I know, I know. I need another pet like I need a knot on my head. That's why when I rescued her I told my kids that it would just be temporary. "We'll foster her until we find her a home", I said. So wish us luck.
Here's how it happened ...
I was searching for our missing dog, Sam, who had been gone for a little over 24 hours. I pulled into a parking spot at a convenience store and noticed a ball of fur sticking out from behind a magazine rack. Of course I had to investigate. I found a tiny, filthy, baby kitten. She was covered in cobwebs and curled up in discarded cigarettes, scratch off tickets, dead bugs and other assorted trash. She was weak, but able to run away from me when I tried to pick her up. Catching her wasn't easy and I went to some effort to eventually capture her. I almost had her a couple of times, but she was determined to elude me. She crawled under one of those propane tank exchange cabinets and there she was safely out of my reach. I gave up (not really) and bought her a can of food and placed it between the propane tanks and the freebie magazine rack. There was a nice, younger man who tried to help me. (He poked at her with a retractable measuring tape.) I told him we were frightening her and to please stop. I said I'd come back later to check on her. He nodded at me but I wasn't sure if he understood me or even spoke English because he didn't speak to me at all. I left.
Later, when the kids were eating dinner I casually mentioned my stray cat exploits. They were beside themselves. "YOU HAVE TO GO BACK AND SAVE HER!". I know, I know. I couldn't leave her, could I? I agreed to go back and take her some water and check on her. There was a thunder storm headed our way, and I was worried that she wouldn't make it through the night. So we made up a small box, filled a plastic muffin cup container with water and off we went, the three of us.
And guess what? The nice strange man with the measuring tape was still there, sitting in his car. I asked him if he didn't have anything better to do with his time. He just grinned at me.
I checked on the kitten and she was still in the same position as before. Out came the measuring tape. (Oh, Lord. Not that again.) Then a small crowd of happy rescuers gathered, everybody reaching and grabbing and poking and prodding but to no avail. It was stressing me out. It was obvious the kitty was in distress or shock. I decided we had to figure something else out. Then it dawned on me. Duh! There was no bottom in the propane cage, just metal bars for holding the tanks off the ground. All we needed was an attendant to unlock the cage, move a couple of tanks, reach in and grab the kitten. Voila! And so we did.
I thanked everyone for their help, especially the man who waited in the red car with the measuring tape. We shook hands. I noticed he was wearing a necklace with a cross pendant. He managed to speak, finally, and he spoke in perfect English. I wish I could remember what he said. Oh, well. None of the rescuers seemed to need a cobwebby kitten, so we put her in the box and left.
As I was driving home, the girls were having an intense debate. "Her name is Charlotte." "No, it's Pippin." "No, it's Charlotte." "No, it's Pippin."
The thrill of the capture beginning to wear off, I said, "I know I'm going to regret this". My oldest scolded me. "Mama! You know you had to save her. If that was a human baby you wouldn't have left her there to die." A compelling argument, I suppose. But had it been a baby rattlesnake, I certainly would have left it exactly where it was.
We got home and I constructed an elaborate bigger box for Miss Charlotte Pippin. Several hours passed and she was still not coming around. She just stared at me with pleading eyes. I went on-line to a cat rescue site and found out what I needed to do. I headed out to Kroger in a blinding thunderstorm to buy some kitty milk. I fed her half a medicine dropper and then she took a nap. The next morning she was revived, and meowing. She drank one and a half droppers full. She started to purr. She shivered. The shock was wearing off. She took more milk each feeding time. After several days, I switched to saucer feeding. Eventually she began to eat wet food and now she eats a combination of wet and dry food.
She was so tiny when we first brought her home! I read on the rescue site that I needed to burp her after dropper-feeding. You don't know what cute is until you burp a baby kitten! I won't tell you how you're supposed to simulate a mama cat licking her young, though, in order to stimulate elimination functions. You can Google that if you really need to know. That wasn't nearly as much fun as burping her.
We've had her for 3 weeks now. She's thriving and full of playful energy. I'm ready to find her a good home. She's been to the vet and has a clean bill of health. I'd love to keep her, but my plate is full. Two days after bringing her home I found out my diagnosis. And I already have too many pets. But I had to rescue her. I kept thinking about Sam, out there in the world somewhere lost and hungry. I kept praying that someone would find him and help him. I just couldn't walk away from this kitten and pretend she wasn't there.
Could I?
