While I was in Maine, the manager of the cat shelter I volunteer for sent out a couple of emails looking for foster homes for various and sundry kittens. Since I was in Maine and because Fred’s a party pooper, obviously I couldn’t take any of the kittens. I emailed the shelter manager to let her know I was in Maine, but as soon as I got back I’d be ready to take in fosters. When we adopted Sugarbutt and Tom Cullen last year, Fred’s first caveat was that we never foster again, but I talked him down from that and in the end we agreed that we wouldn’t foster again until the boys were “older.”
Their first birthday came and went (at the end of June), but I knew that I was going to be leaving for Maine in a few weeks, so I put it off.
When I got back from Maine, first we thought I had hepatitis and then I was so worn out I couldn’t think of doing anything, and then there was the gallbladder surgery, and then this past weekend I was looking at some old entries of mine, with pictures of the first batch of foster kittens we had, and I got the yearning.
Monday evening I emailed the shelter manager to let her know I was ready to foster if she had any kittens in need of some fostering. She emailed me back and said “Thanks, but all I’ve got is a 3 week-old bottle-fed baby.”
My response? “Gimme!” (Actually what I said was “I’ll take him, if you don’t mind worried phone calls for the first few days!”
And then I didn’t hear back from her, and I thought, Well, maybe she likes taking care of the kitten herself and I thought about emailing her and saying “Keep me in mind if you get any cats in who need fostering!”, but I decided that perhaps she doesn’t sit in front of her computer all freakin’ day long like I do, and I decided to give her a call at a later point.
Then yesterday afternoon I was sitting in front of my computer when the phone rang. It was the shelter manager, and she asked if I was serious about wanting to take the bottle-fed kitten.
You bet I was.
We haven’t named her yet, but for the time being I’m calling her Maddy (it’s one of the names Fred and I came up with last night, along with Sara Laughs, Sara Tidwell, Misery Chastain, and Mirabelle). She’s about 2 1/2 weeks old, and she’s ADORABLE. Of course, how can a kitten that age NOT be adorable, I ask you?
Not only is she bottle-fed, she’s also not at the point yet where she can go to the bathroom on her own – won’t be for a couple of weeks, I think – so I have to wipe her to stimulate things in that area. So far I’ve fed her twice – late last night and again this morning (I don’t have to get up in the middle of the night to feed her) and she eats like a champ and pees like a champ, but as of yet, there’s been no poop.
I’ll feel better when there’s been a bowel movement; at least I’ll know I’m doing everything right.
The other cats are freaked OUT, especially Sugarbutt, who was a bit clingy last night. Mister Boogers likes to think he’s a total tough guy, but when I’m in the cat room feeding the kitten I leave the door open and what does Mister Boogers do? Sits six feet away and growls. Not close enough that the terrifying 10-ounce kitten could actually GET to him or anything, but he feels like he’s defending his territory, I guess, and that’s good enough for him.
Okay, enough blather. On to a few pictures!
Does the cuteness KILL YOU? Because it oughta.
Full belly, empty bladder, happy baby.
Mister Boogers hisses from a safe distance.
2005: What is it with kitties loving to chew on wet hair?