder; he insists on nightly cuddles. 

And Frannie, well, she's still feral but lives indoors with the babies that now dwarf her. She doesn't want petting--not since we finally got her in a humane trap and took her to be fixed and innoculated. (The yowling that came from Frannie in heat sounded like we had kidnapped a child. You could hear it across the street.) After we got her back home, she stayed under a bed for months. She’s now somewhat social. Sadly, our Molly died of old age in May. Our Checkmate had some health challenges in 2024 but continues to be his wonderful, cuddly self.

Life is unpredictable. One day, you have two cats; the next day, you have eight, including five purr-fect kittens. One minute you’re trying to load a cat in a carrier; the next minute you’re getting treatment for cat bites. We may not understand the universe’s plans in our lives; Frannie and the kittens taught us that the plans can change momentarily and bring challenges. In short, anything is paw-si-ble.