I promised you more of my kitten story and then I left you hanging. Seriously though, one of these days I’m going to get myself on some sort of reliable schedule for getting things done. Actually, who am I kidding? I should just be glad I’m getting to this now. Stories are timeless, right?
But anyway, previously on “ridiculous things I get myself into”, I found myself the caretaker of 4 kittens. Children of an unfit mother. Now, we tried to catch their mom. We tried real hard. We wanted her to take responsibility for the children she bore and to make sure she doesn’t find herself in this situation again.
We thought it would be easy. Afterall, we had tried to catch a raccoon once and all we managed was a cat. Which is proof enough for me that cats can be trapped. But she was a street cat. She’d seen a thing or two in her day. Namely, traps. Because she set that trap off 3 times. And with the skill of a cat ninja, managed to keep from actually becoming contained in said trap. And then she simply disappeared.
So we were left with her abandoned children. All four of them.
I remember joking with the vet when we found Sampson all alone. “Thank goodness it’s just one!” Whether to blame Murphy and his law or an Alanis Morrisette type of irony, that one baby was now four babies. And I was their new mom.
And being a mom to newborn baby kittens was a lot like being mom to newborn humans. Every 2-3 hours I found myself bottle feeding them. Getting up in the middle of the night, warming up a bottle, feeding each of them one at a time, making sure they got enough. Weighing them after each feeding.
And then I had to help them pee and poop. Which, for 4 kittens born to a feral mom meant they were infested with worms. Which meant diarrhea. Times 4. On everything. So needless to say, feeding took awhile, and I was going on very little sleep and feeling very zombie like. My husband helped quite a bit, taking over some night feedings but I was pretty spent.
It wasn’t more than a couple days in when I noticed the little striped one, one of the smallest of the group, wasn’t as active as the others. He would eat, but he did a lot more laying around and just seemed low energy. I figured it would be a good idea to take them in and get them all checked out.
Let me tell you, you bring a posse of newborn kittens anywhere, and there is some powerful baby animal summoning power. People will literally stop whatever they are doing, no matter how dire, to see these precious angels. They will beg you to see them. And then they will have to contain themselves simply to not beg to take them home. One simply cannot resist the pull of baby animal magic. It’s some super sorcery.
And that is what I found taking these precious angels to the vet. Technicians swarmed me. People abandoned their own ailing pets to see these little balls of fluff. But no matter how much adoration a veterinarian has for an animal, it doesn’t always transfer to the kitten’s owner. And their people skills sometimes lack. Which is what I found when the vet came in and simply stated “the kitten is in the process of dying.” In shock, I simply said, “okay.” But what I really wanted to do was burst into tears. Because I had already failed my kitten mom duties.
They did, however, give him some fluids and sent him home with “good luck” as I gathered my little herd up and took them home. Now that little guy got all sorts of loves and snuggles. He was our favorite and no one wanted to see him go. Which is why, miracle of miracles, we were all so happy to see him all perked up the next day. He pulled through!
Now at this point, I was in full emotional mommy anxiety mode. I was so afraid I was going to kill one of these kittens. They are so little that just the smallest setback can mean their demise. And that just wasn’t good for my heart. Or my anxiety. Which got even worse the following day when my husband took off for a 5 day trip.
Now, not only was I on soul feeding duty, I had unbelievable paranoia that one of these kittens would up and die on me. I was in a state of emotional disrepair. I was overtired, barely functioning, alone, and the kittens suddenly started showing bizarre behaviors like sucking on one another’s genitals. I was not well.
So when my little striped friend once again started showing signs of lethargy, I freaked out. And of course this had to happen during the weekend when no vets are open. All we had was the animal hospital. So, I scooped all 4 kittens up (so I could feed them if it took awhile) and drove to the hospital. I was hoping they simply could give him some more fluids and he would be good again.
Hesitantly, I handed my baby kitten, looking so terribly small, to the assistant. They took him back, holding him hostage while they told me there was a 3-6 hour wait. But I was willing for my little guy. I sat with my three other babies in a room with a cat who was having surgery complications and a dog who had a run in with a porcupine. We chatted, sharing pet stories as if we were huddled around a campfire instead of worry stricken over our furry friends.
And that’s when the assistant came out. Less than an hour later. And gave the diagnosis as I sat and listened, nodding my head, not knowing what else to do as I awaited the bad news.
“Well, we took a good look at Jessie. We took his temperature. Watched his behavior. And…”
I waited, holding my breath.
“We see nothing wrong with him.”
Record scratch.
“He’s acting just fine. And everything looks great. You can take him home. If he starts acting badly again or starts vomiting, bring him back in.”
Well, that was not what I was expecting, but I certainly wasn’t going to argue it if he was acting just fine. And they weren’t even going to charge me. So, feeling a little silly, I skipped on home with my four baby kitties.
And that was when he vomited. As soon as I got home. Not only did he vomit, he couldn’t stand without falling over. Like the stereotypical drunk guy you saw in the old movies, he’d stand up and fall sideways. Over and over again. The little trooper was trying so hard.
So I scooped him up and back to the hospital I went. Where the reception wasn’t exactly what I imagined it would be.
Assistant: Why are you back?
Me: He vomited and couldn’t stand.
Assistant: Does he get carsick?
Me: He didn’t on the way here. And you said to come back if he vomited.
So she scooped him up and took him back once again.
Another hour I waited. The puppy pin cushion had been seen and was doing just fine but the surgery gone wrong cat remained.
Finally, they called me back. And this is where the vet told me the news…
“He’s acting just fine. We see nothing wrong with him.”
Really?!?! What is up with this cat? Is it like my kids who go all drama llama on me only to be little saints for everyone else?
The vet then explained that some kittens just don’t survive. They don’t thrive and their bodies just give up. She also said that they didn’t have the equipment to treat kittens this small. So basically, he would either live or die and there was nothing they could do about it.
And then they charged me $200 and sent me on my way.
The good news is, this possum playing kitten survived. He’s just fine and has become my little shadow, following me wherever I go.
As for the other 3, they are just fine too. At one point we thought we would get rid of a couple. But the thing is, we don’t know which two we would get rid of. They are all so special and each of us have our favorites. So they stayed with us. And are now a part of the clan.
