Kitten

“Hey there little guy.  Sorry to intrude.”  Donnie sat down with a completely ungraceful thud, (Leo would be mortified,) onto the wood dock and dangled his feet into the pond.  He regards his companion, a small kitten covered in uneven tufts of black fur and calico markings across its back and belly.  The kitten regards Donatello briefly and then returns to munching on whatever object it has deemed food.

“I wonder where your momma is little guy.”  Donnie lifts the kitten onto his palm, interrupting its dinner and looks it over.  “Whoops, little girl!  You’re a little ungainly but I guess it works for you.  You are kind of adorable as a tiny tempest in a teacup sort of way.”  The kitten mews its indignant fury at being removed from its dinner and it digs tiny kitten teeth and tiny kitten claws into his thumb and palm in a way of protest in being picked up.  Years of working in the lab, martial arts and biology makes him immune to its little worrying teeth and tiny spikes of death.  Donnie tucks his large finger under its ears and rubs gently.  The gnawing on his thumb ceases and a tiny, squeaky motor boat is heard instead.  “You have the most interesting eyes, you’ve got heterochromia.”  He remarked to the kitten, noting she has one amber almost pumpkin colored eye one brilliant green eye, almost the same vibrancy as Raphs.  Donnie paused a moment, drawing on a bit of trivia from the vast database of knowledge in his head.  “Heterochromia iridis or heterochromia iridum, an ocular condition in which one iris is a different color from the other iris.  It’s a result of the relative excess or lack of pigment within an iris or part of an iris, which may be inherited or acquired by disease or injury.” 

Donnie picks the kitten up for a moment, rubbing his thumb across her little belly peering into her eyes; she swatts at his beak.  “You probably have inherited it.  It’s an uncommon condition; usually results are due to uneven melanin content.  A number of causes are responsible, including genetic, such as chimerism, Horner’s syndrome and Waardenburg syndrome.”  He purses his lips and for a moment face snuggles the kitten; much to its annoyance, she squeaks her displeasure.   “A chimera can have two different colored eyes just like any two siblings can—because each cell has different eye color genes.”  He lectures.  “A mosaic can have two different colored eyes if the DNA difference happens to be in an eye-color gene.  There are many other possible reasons for having two different-colored eyes.”

Donne puts the kitten back on his lap and continues to card his fingers through her fur, the little motor boat started again and she pushed into his fingers.  “Another hypothesis about heterochromia is that it can result from a viral infection in utero affecting the development of one eye, possibly through some sort of genetic mutation. Occasionally, heterochromia can be a sign of a serious medical condition.”  Donnie peers at the kitten again, “Do you think you have a serious medical condition?  You know a common cause in females with heterochromia is X-inactivation, which can result in a number of heterochromatic traits, such as calico cats; which you are, so maybe it’s not a medical condition.”

“Maybe we should take you home.  Mikey would be ecstatic.  I could just see you being spoiled rotten, though you might have some competition in ICK.  Thank goodness we don’t have mutagen floating around anymore, so no more mutation accidents.  Probably just the regular accidents.”  Donnie taps a finger against his chin.  “Still, you could hunt the roaches in the lair, which would make Raph happy.  You might even be a nice distraction for Leo, he could use some distractions now.  Raising you would be something that could bring us together, instead of this drift that’s been happening.”  He picks the kitten up and nuzzles it once more, this time she nuzzles him back and continues to purr. 

Donnie puts the kitten back in his lap and looks about at the sun dappled scene around him, “You’re still young enough to be trained to be not totally feral, so it wouldn’t be a bad thing to take you away.  You’re already on your own.”  He sighs for a moment, “just like us.”  The kitten decides that Don isn’t petting her enough so she begins chewing on his finger.  The little gnawing attempts worry at the flesh and Donnie wonders if the kitten has ever tasted turtle before.  There are certainly enough free roaming turtles around the pond.


“I’m not OK.” Donnie says after a time.  The kitten continues to appreciate the affectionately given skritches.  “None of us are OK.  It’s nice and all that to come out here to visit Father but it’s been months now, does it ever get any easier?”  Donnie sighs deeply, “at some point in the years to come will it hurt any less?”  The kitten mews a response and Donnie looks at it in surprise, suspecting that it might have been an answer.  “So what do you think kitten?  It does get better?”  The kitten mews again and rubs against his plastron, her tiny furry purrs gently tickle against his plastron and are strangely comforting. “I guess that’s the best we can hope for.”  He replies.

Donnie sits quietly, kitten in his lap, absently scratching the kitten’s ears.  His fingers gently roam from rubbing its chin to petting its belly and in general using his fingers simultaneously as cat toys and objects necessary for belly rubs. 

“Hey Dee!  What ya doing!” Mikey yells from over the hill barreling down at Donnie’s position at a good rate of speed.  The kitten, startled by Michelangelo’s greeting digs her claws into Donnie’s thighs; an area much less protected than the rest of him.  He tries his hardest not to yelp in pain and carefully plucks the kitten from its imbedded position. 

“Shush Mikey, not so loud, you’ll startle her.  Again.”  Donnie lifts up the kitten showing Mikey his little friend. 

“O.M.G. she’s adorable!  Oooooh, lookit, oh, she’s so cute!”  Mikey squees while bouncing back and forth from toe to toe in his usual happy dance.  “Can I touch her?  Can I have her?!  Oh can I, can I?!”

“Mikey you have ICK she might get jealous of this tiny ball of terror.” 

The kitten sits in Donnie’s palms, spine scrunched in alarm one tiny paw with claws extended paws in Mikey’s direction and tiny hisses accompany the entire ensemble.

“I’m not entirely sure she likes you Mikey.”  Donnie says, completely amused.

Mikey practically crumples, “She doesn’t like me?  Who wouldn’t like the Mikester?”

“Well you are a little loud Mikey, maybe try talking softly, that’s how I’ve been speaking with her.”

Mikeys response was to practically whisper.  “You think she would want to come home with us?  I think Raph might like someone else to play with Chompy.  Leo could probably stand to snuggle next to something that isn’t cold and sharp.”

“Possibly,” Donnie replies, fingers again carding though fur, calming the little ball of fury.  “As for Leo snuggling with something not sharp, have you seen her claws?  But yea, I was seriously thinking about it.”

He smiles at his younger brother and Mikey’s responding smile is enough to light up the clouds.  Gently Donnie picks up the kitten, placing her in the crook of his arm and stands, tucking his bow into its usual place.  “I think we should present the little ferocious predator to our brothers and see if she might come home with us.”

“Ooh, I have some names!  We should call her Ferocious or the Tiny Terror!  She’s going to be the bane of all the roaches in the lair!”

“Personally, I was thinking Chimera, because of her eyes.”  Donnie moves closer to Mikey to show him the uniqueness of her eyes.  She blinks at Mikey owlishly.

“Ooh, that sounds cool.  But we already called the turducken fishthingy that.”

They walk away from the pond in comfortable silence.  The kitten adjusts to sleep in the crook of Donnie’s arm.  The lights have come up in the farmhouse and they can just see the shadows thrown by their father’s grave in the dying sunset.  Donnie can see Raph on the porch steps and Leo on the porch swing chatting quietly with each other.  Things have changed, in some ways they are strange and scary, and in others they are just as familiar and comforting as his old bo.

“Yea, but this one has a much better origin story.”  Donnie smiles as the kitten mews in assent and proceeds to turn the motor boat on again. A comforting tickle.