The #kittierescue (you can follow the journey via hashtag on Instagram) effort began with a hissing alpha-kitten, a quivering runt-of-the-litter, and a missing mommy-cat. Armed with leather gloves, a bulky-sleeved sweat shirt, and a towel-lined box, I pulled the litter out of their cubby in the chicken coop and started bottle-feeding.
After a few challenging days (and too many nighttime feedings :-P), the kitties were starting to gain weight, play hard, and sleep harder. My foray into kitten fostering was off to a rousing good start: we even litterbox trained without too many accidents!
As the kittens grew, I broadened their horizons, switched to dry food, and introduced them to my one-year-old cat. Suddenly, I went from the owner of a cat to a crazy cat lady.
But does “crazy cat lady” mean that the lady is crazy about cats? Or that the lady has crazy cats? Or that the lady is crazy because she has cats? The grammar is vague. I choose to believe that I am not crazy. Even though I had four cats for three months.
The defining beauty of being a crazy-cat-lady-with-four-cats came when I ended up in the hospital with appendicitis. Each time I came home from the hospital, the kittens entertained me and cuddled with me and made me smile through the pain. Plus, my nurses let John bring a kitten to visit me in the hospital! Willow curled up in my hospital bed and slept next to me and cheered my room immensely.
The kittens grew, they flourished, and now they’re scattered to their new homes.
But Fern – that adorable runt-of-the-litter – is mine. All mine.
The #kittierescue? A rousing success.