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I’m a Childless Cat Lady. That Tells You Less than You Think

The story of my fierce attachments to two felines who survived a fire

I’m a Childless Cat Lady. That Tells You Less than You Think

The story of my fierce attachments to two felines who survived a fire

ILLUSTRATION BY COLLEEN SULLIVAN

Published 6:30, SEPTEMBER 19, 2026

I’m what they call a childless cat lady. That tells you less than you think.

I have cats. They are not substitute children. They are wonderfully strange creatures that seem willing to share our lives. Perhaps their power is that they are enigmas, implacably other, so much their own beings.

I shared seventeen years of intimacy, a quarter of a lifetime, with two wonderful cats, and the mystery of them still intrigues me.

In the spring of 2006, my husband Juan’s friend, Juan Dino Toledo, phoned to say that the house of his friend Carlos had caught fire. Dino was rattled; the cause was believed to be arson and had to do with some kind of gang-style revenge against Carlos’s brother.

The point of his phone call, however, was that Carlos’s cat, Chiquita, lived in the basement of the house but had managed to find an escape route through a broken window. Carlos told Dino that, as he and several of his neighbours stood watching the fire while waiting for the fire engines, Chiquita emerged carrying one of her kittens by the scruff of its neck. She deposited it under a bush at a safe distance and then turned around and ran back into the fire. She came out with another kitten. She ran back into the fire five times, saving each of her six kittens one at a time.

According to Dino, Chiquita died that morning from smoke inhalation. “Heroic, no?” he said. Would we take two of her kittens? Juan and I talked about it, and how could we not honour Chiquita’s sacrifice by sheltering two of the kittens she’d saved?

I think of the low trilling sound a mother cat uses to coax her kittens. Chiquita must have made that sound to soothe hers, who would have been terrified. I’ve seen mother cats carrying their kittens by the loose scruff of the neck. In an instinctive reflex, the kittens go limp, almost as if in a trance. This would have happened as Chiquita crawled out the broken window. Which kitten was the last one she saved, who cowered alone as the fire got closer? And what joy when its mother returned.

The day after the phone call, Dino’s friend arrived carrying two tiny cats in a carrier. He dropped the carrier in the hallway, and, after telling us the kittens’ names, he rushed out the door without saying goodbye. Perhaps he was afraid we might change our minds.

When they first arrived, the kittens were terrified. It was a lot to take in: the fire, separation from their mother, the strange and menacing humans towering over them. But at least they had each other. When we lifted them out of the carrier, they clung to each other, a small fur ball of paws, whiskers, and tails. They approached us in a creeping, cautious way, sniffing the carpet. They must have been about ten weeks old.

Both kittens had huge, round eyes that looked at us with trepidation. One was completely black. His fur was long and soft, not the usual short hair of domestic breeds. We’d been told his name was Negrito, little black one. The other kitten’s fur was a mixture of brown, grey, black, and white. The upper part of his face was brown, with lines of black leading from his forehead to his eyes. From beneath his pink nose to his chest, front legs, and stomach, he was the most immaculate white. He’d been called Tano, the Italian, but we changed his name to Ensueño, which means waking dream. He was a beautiful cat.

The most particular thing about the kittens was their profile. They didn’t have the customary flat faces of many cats. Both had distinctive noses that gave them a regal, haughty look, even as kittens.

It was amusing how quickly they took over the house. Racing through the rooms, sniffing out all the secret corners, climbing up on tables, knocking things off for the pleasure of it. Jousting, duelling.

We soon discovered the obvious: every cat has a unique personality. Negrito was the cat superior, curious and in your face, while........

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