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.
I expected to find him dead when I got home tonight. I prepared myself for that. The little guy is doing just a bit better. He's not as cold to the touch, not quite as weak and despondent. He was able to get himself up on the bed and he came and limped over for feeding time, but didn't eat. Managed to get some water and formula in him. We don't stop fighting around here until there's no fight left. He's got some fight left.
I don't pray, but if I did....
Thinking of you and your little kit.
It's been a long night. I'm trying. When I got home, he was warmer, but lying splayed out on the floor. I got some sugar water in him and a little bit of kitten formula, but he hasn't been staying near the heater or in his blanket. He's cold again, but sleeping. He seems the tiniest bit stronger, but his temperature is not good. I'm tired. It's time to sleep, for both of us, and hopefully he's got some fight left in him in the morning. He seems to have surrendered, though. It's heart wrenching, but I haven't given up yet.
Hopefully the wee fella is a fighter, I'd never heard of that condition.
Looking it up online, it seems a nightmare. So many different elements.
Only two of the Puff Squad left. I'm keeping one, but the other is suddenly fading. Fading kitten syndrome, I think they call it. Came home last night to find him lethargic and cold. Noticed his back legs weren't too stable. The day before he was running and playing. I've seen this before. I've got to get his core temp back up and then try and get his blood sugar up. Unfortunately, the next twelve crucial hours, I'll be at work. I've had him in front of a heater all night and morning, he;s a little warmer. My only option while I'm at work is leaving him wrapped in a war towel and not putting the AC on. Without the AC, this trailer will get as warm as an incubator. If his temp is up when I get home, I start him on simple syrup.
C'mon, little guy. Hang in there. There's a home waiting for you.
Next time just send a photo. No need to paint on velvet.
This little dude went to his new home today. It was a tough goodbye.
That Jerseyfornia is one bad mother...
Shut your meowth!
They're on solid food now. Got a commitment for one to be adopted.
I'm gonna miss being a mom.
How anyone can resist a kitten, I surely don't know. Thank you for takeing care of them, Rick!