A KITTEN STORY: PART I

Last Wednesday, while Russ was visitng his mom in the hospital, I drove home alone and found a kitten on my front lawn. Barely even a kitten, the little thing could not have been any more than 48 hours old—palm-sized, eyes closed and the stubble of the umbilical cord still attached. It was “mewing” to beat the band, which was the only way I recognized it as a feline, not a rodent. Very small… and very upsetting.

Upsetting, because I had no idea what to do. First, I called Mary, remembering that Slayer came to them at a very young age (though not this young, to be sure!) and she gave some good advice about goat’s milk and feeding with an eyedropper. I looked on my computer, and learned that warmth was essential. It was a pleasant day, so I left the kitten on the lawn for 30 minutes or so, hoping mama would return to pick up her baby, but that didn’t happen. Eventually I got a box and towels and set up a safe haven for the little guy while I ran off to the nearest pet store for something to feed him.

That evening, and that night (2am and 5am) I fed the kitten warm formula from an eyedropper, and in the morning, I called several local pet organizations, hoping someone would have a litter where a surrogate mother might take this one in as her own. Not only did I find no litter, but I discovered that one place had completely closed down, and the Humane Society is all volunteer, so you can leave a phone message and they’ll call you back in 24-48 hours—not very helpful at the moment. Also, the ASPCA Shelter is currently under renovations, so they’re not accepting animals at this time.

What to do? I was advised to start calling local vets. The first was busy, but to my amazement, the second said they were already bottle feeding a two week old kitten, so sure, bring this one over! I was so relieved and packed up the little guy for the journey.

The lady at the vet was so nice, and showed me the two week old kitten, who was ABSOLUTELY ADORABLE, and it amazed me to no end that as little as 10 to 14 days could turn this little runt from something resembling a field mouse to a full-fledged feline. She took my name and number and said she would call me if anyone decided to adopt the little guy. (I think I may have given her the impression I would love to keep him, but I just couldn’t take care of him, and I went on and on, etc. etc…)

Well, I left him there, glad all had turned out well. But a couple of hours later I got a call from the vet’s office, telling me that they had given him fluids and done everything they could, but “he didn’t make it,” and “he was just probably too young.”

Totally bummed out by this news. I even went so far as to wonder if this “nice vet’s office” had simply taken one look at the little guy and said, “Eh. More trouble than he’s worth. Let’s just give him the shot.” Because when I had left him he was still “mewing” to beat the band.

But the more I thought about it, the more I realized the odds were against him from the start. I read online that even among healthy kittens that have every advantage, 10-30% will die. This one was definitely too young to be separated from his mother. And why had the mother left him, anyway? It struck me that maybe she had a large litter, and while moving them, instinctively knew he wasn’t going to make it and left him behind, so there would be more food for the ones who did have a fighting chance.

There are cats at the end of our street. I don’t know if they’re feral, or simply somebody’s outdoor cats. I think they must belong to someone, because they always look so clean and healthy. If they’re feral, someone is at least feeding them well. One of these must be the mother. But I have not yet seen any evidence of a litter. I’m going to keep my eyes open during the next few weeks.

In the meantime, every time I come home from work, I look at the spot on the lawn where I found the little kittle, and get a stab of melancholy. Yet, I can’t help thinking this was not just a random occurrence. Call it a mid-life crisis, but lately I’ve been feeling like I’m too wrapped up in my own life, wondering what I can do to make a difference in my world. Blogs and podcasts are fun, but they’re simply entertainment, a diversion. I’ve been looking for something that touches my heart, a cause I can get excited about, a way to truly make someone’s life truly better.

No, we are not adopting a new cat. But I have at least decided to start donating to the Humane Society, and if I can figure out where to find the time, I would not be averse to volunteering. Of course, there is a danger in volunteering. Well, two dangers, actually. One: I would have to be convinced that there is no way whatsoever I would bring home fleas or any terrible cat diseases to Squee. Secondly, the reason Squee is a member of our family at all is because Mary volunteered at Cats Exclusive and fell in love with the little kittle then known as “Zorro.” (By the way, here is a recent picture of Squee as the great outdoors adventurer. With the weather getting warmer, we’ve been letting him out in the yard now and then, and he loves it!)

As much as I love cats, I don’t want any more at this time. That day may come, when I’m old and gray, but right now, Russ and I are in agreement on this. But I still would love to help the animal community in some way. That having been said, I’ve had another idea, a big idea about something to do in the future when I have more time and money (in fact, this might be a “When I win the lottery” type of idea) but I’ve said enough already for one post, so I’ll get back to this at a later date.

The main point I’m making here is that I believe God in His wisdom orchestrated the events I’m relaying here, and that one of the purposes of it all was to help break me out of this self-contained bubble I’ve been in for far too long. I’m no Mother Theresa, never will be, but I know I can do more than I do. Maybe it’s time to start trying.

And oh yes—I’ve got this firm image in my head that when I die and go to Heaven and am surrounded by all my beloved pets that have gone on before me, among all the furry, smiling faces, will be one more beautiful black cat to whom I’ll say “I’m so sorry…but I don’t believe I knew you.” And this cat will say (because it’s my belief that on the other side, if animals can’t actually “talk,” they will at least be able to communicate with us in some way), this cat will say, “Yes, you did know me. You tried to help me when I was the tiniest newborn. I was not meant for that world, but came directly here, but I have not forgotten you, and the way you tried your best to take care of me. My mother abandoned me, but you cared about me and tried to find me the help I needed. And for that, I belong to you always.”

This scene is strong in my mind. It may be because I recently read a brief review about this book, Heaven is for Real, written by a boy, with his father (and with help from a “real writer”) about his experiences when he died on the operating table and went to heaven and met, among his other dead relatives, a miscarried little sister he never even knew he had. That story sent chills up my spine and reminded me that Heaven is real, and I’m going there someday, and when I do, there are many people I’ll meet again. And animals, too, of course. And it’s a happy thought.

Only now, when I think about it, I didn’t read this book review until AFTER the incident with the little kittle. So that is actually NOT what put the idea in my head that I’ll meet this kitty again.

Maybe the idea is just in my head because it’s true.