Where could we keep it? That was the question; this little jaguar kitten, found alone in the jungle. What if the mother should look for him? And she looked closely at every shadow on the side of the winding road. Well, I wasn’t sure what to make of him myself, and was frankly surprised to find the little guy on his own. Only once before had I come across a young cat alone and far from his den, and that was a bobcat in Arizona. I later learned that his mother had been killed and that the kitten was looking for food. Something like that could have happened here, one of those unknown jungle tragedies that could have left this fuzzy young man without parents or class.
So I hurried for a mile in the hot afternoon sun, and in the clearing where our camp was I looked down. The kitten, exhausted by travel and unusual events, and lulled perhaps by the warmth of my body, had fallen asleep. Just outside the thatched shed, I tossed a leather jacket and laid him down on it. Drowsily, he raised his eyes, gave me a bewildered friendly look, yawned until I could see the double row of tiny baby teeth, and after a moment she went back to sleep. Even Pedro smiled reluctantly.
An hour later, my newly acquired pet woke up and announced his presence with a succession of shrill, heart-rending screams. It was as if a dozen catbirds suddenly became vocal. But I was ready, and placing a large plate of our precious condensed milk in front of him, I waited. Clumsily, the jaguar put his foot in the warm milk, quickly stepped back, shook his paw, and then licked it. And, as much as a kitten could, his eyes took on a look of pleasure. He then sniffed the plate enthusiastically, but the lapping technique was beyond him, so to help, I shoved his face into it. He backed off with milky mustaches, spat on me and backed away. Clearly, feeding him was not commercial yet and might not be as easy as he had thought. I looked a little desperate at Pedro, but he rolled another cigarette and mumbled something about people who never grow up.
Again the kitten smelled the milk and meowed. He certainly wanted food. I dropped a piece of cloth into the milk and held it to his mouth, and for a while he chewed with a sort of sucking sound, perhaps getting a few drops into his throat, but it seemed like a long operation. Then came the inspiration. From somewhere in the depths of my duffel bag I pulled out a dropper, quickly filled it with milk, and, holding the cat with one arm, I put the dropper between his teeth and squeezed. There was a gurgle, a look of intense surprise, another gurgle, and finally a sigh of complete satisfaction. The dropper was empty. Triumphantly I smiled at Pedro.
