The wind whistles as it blows past the windows and a leafless branch
scratches at the windowpane. In the distance dogs, disturbed by wind and
cold and the impending threat of rain are barking incessantly.  Samuel R.
Thunderpaws opens one eye and cocks an ear in the direction of the window.
A lifetime ago he would have awaken, fully alert, with muscles taut and
ready to run.  He'd try to gauge his distance from the dogs and whether they
are running toward his resting place.  He would have tried to bury his cold
paws in the leaves under his body to keep them warm. Every cat knows that
you have to keep your paws and your ears warm if you want to survive a night
like this. But tonight he reaches over his head with his front paws and
stretches his back legs as far as he can. He rolls over and watches an
up-side-down world as he enjoys the heat of the electric blanket that warms
the muscles of his back and his poor aching hips.  On nights like this he
can really feel his bones ache, the ones which were broken so long ago. He
had used one of his lives that night when he escaped the fox that had chased
him into the street, right into the path of a speeding car.  With burning
pain he dragged his broken body into a pile of brush to catch his breath and
hopefully escape the fox's dinner plate. But we're getting ahead of the
story of Samuel R. Thunderpaws.  An old tom cat who thought his name was
Scat for most of his life. Then for a few days he was called Samantha until
the girls finally settled on Sam. It wasn't until yet another family
abandoned him that he learned he had a regal name, Samuel R. Thunderpaws, a
name befitting a feline Don that ruled the neighborhood.

This story begins in the magical spring time in Georgia.  The streets are
lined first with the pale pink and white blossoms of cherry trees followed
by the majestic blooming Bradford Pears.  Then when the ground begins to
look snow-covered due to falling blossoms the Dogwoods bloom with their
dance partner, the native azaleas, and the streets are once again lined with
beauty.  The weather begins to warm and the ground softens allowing the
yellow cups of jonquils and daffodils to break through the surface and add
their color to this southern palate.  The warmth of the days and smell of
tender, young plants calls to the wildlife still burrowed in nests and
gulleys and holes they might have dug to escape the wind and the cold of the
past few months.

But not all of the wildlife was supposed to become wildlife.  Something as
fickle as random chance has determined that some, otherwise domestic
animals, evolve into common wildlife. While their domestic cousins and even
siblings are given a life of leisure with a never empty food bowl, clean
water and a soft pillow before the fire, our evolved felines are forced to
live in the Out with Weather and Hunger as bedmates. Such is the fate of
Samuel R. Thunderpaws as we begin the journey of his life.

On a stormy spring night a world weary feline with unkempt fur and blue eyes
dulled with desperation begins a search for a secure place to lay her head
for the night. She finds a broken board that opens into a storage shed that
smells of mold and mice, grass seed and paint. In a backroom she finds an
old, dirty blanket and she settles in the middle of it, trying hard to
ignore the smell that assaults her delicate nostrils.  With her paws she
pulls the ends of the blanket around her and forms a nest that will be home
for the next 4 weeks.  Her bed is warm and dry and there are rodents within
an easy chase and if she's lucky she'll manage to catch a bird or two that
are feeding on seed put out by the humans.

If anyone was watching in the middle of the night when the clouds slowly
obscured the light of the full moon they might have seen the pain filled
eyes reflected by the sporadic lightening and a slight flinch of her body as
thunder echoes off the walls of the shed.  But the rain on the tin roof is
comforting and the wind blows through the windows the gentle scent of
wisteria that covers the shed and as this frail little creature begins to
feel the familiar pain in her abdomen she knows the time has come. She
circles the blanket several times before she feels the first kitten pushing
its way into the world and she lies down to wait.  As each kitten emerges
from her body she cleans it and nuzzles it toward the breakfast bar before
waiting for the next. Between the arrival of each kit she cleans the after
product of the birth in an instinctive process designed not only to
eliminate scents that might attract predators but also provides the mother
with much needed nutrients and protein to help restore her depleted body.
Four kittens are born that night. One of the kits is a sable colored male
with eyes as blue as his mother and faint stripes running the length of his
body...  He's a large kitten and quickly finds his place at his mother's
teats.

Despite her poor condition, the queen is a good mother and stays with her
babies, keeping them warm on these cool spring nights and safe from the
raccoons and raptors that see kittens as easy prey for a tender and tasty
meal. She provides them the life giving milk she was able to store before
her confinement.  As each days pass, however, her body shrinks and her ribs
begin to show as the kittens deplete the stored milk faster than she is able
to find a way to replenish.  But the kittens are older now and are beginning
to venture outside the nest she had made.  They play roly-poly across the
floor, a tumble weed of soft kitten fur. The queen is able to venture out
during the day and find a scrap of food in a trash can or capture a bird as
it flies into a window and falls stunned onto the ground.  She finds a muddy
puddle of water and although it is teeming with small swimming creatures she
kneels before the water and quenches her thirst for the first time in a
week.  When she returns to the nest the babies greet her with soft mewling
sound of hunger and the queen quietly settles down to give the kittens
another week of her undivided attention.