Today I found five kittens in a bag in the dumpster at work. An hour before the trash truck would come to haul away the garbage. If you read First Boy on the Moon, you know where my mind went. Well, the sorry asshole that left these babies to die picked the wrong dumpster because I brought them all home in a saddlebag and they will not die. I'm bottle feeding them. I put them to be about 5 weeks old. They show interest in solid food, but not eating it yet. I'll nurse them until they're on solid food then take them to the no-kill shelter or find homes for them. And maybe keep the little grey runt because she thinks we're best friends. When I found them this afternoon they were so hot and hungry and likely slowly suffocating. They've each had a bath, a bottle and they're pretty rambunctious. Momma Girl is grooming them and loving on them.
I'm calling them the Puff Squad.
And may misery follow the sonofabitch who dumped them.
I'm taking care of my mom's furry twelve-year-old majesty, Kika, this week. She likes me, but would never admit it... 🙂
I have a weird thing with cats. My mother hated them when I was growing up and I always loved them and tried to befriend or care for the strays that came around. Now, I can't imagine my life without a pair of cats. If I could, I'd own ten of them. I encounter strays a lot and many of them come right up to me. When I go to someone's house and they have a cat, more times than not the cat will come get in my lap and my friends will say, "she never goes to strangers."
I identify with cats. They're outlaws, street tramps, night fighters. They're clever survivors, dangerously curious and silently deadly while being simultaneously cute and cuddly. I'd walk a tiger, race a cheetah, brush a lion's mane.
Some of you have read my books, but for those of you who haven't; when I was ten I was trying to care for a stray and her kittens and my mom's loser boyfriend killed them all while I was at a carnival. My little brother found them in the dumpster, all their necks broken. I took a whiffle ball bat to the sonofabitch and I swore to myself I'd help every cat I ever could,
I've been trying ever since.
I miss the little puffs. I'm glad they all went home, one way or another.
Great effort Rick, four bundles of joy bringing joy to four families.
Karma points in the bag.
Well, they're all gone now. The folks who were going to take Comet still wanted a kitten so I gave them the little female I was going to keep.
Pretty boring round here tonight.
I know, guys. It's just hard to sit and watch something so small and young and innocent go through such agony. He was crying out like a human baby at the end. Twice last night, I thought to end it, but I couldn't. I guess it's part of my psyche, going back to my mom's lousy boyfriend killing those kittens in 1976, that I feel like I have to feed or help or save every kitten. It's hard to fail something so frail.
He's buried now next to my good cat Blue. I hadn't named him because he was meant to go to a home and be named and loved. He's called Comet.
Oh, friend. I am so so so sorry. :(
Rick, I'm so sorry.
The only positive thought is that the poor wee fella had a short period of love and joy, with you and his brothers and sisters, before he passed.
Had you not rescued him he'd have died scared and alone in that dumpster.
Aw fuck. My heart breaks with yours. So sorry.
I tried my best.
He's dying. I can only hold him. It's fucking awful to look at.