Two weeks ago, our family experienced 5 excruciating days (and sleepless nights) of kitty purgatory. I brought this upon our family, unwittingly, and am quite certain we won’t be able to allow it to happen again. Here’s fair warning. Don’t call the Smiths to ask if we will nurse a litter of kittens. The answer is “no”.
I wasn’t raised with pets. My dad was allergic to cats and my mom was raised on a farm. Cats were for catching mice in the barn and dogs were to help corral the cows. I don’t remember ever asking for a pet, but we did have two dogs growing up.
Pepper was a Chinese pug. She was older when we acquired her from a family we knew. I’m not sure why they gave her to us, but I was 8 or 9 and I remember running around with Pepper in our backyard for a year or two. When our family moved to Utah, we left Pepper with my grandparents at the farm. I’m fairly sure she died almost immediately. I want to believe that her age and a broken heart were to blame. I suspect, as an adult looking back, that the coyotes played a part in her short-lived farm experience.
When I was a sophomore, my grandmother passed away. Her unexpected death was difficult on my dad. He came home with Panda. This Siberian Husky puppy’s past was sketchy and her health was questionable. I was introduced to the concept of a canine dewormer and the resultant “waste”.
I didn’t feed Panda, nor did I play with her as I was much too preoccupied with my “oh so important” life. Panda was my dad’s back porch companion and was around for many years. She was always an outside dog. I’m not sure why, but again, as I look back as an adult I’m fairly certain her thick white coat might have been reason enough.
When Bailey was 6 and Emma was nearing her first birthday I mentioned that we were thinking about getting a dog for the kids. I must have been in the teachers’ lounge as a dear friend and veteran teacher overheard and offered our family her black cocker spaniel. We picked up Sweetie for a weekend test drive.
Prospective pet ownership lesson #1: A test drive with 2 young children will always result in pet ownership. There was no way either of our children would allow us to return Sweetie. They were in love, and Franklin and I felt obligated.
Sweetie had some interesting quirks. The kids were confused about her “fondness” for pillows. I can’t think of an appropriate way to describe her behavior around various cushions, but it was obvious to anyone in the room that Sweetie was particularly passionate about them. Additionally, I’ll never forget our first walk with Sweetie.
Unlike most canines, who apparently prefer to TCOB in dirt or grass, Sweetie took advantage of the middle of 18th Street in Portales. We were in the center of the street, quite literally between the lanes of traffic, when Sweetie squatted and refused to move. We had to drag her, mid squat, to the side of the road to save her life.
Sweetie was an indoor pet (we even have a family picture with Sweetie) until the birth of our third child, Caden. Simply put, I was over having an indoor pet. I wanted a spotless floor for Caden to crawl on and Sweetie, I reasoned, needed the fresh air. Sweetie has been with us for 11 years. She is deaf and we lovingly refer to her as our viejita.
Throughout the years we’ve humored the kids in their desire for more pets, having had a variety of beta and having once adopted two kittens, Max and Riley. We found Max and Riley on our doorstep when the kids were 12, 6, and 2 or so. Bailey had a cat at his dad’s house, and thought cats at our home would be fantastic. Franklin, Emma, and Caden are all allergic to a good many things including cats, and we hoped, after paying several hundreds of dollars to spay and neuter Max and Riley, they would hang around in the backyard napping and doing cute-cat kinds of things while being friendly to the occasional child that paid them a visit.
Franklin and the kids even wrote a song about our small zoo, singing it before bed every night. “Max and Riley, and Swee-tie too. Live outside under the big blu-oo. Mr. Blue Fee and Mr. Swimmy, don’t have to live out in the big blue sea, cause they live (clap, clap) with E-mma and Ca-den (clap), and Bailey too, yes they live (clap, clap) with E-mma and Ca-den (clap), and Bailey too! Aahhh, the joys of feline life.
It wasn’t long before Franklin and I came to call our kitties “kitties of the night”. We felt used and abused. We never saw them. When they got hungry they would perch themselves outside our bedroom bay window and scream, quite literally, at us. They wouldn’t let us near them, they were vicious around Sweetie, and we assumed they were fed by most of the families on the street. In fact, and this is not something we’re proud of, we left those cats on Aquarius Drive. They were not around the day we moved, I never could figure out how to transport them, and we were quite sure that they would be gone the minute we let them out in our new backyard.
