I went on a special tour of the East Bay SPCA in Oakland and brought with me extra towels I no longer need to donate.
We went from the new facilities, very streamlined, to the cats, dogs, and birds in their enclosures and as I expected it hurt my heart to see them there and being unable to take them home with me. I have been there too many times in the past when Tango didn’t come home and I went to see if they had him.
One little black kitten cried and came up as close as he could against the cage wires and I stuck my fingers through and stroked his little head. I almost cried too. Where I live now is no place for a kitten, who needs lots of space. Both of the kittens I had at the house used to gallop up and down just out of exuberance and energy to burn. My two rooms won’t cut it. And what will happen to it when I pass?
I’m still not sure it was a good idea to go on this tour. The pain lingers.
….like this one? Each morning Mojo the Terrorist reduces my desk to a shambles. He pays particular attention to the USB ports behind my iMac and my notes, already piled haphazardly to the left of my keyboard, are now well scrambled. I might as well break a couple of eggs over them to complete the confusion.
He has drunk from my water glass and upset it despite my fractured vigilance while I attempt to do some work. And the keyboard, Ah! the keyboard, trampled as though by a cattle drive and flashing sundry apps on my desktop and losing me any files I am working on. I set him on the floor but in a minute he is back again by means of launching himself at my lap then vaulting to the desk. His launching pad–my thighs–are a network of scratches that sting almost as much as the wounds on my hands and fingers.
I must rescue him many times a day; once his cries brought me to him hanging from the lattice blinds, another time when his paw was caught in the cat door. His big sister Loaner has taken to hiding in the spare bedroom, but Mojo follows her right in and it does something to my heart when I find them both on the bed arranged like a pair of odd-sized commas as they nap. He follows her about and grooms himself whenever she does. I am counting on her to teach him the niceties of cat hood for he couldn’t have a sweeter role model for life.
But when his energy flags and he must sleep he nestles on my arm and I gather him close as he, purring, slumbers for a good hour as I work one handed. He is getting heavier each day and I am considering devising a sling for my arm.
When I read in bed the two of them lie with me, Loaner at my side and Mojo on my shoulder under my chin. My reading matter perforce must be slim enough to manage with one hand, and I really no longer care, in the warmth of these two companions.
My nephew comments via email that I must be absorbed in the new kitten. He has no idea.
10/03–A neighbor rescued three kittens he found at his place of work. He bathed the very dirty mites and plucked fleas for two hours. Finally, he posted a message on our neighborhood network offering them out for adoption.
Can this little thing exploring and hiding in every crevice my home has to offer, be real? No larger than the space bar on my keyboard, Squirt shows enterprise and a frightening appetite. I must remove the bowl or Squirt’s little belly might burst, so much like a hard round tennis ball it is. Being so hungry, without a mother to care for him/her will do that.
So far s/he has spent one night here and I find myself operating on two hours’ sleep. Loaner at first was only curious; now she is outraged at the little one’s encroachment. But my girl, true to character, does not attempt to hurt Squirt. I hope they will eventually bond; Squirt needs to cuddle.
This morning at 6:17 I arose to serve breakfast to Loaner and her brother whom I call Au Au for his tiny squeaks. Whenever he drops up from his home I must serve them separately. Today I had to run three positions. But I have good news from the neighbor: they will be keeping both of the Squirt’s siblings.
l0/07–Friends tell me Squirt must be examined by the vet for worms and I will do that.
10/11– It’s a boy! I have named him Mojo for Power and already he is bigger by 25%. At about six weeks he looks about right. The painfully bony spine and ribs are nicely covered and his galloping around the house is so comical he is a source of amusement I didn’t expect to find. And I looked over the edge of my bed at Loaner in her bed as I often do — and saw Mojo in there with her. Nooow we’re talking!