Kittens, kittens everywhere!

(Much like people parties where people congregate in the kitchen, kitten parties seem to congregate around the litter box.)

As I've alluded in the past, this past summer was a crazy, kitten filled one for both Wayne and I.  I work (and by "work", I mean volunteer) closely with a local rescue organization in Boise called Northwest Animal Companions, or NAC for short.  Many of the board members work at The Cat Doctor with me, and so I frequently get suckered into doing things I probably don't have time for.  But, we have the means and I'm a big believer in giving back to the community, even if it's just the future cat owning community.

(My first litter on the day they went to the Petsmart adoption center)

The summer started out slow as far as kittens were concerned.  I had been back in town and working for a couple of weeks before I got a call from the infamously pushy Nina saying they had a feral mother and four kittens that needed fostering immediately.  I sighed and agreed knowing full well it was going to be a slippery slope from then on.  It's not that I have a problem saying No if I really need to.  It's that I have a problem saying No if I probably shouldn't but can somehow squeeze it in.  Shortly after taking in Momma (Penney) and four kittens (Benney, Lilac, Sandy and Sampson), someone brought in a nearly dead tortoiseshell kitten that was only about three weeks old.  

We nursed her back to health, and I suddenly had 5 kittens and one adult cat.  She was named "Minnie" because she was so tiny, and when I brought her home I decided to see if Momma would take her in with the rest of her litter.  She did, and Minnie spent her days with Momma and her new brothers and sisters, and the nights in her own heated box (so I could make sure she was getting enough to eat).  Soon after Minnie's arrival, I woke up one morning to find her almost dead.  Wayne and I rushed her to the hospital in our PJ's, and after 45 minutes of trying to save her, 

she passed.  I was devastated, and blamed myself for not taking better care of her.  Since I'm a very active griever, and Wayne and I went out that day and bought supplies to set up a "real" kitten rescue so we could move the kitties out of the spare bathroom and into our spare bedroom.

I had a constant ebb and flow of kittens all summer, with my maximum level at 15 at one time.  Although I remember each and every kitten I had, I'll only talk about the extra special ones (even though I loved them all). I had a few litters that only needed to be "speed gentled," as they were old enough to be adopted but hadn't much exposure to humans.  They were always quick learners and came around fast.  I started joking about my "calf-cow" operation and how I was trying to get the kittens to "market weight" as quickly as possible so they could go to market.  (They can't be vaccinated until they're two pounds, as that's usually their weight at 8 weeks of age.)

Soon after Minnie died, I got a call from the director of NAC who said someone had left a box of four tiny kittens on her doorstep. 

(Baby Teddy)

They'd need to be bottle fed, she'd said, and I happily agreed.  These four were probably the most delightful kittens I've ever had.  Bottle-fed kittens are notorious for being mentally unstable and lack important things like bite inhibition and the concept of boundaries.  I wanted to make my bottle babies the nicest babies anyone had met.  They were handled constantly, and came to work with me in my bicycle bags (with a hot water bottle when it was chilly, of course).  I reveled in watching them grow and develop, and was constantly amazed with what they instinctively knew.  I remember the first day the biggest kitten of the litter, Spots, gave himself a bath after eating.  He seemed to know he had to do SOMETHING, but wasn't completely sure what that was.  His little tongue was moving and his paw was up, but he hadn't connected the two yet.  Spots was the bruiser of the litter, and developed faster than his littermates.  He developed the ability to play first, and would tackle his smaller siblings with gusto while they squirmed and cried out.  Daisy was the biggest girl in the litter, and had some of her bigger brother's bullying tendencies.  She and Spots would gang up on the other two quite frequently, although I'd seen the two wrestle around before. She was a sweet girl, albeit too busy most times to snuggle.  

Teddy was my favorite--he was an all-black boy with a sweet, pleasing nature.  He loved to be stroked and handled, and was quite content to spend time sitting in my lap quietly watching the others run around.  Don't get me wrong--he could be very rambunctious and playful.  He did a good job sticking up for himself with his brother, but was always kind and fair.  