I’d not thought of ever having a cat in our home again until 2 Fridays ago. A woman whom I’d taught with saw my Facebook post about Emma and her “volunteer internship” at our local veterinary clinic. She asked if we might be willing to nurse a litter of kitties until the vet opened Monday morning. Emma overheard the conversation. I couldn’t say no to her big brown eyes.
Lessons learned: inquire as to how old said kitties are, inquire as to whether said kitties know how to use a bottle, inquire as to the health of said kitties, and most importantly, ask if it has been determined for sure that the vet’s clinic accepts orphaned kitties.
After a trip to Wal-Mart to purchase bottles and formula, we brought four feeble kitties home and began our crash course in orphaned kitty care. The kids were immediately saddened to learn that the kittens had no clue about using a bottle. Feeding them alone was going to be harder than they thought. The kittens were also sick, and within 30 minutes I began to plan for how we would handle their death. This was going to be more emotional than we’d assumed.
The kids named the kittens immediately. The most pathetic of the litter was named Hope. The kids reasoned Hope, for whom there seemed little hope as she was the most confused about swallowing, needed all the hope she could get.
The first fatality followed shortly after settling in that first night. Caden, being a physical eight year old boy, was desperate to get the kitties to play with him. Even after several explanations that they needed to stay together in their box for warmth, Caden had his favorite, whom he’d named Rhinestone, out on the floor “playing” in Emma’s bedroom. Emma stepped off her bed after feeding another kitty, and unknowingly stepped on Rhinestone. It was horrible. The kids were devastated, Franklin was frustrated, and I was beside myself, watching Caden and Emma struggle with guilt and heartbreak.
All of the kittens had extreme difficulty breathing, so Emma set up a humidifier. They had crusty, infected eyes and noses, so Emma diligently wiped their eyes and noses with wet cotton balls. I’m not exactly sure why she was cleaning their bottoms with Vaseline, but if a website said it was a good idea, Emma did it. She even learned the ins and outs of kitten CPR. We drew the line at mouth to mouth. Despite our encouragement to remain detached, Caden fell in love next with Cookie, and despite Emma’s research and steadfast care, Cookie passed away Saturday afternoon and Cream passed on Sunday.
Remarkably, Hope seemed stronger and began taking more milk and eating more often. We were so proud of the kids for their diligent care and were happy for Hope, knowing the vet’s care would be a greater quality than we could offer, as we headed to the clinic on Monday morning. The thought had crossed my mind, What if the veterinary’s clinic won’t take orphaned kittens that required bottle feeding?, but my friend seemed sure that our tour of duty would be over when we reached the clinic Monday morning. I put my doubts to rest prematurely. I should have prepared more thoroughly for that scenario.
The veterinarian looked at Hope and was generous in giving us an antibiotic, but caring for Hope was too big a commitment for the clinic. No need to explain that commitment to me. We’d been living it for three days.
I spent a good majority of Monday and Tuesday communicating back and forth with people my Facebook friends suggested as possible options for Hope’s continued care. I was so grateful when a placement was found with an experienced animal rescue provider and Hope was settled into her new home. I’ve not heard about Hope’s progress since then. I would like to simply assume she’s continued to gain strength and is well.
Caden and Emma have mentioned Hope in the days since, but remarkably, they do not seem too worse for the wear. I know Emma learned much about the care of kittens, and much about inevitable loss when caring for sick and orphaned animals. I think they both have a better understanding of the care and commitment pets require. Having to stay fairly close to the house and make herself available for feedings every 3 hours round the clock gave Emma a small taste of parenthood, and while I warmed the bottles in the middle of the night for her (as sleeping through a cry is not something I can easily do), I woke Emma up and made her feed the kittens. All in all, I can see some positives in this experience, but it’s one Franklin and I will pass on in the future. I imagine Emma, however, will have a soft spot in her heart for animal rescue for the rest of her life.
Emma turned 12 on Thursday. Her one gift request was a hedgehog. I should probably have done more research on the ins and outs of hedgehog ownership before I said “yes”. You would think I would have conceptually learned a lesson from our weekend of kitty purgatory but again, Emma’s brown pleading eyes tipped the scales in my internal struggle. I’ll keep you posted.