Weeks with current fosters: 7, 1
Days without hissing: 7
Days without being sneezed on: 0
You’ve got to take good things where you can get them, otherwise the bad ones will just crush you. We started out this week with one Buster and five little hobgoblins, a litter of sneezing, scrabbling, roly-poly six-week-old kittens. We ended this week with four of them. The runt, Cypress, hadn’t been gaining weight at the same rate as his siblings, and though Kas was syringe-feeding him twice a day, he wasn’t otherwise eating, nor was he really playing. When you’d go into the bathroom, he’d emerge from the giant box bed and sit on the floor and regard you with big, serious eyes — but that was it. We took them to the vet on Monday for a checkup and they gave him subcutaneous fluids, but it still didn’t help; he wouldn’t eat, he wouldn’t drink, he wouldn’t play. On Thursday, panicked, we took him to the vet, where they referred him to emergency care; there, they told us they weren’t sure what they could do but if the organization we foster for okayed it, they’d run some tests and see if they could help him.
Six hours later, we got word that he had had a congenital heart defect, and so they’d had to euthanize him.
Losing a kitten is hard. In our 16 months of fostering we’d already lost one, and that was traumatic enough I’m still not ready to talk about it. I’m still working on the narrative around losing Peggy. With Cypress, I truly believe we did all we could, and when a kitten is that young and that small and that weak, I imagine trying to fix his heart is beyond veterinary capabilities. I don’t know, but I have to assume. Anyway, Kas and I are sad about it. We’re not beating ourselves up — at least, I’m not, he doesn’t tell me everything, but he’s busy enough with the other ones there’s not a lot of time to wallow in misery. The other four need so much care: medications for their upper respiratory infections and ringworm and conjunctivitis in the morning, feeding three times a day, eye drops again in the evening, multiple sweepings and disinfecting of the bathroom, plus, you know, quality time, where you put on long pants and long sleeves and gloves and play with a wand toy or let them crawl on you. It’s a lot.
Really, it’s a lot for Kas. I’m trying to help by giving extra attention to Jenny and Clem and sweet Buster because he has, per mutual agreement, taken point on the serious kitten care. Once they’re better enough to move from the bathroom to the bedroom enclosure, I’ve promised to help more, but right now I just can’t do it. My mental health is very poor and it’s hard for me to get through the days caring for two cats and one foster, let alone four more. And honestly, I hate having to give up our nice clean bathroom to four messy little monsters. In theory, I resent the whole situation.
In practice, though, going in there and watching them frolic is pretty magical. It’s wildly different from how our fosters through Flatbush Cats have behaved, something you can mainly attribute to these guys having been rescued at such a young age — they didn’t spend enough time on the streets to become hardened, so to speak, so instead of hissing and hiding from you in fear, when you go into the bathroom and they’re awake they swarm you. Marlo wants to climb everyone; if she could get to the top of your head she’d do it. She climbs Kas and nestles on his neck, snottily breathing into his ear, content with being queen of Mister Mountain. Last night I went in to tidy up (really, I’m not shirking all my duties) and she climbed me, sat in my lap and started purring. If she weren’t a little disease vector it would’ve been entirely adorable. Instead I had to put my pants in the “kitten load” laundry bag and wash my hands up to my elbows, because of course I petted her. Who can refuse a purring kitten, all warm and needy in your arms, asking for nothing but love?
Next on the purring report, Buster’s been doing plenty of his own lately. Our apartment only has windows on the north side, and it’s naturally a bit cold, so while it’s very comfortable in the summer, one fall rolls around it gets quite chilly. This of course draws cats to you like little heat magnets, and young Buster is, happily, no exception. He’s slept with me four times over the past week, snuggling up on the comforter against my warm legs and purring like a small, happy engine. I can’t believe the boy he’s become since he first arrived. We made some great strides over the first five weeks — never mind how often I cried in frustration that we weren’t getting through to them, that we were failing them, that they’d never be socialized and we’d have to put them back on the streets — but after we separated him from Loko, he just opened up like a little furry flower. After dinner last night he did a “pet me I love you” dance with Kas for something like five minutes, just rubbing up against Kas’s legs and arms, butting his head into Kas’s hand, curling his tail around Kas’s leg. I never expected to see that kind of behavior from Buster. I thought he was reserved and shy and flighty and whoever adopted him would have to accept only seeing him at meal- and playtimes. I’m so glad and grateful I was wrong.
I’d like to end this entry on a happy note, since it started out so sad. I guess I’ll add a link to our wishlist, since that’s the way Little Wanderers supplies its fosters and we really need, like, everything on it. It’d be nice if they reimbursed, you know, instead of causing us to rely on the kindness of strangers, which feels very awkward. But we signed up for this to save these little kittens’ lives, and we’ve mostly succeeded (ugh) (UGH), so, as my dad says, you’ve got to dance with them what brung you, and in this case that means asking very sweetly for donations from said wishlist so we can continue to care for the four remaining snifflers. They have a lot of needs, and we’re trying very hard to fulfill them.