Kitten caboodle

Meet the new meat…

Okay, let me back up and start at the beginning. Sunday afternoon a friend of mine called me and dramatically announced, “I’ve got to ask you to go beyond the bounds of friendship.” I held my breath and waited for a plea for bail money that I just don’t have on hand; instead he was asking me to take in a stray kitten. Well hell, I do that sort of thing all the time. What I failed to grasp was that this was going to be a “special needs” case: this is an itty bitty, fits-in-the-palm-of-your-hand kind of kitten. Maybe 2, 3 weeks old at most. I was going to have to go to the store – on the night before Memorial Day, no less – and try to find some sort of milk that this kitty would drink. As it so happens, whoever’s running the Alma Wal-Mart is thinking on their feet – they had actual kitten milk replacement formula, which our little friends likes very much. Seems that whoever stocks that store realizes that they’re not just up against the IGA and the Harp’s down the road, but the two farm supply/feed stories down the highway. (And before anyone gets on my ass for going to Wal-Mart: guess which of these stores was open at 7pm on the Sunday night before Memorial Day?)

Anyway, kitty has some drainage from his or her left eye (after a brief inspection of the business end of the kitty, I think we’re dealing with a him, but I don’t exactly have a great cat-sexing track record). This one will need to go to the vet soon for a checkup. After that…who knows? I’m trying to find a good forever home for the little guy, with the understanding that whoever takes him in will have to deal with some “special needs” – i.e. bottle-feeding, weaning, lots of TLC because this is – as my son puts it – a Kitty Baby. He’s gentle with the little kitty, but if he’s walking or dancing around and being playful, is completely oblivious to where the kitty is…so that rules out keeping the cat here for much longer. I just can’t put my hand on my heart and swear that I can keep an eye on both of the “kids” at the same time. To give him credit, the kitty is playful and likes romping around in the “tall grass” of our only-semi-deep-pile carpet…whatever cruel twist of fate left him soaked to the bone at a local park hasn’t turned him into a little terror. He just wants to cuddle…with my wife! He’s decided, since she dished out the kitten milk formula to him, that she’s “mom.” There aren’t words to describe how thrilled she is with this development.

There also aren’t words to describe how thrilled Olivia isn’t with this development. If anyone was thinking that some dormant motherly instinct would assert itself and help her nurse the kitty to health, well…wrong! Oberon, on the other hand, being a former stray, is very laid back about the whole thing. He’s actually helping to look after the little one. Me, I’m stuck out here with Olivia – i.e. the queen of sulk (who really needs to get over herself) – and with Evan waking up crying every couple of hours. Which explains why I’m blogging at half past one in the morning.

There’s more to tell, but most of it doesn’t revolve around this intensely cute kitten, so I’ll save it for another day.