Petunia (pictured at right as a teeny baby and at left just before they went to be adopted) was the runt of the litter, and a very sweet little girl.  She was a lot like Teddy, although she could be a little standoffish like her sister at times.  I loved this litter, and although they sometimes drove me NUTS while I was trying to bottlefeed them, I miss them and was very sad to see them go.  

I had one litter of kittens (other than the bottle babies) that we had for almost the entire summer.  They had been found on a boat, and thus were named Gilligan, Skipper, Ginger, Minnow and The Professor.  Gilligan, Minnow, and The Professor were three of the dumbest cats I've ever had the pleasure of knowing.  They were just not smart, but it made them so sweet and endearing.  Little Minnow would follow me everywhere while I cleaned the kitten room (a chore that needed to be done at least once a day).  He used to fall over backwards while gazing adoringly up at me.  He was a runty little one!

My last memorable litter of kittens came in about halfway through the summer.  It was another case I thought would be a quick turnaround, as I'd been assured they were "market weight" and just needed some human handling before they could be put up for adoption.  It was two boys and a girl, and the little female kitten tried to take my hand off when I reached for her the first time. 

 They were a non-descript litter of black and white kittens with huge worm-filled bellies.  The two brothers seemed to be nice enough, but the sister was so vicious I was having a tough time getting to know and handle them.  Surprisingly, she was the first to start to come around.  I named the brothers Ditto and Moe, and the little girl Midi.  She used to surprise me because I'd be cleaning the kitten room and I'd turn around and she would be sitting and staring at me with a look of contemplation and satisfaction.  It's hard to describe how it was, but it always struck me through.  I had just started to make progress with them when one day, I came home from work and found Midi in the heart-wrenching position that animals take when they're in the process of dying.  She was stretched out and not moving, and had that horrible blank stare on her face.  I pulled her out of the cage and clutched her limp little body to my chest as sobs escaped me and I ran to the phone.  None of the vets answered until I'd gone through the list a second time.  Dr. Fost answered my call and calmly talked me through what I needed to do and I thanked her and hung up.  I put warm sugar water under little Midi's tongue, and when nothing happened, retired to the living room to hold the sweet little kitten and give her some comfort while she died.  Amazingly, she started to move and then to cry out.  I set up a heating pad and stayed up all night with her feeding her sugar solution every two hours.  In the morning, she crashed again, and I drove to the vet quickly.  We got her stabilized, and she again came home with me.  Midi crashed again several times over the next few days.  She had terrible diarrhea and I was terrified she had something contagious that would infect my other kittens.  I didn't sleep for three days, but it was all worth it.  The picture above at at left is one I took when I was fairly certain she was going to make it, even though she was still very sick.  I had been too afraid to take pictures of her while she was very sick, as I was afraid she'd die and I didn't want to remember her as a sick little kitten.  The picture below is a week or so after her recovery.  I would often sit in the kitten room, and she came over and spent an hour rubbing and purring the loudest purr I've ever heard.  I like to think it was her way of saying "thank you."

Little Midi made it through, and I remember being ecstatic when she made a solid turd.  Over the moon ecstatic.  She recovered quickly and gained back her weight and playfulness in about two weeks' time.  It was hard to let her go.  I felt such a connection to her before she got sick, and that connection only grew stronger as I nursed her back to health.  But I knew she would find a good home, and I only hoped that one day I could be her veterinarian.

During this entire time, Momma cat nursed any kitten we had.  She taught all of them manners and would sit and groom random kittens for hours.  When she walked into the room, even the most shy kitten would be coaxed out of the corners by her voice and would romp and play near her.  She had tried to nurse the bottle babies, but they had long since dismissed her as any source of food.  She did teach them manners, though!  I learned that the waiting list for adults was 71 cats long and that getting Momma on that list would mean we'd still have her for months, maybe even years.  Despite the fact we had three other cats, I talked to Wayne about it.  He held fast that we couldn't keep her, and I gave up.  At the end of the summer, I was able to spay her myself (my first surgery!).  The day after, I mentioned to Wayne I needed to call and get her on the waiting list, and he said that wouldn't be necessary.  I asked what he meant, and he said that after she took care of 30 foster kittens, the least we could do was give her a good home.  (That's why I love this man, by the way)  I told him I'd have to leave her there in Boise, and he grumped about it a little, but now she's his favorite cat.