A few weeks ago I posted something on Facebook about the mother cat who gave me the “gift” of bringing her very young kittens to live in my backyard. And since a few people have inquired, here’s what’s going on with the kitties . . .
First, we lost one a few weeks ago. She was only about 6 weeks old at the time, really REALLY sick, and I was debating what to do with her. Every veterinary medical professional I consulted told me not to touch her, and to let her mother take care of her. I was afraid to walk out of my house every day for fear that her little cold body would be laying on my porch. But, again, the mother did me a favor by taking the kittens away for a day, and when she returned, the little sick kitty was no longer with her.
And then there were three.
I clearly couldn’t keep them. My cat situation is hardly ideal. I have two cats that hate each other. Okay, that’s not fair. Phoebe hates Bailey, but Bailey LOVES Phoebe. The problem is that Bailey’s version of playing is Phoebe’s idea of assault. When Phoebe feels violated, she becomes nervous and pees everywhere. When I brought Bailey in (because he, too, was born in my backyard), Phoebe exhibited stress behavior, and the cat behaviorist at Anti-Cruelty told me that they should be separated. And they’ve been separated ever since. It completely sucks, and my house is one closed door away from being a feline battle zone, but that’s the only way that I can have them both.
Besides . . . as my friend Jen pointed out . . . I’m one cat away from being the official single cat lady, and never getting a date again. (Doesn’t seem promising, even without cats, but I guess that’s beside the point)
So . . . I wasn’t sure of what to do with these little kitties. I tried several no-kill shelters, but none of them were accepting new kitties. I tried to explain that they were really cute and sweet (I would be proven wrong on the “sweet” part later), but one of the women — the nicest one — reminded me that most kittens are cute and sweet (which I suspect is the only thing that keeps you from killing them when they’re adults — kinda like kids. But I digress.)
I didn’t want to send them to Anti-Cruelty for fear that they would be euthanized. In the meantime I fed them and their mother twice daily. And, I learned an interesting tidbit — if you feed a stray animal for 7 straight days, that animal is considered to be yours, legally. So technically, those cats were mine. All mine.
But I’m happy to report that Jen saved the day. She and her husband adopted (read: came and picked up) ALL THREE kittens, brave souls that they are.
It was a bit of a surprise. The three of us had brunch a few weeks ago, and when I mentioned the kittens to Jen, she looked at her husband hopefully. Fletch said, definitively, “No more cats!”
The unfortunate death of one of her older cats changed their minds, and Jen wrote me an email in the middle of the night — from her vacation (later she would confide that she was “tipsy”) — to ask if the cats were still around. Of course they were.
A few days later I trapped the kitties, which was both exciting and heartbreaking. Jen said that she would take mother and babies, but I knew the mother would be hard, if not impossible, to catch, so I focused on the little ones. I set up a rudimentary but sufficient “trap,” which consisted of a plate of tuna and a cat carrier.
I transferred the kitties to a larger cage in my basement.
Now . . . when you think of kittens, you think of sweet, playful creatures who cuddle and purr, correct? Oh, not these kittens. These were the scratching, biting, mean variety of wild kittens. I couldn’t figure out why something that has been alive for a mere nine weeks, and weighs less than one pound has so much venom?? Where did that come from?? I had no idea. They seemed sweet enough as they plowed through their kitten chow every morning!
It was a nightmare getting them from my cage to Jen’s carrier. Fletch had to don the leather gloves for protection from the scrappy little kittens. They were squirmy and I was nervous that one of them would get away and become a permanent fixture in the bowels of my basement. Which would suck. Tremendously.
As happy as I was that they had a great home, I hated to see them upset. Jen said it best when she said that the cats thought they were being kidnapped rather than rescued.
Long story (that could get longer) short, we got them in the cage, and after an extended (expensive) vet visit, the kitties are now healthier and happy in their new home with a loving family of people and animal-siblings.
Nice to have a happy ending in this economy! I’m just happy that I can visit occasionally.