First thing: Agata was adopted Friday night!
Still no adoption love for Razzie, but I think that means the universe has someone super-awesome-special for her, and they just haven’t made it to Petsmart yet. Lisa (who was doing adoptions Saturday) had Razzie out in a harness and on a leash, and Razzie had a great time exploring, knocking things down, and meeting dogs (one of whom needed a pat on the nose from the Razzie Paw o’ Doom). She’s such a sweet girl. I wish her people would hurry up!
Fianna and Kennebec are still waiting for their forever homes, too. Lisa reported that Kennebec sucked on her shirt a little, purring like a crazy man, and just hearing that made me need to go pick up a kitten and squeeze him!
Before you start reading this, please know: it does not have a sad ending.
Friday morning when I walked into the foster room, I couldn’t find Tony Rocky Horror Pickle. The door to his cage was still closed (when we went to bed the night before, Fred had pushed the door closed, but not latched it so that if Tony RH wanted out, he’d just need to push on the door and could get out that way. I walked all over the room, looked everywhere, and then called down to Fred (who had the day off from work) to ask if he’d come up and help me look. It took a few more minutes before Fred realized that Tony was still in the cage. He was behind the cat bed, laying cold and still, in a puddle of urine.
We truly thought he had passed away. Fred picked him up, and then Tony’s mouth opened. I wrapped him in a warm blanket, and brought him downstairs, where I sat on the couch with him. He was so cold and still and barely breathing, that we both believed it was only going to be a matter of time. We discussed what to do and decided to try to get some fluids into him. I didn’t think it would do any good, but it was certainly worth a try. So I syringed some Pediasorb into his mouth, which he swallowed. And then I syringed some more in, and he swallowed it. I held him on a warming pad on my lap, and at one point he cried out and arched his back and I didn’t think it would be long. I think it was about an hour and a half after we found him that all of a sudden he rolled onto his stomach and looked up at me and said “What?”
So he is still with us. He’s eating, his diarrhea is much improved, and he’s irritated by the fact that he’s now in a cage that he can’t escape – the litter box thing isn’t really clicking with him 100%, and while I’m letting him out into the room when I’m in there, I find it easier to keep him confined rather than continually stepping in puddles of urine or piles of poop. When he’s gotten a bit bigger and can demonstrate that he knows what litter boxes are and how to use them ALL the time, then he can stay out of the cage.
I check on him constantly, even getting up every few hours during the night to see how he’s doing, and he seems to be doing fine.
He was SO loud and vigorous and full of life Thursday night that it never occurred to us that there was going to be a problem overnight. This crash took me completely by surprise, and I am truly hoping that it doesn’t happen again. When we found him Friday morning, I would have said there was no chance that he was going to make it. Now I am cautiously optimistic that he will. I wish he’d bulk up (I’m pushing food at him constantly, and he eats pretty well for a little guy), and I’ll be glad to see him feeling well enough to play, but for now he’s hanging in there.
Also, regarding Tony Rocky Horror Pickle, I know he’s a little odd looking. He’s got a high forehead (a fivehead!) and a pointy nose, and he kind of looks like a character from a Tim Burton movie, or a rat. Is it just because he’s so emaciated, is it genetic, will he grow out of it? I don’t know. I do know that he’s the sweetest little monkey and I cannot stop (gently!) kissing his tiny little head.
Today, we focus on Wellington!
You’ll have to forgive the small number of pictures of Wellington which were obviously all taken at about the same time. Wellington appears to be somewhat camera shy, at least when he knows the camera is pointed at him!
Wellington’s favorite place to hang out is the cat tree in the guest bedroom. The morning sun comes through there, and he likes to warm his furs while watching birds and assorted bugs go by. If I can’t find him, he’s either on that cat tree, or the one in the front room. Wellington is a tree dweller, is what I’m saying.
Wellington is SUCH a tree dweller that on Saturday he headed up the steps in the front room that lead to the platform over the couch… where Stinkerbelle was! He was halfway up when he heard her growling, and instead of thinking “I should maybe not go up here”, he thought “Hey, who’s that?!”, and when I came in to rescue him from his certain doom (Stinkerbelle was growling at him and she meant BUSINESS) he was standing on the top step, his front paws on the platform, looking at her with great interest.
Like the rest of his litter, he’s sweet and charming. He’s closest with Dingwall Scotty, and they can often be found near each other. He’s the quietest one of this litter, and he chooses his meows carefully. He doesn’t speak ’til he’s got something to say, then he says it, he repeats it in case you weren’t paying attention, and then he stops talking. He lets the other kittens do all the talking, and he watches to see whether they get what they want. Whether they do or they don’t, he files it away to ponder later. He’s the quiet observer of the bunch, and I bet you anything he’s secretly got a blog somewhere, where he spills all the tiny details of his day and calls for revolution.
Today the lady opened a can of tuna. I thought we might get some – Caspian and Sungold were spinning in circles trying to convince her that we should get some, but we didn’t. The man ate it on sandwiches. One day we will be free of this tyranny, and we will eat all the tuna we want.
Though he is a tree dweller, Wellington will come down from on high if he sees that there’s a human about to take a nap. He loves to curl up on my chest or if I’m laying on my side, he’ll drape himself over me at waist level, front legs hanging down on one side of me, back legs hanging down on the other, and he’ll purr us both to sleep. He’s not one of those kittens who moves a lot in his sleep – once he’s asleep, he’s OUT.
He’s a playful boy, and his favorite toys are those that have feathers. Or I guess I should say, his favorite toys are the ones that start out with feathers. He likes to chew the feathers off, and play with whatever the feathers came off of. There’s a fuzzy ball with feather-nubs sticking out of it that’s his absolute favorite, and he can play with it for long stretches of time. He’s fond of feather teasers, but actually prefers to watch his brothers leap after the feathers rather than do it himself.
On Saturday, Fred took Da Bird out to the back yard and played with our cats. I got a bunch of pictures, which I will share all week long!
Here we have MORE than half the Crooked Acres permanent residents in one picture! From left to right: Tommy, Elwood, Kara (running over from the other side of the yard), Joe Bob (way back at the end of the walkway, in front of the cement patio), Alice, Sugarbutt, Corbie (in front of Sugarbutt), and Newt.
2011: No entry.
2010: Julie is NOT sitting on the table.
2009: I have fallen head over heels for these monkeys. I always do.
2008: It’s good to be king.
2007: Maryanne continues to make herself at home.
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.