Our foster kitten is doing well. He had his first official trip to the vet; he has had his first round of kitten vaccinations, has been dewormed, and is getting ointment for his eye goobers. He has discovered a favorite hiding/nap spot, but comes out when we come in. He has leapt joyfully into play, and has been receptive when we substitute a toy instead of fingers. His favorite thing right now is a spring toy. His purr is like thunder. The vet paperwork names him Thorn (since I pulled him out of a thorn bush), but we affectionately drop the “n” and call him Thor (or little man, or kitten, or … we use a collection). To keep his dander down, we’ll use a waterless bath foam and brushing, and a few days after his shots, he’ll get his first flea treatment.
Thor with a collection of toys in front of his hiding spot
Today you get a picture of a time cat, because Izzy was perfectly lined up with the grandfather clock in the background and it made me snicker. Izzy was not amused at my antics.
I had just picked up coffee from my favorite coffee shop, and was driving down Main headed home, when I saw something dart across the road. It was the size of a squirrel, but didn’t move like a squirrel, was a streak of gray and white, but wasn’t an opossum. I slowed down to look as it ran toward a tree and saw the outlines of a cat. I pulled off the road and approached. It ran away and I could tell it was a kitten. Oh dear. I cornered it in a rose bush (or something with thorny stems, I didn’t even feel the scratches) and pulled it out by the scruff of its neck. It is amazing the problems that can be solved in the heat of the moment; I dumped all the items out of my car organizer and had a make-shift carrier, complete with zipped mesh top. (I’ve had it for years, never considered that it was appropriate temporary containment for small critters.) I took him (definitely a he) by the vet’s office and they said he was about 2 months old and yes, a boy, and did not seem to be harmed by his flight across four lanes of traffic. I took him home (the local cat shelter is full up with bottle fed babies), brushed out the burrs, clipped his nails, and gave him a bath with baby soap. One of the vet techs suggested the name “Thorn”.
Kitten after a water and soap bath
He is set up in the spare room, which is where I usually put ferals to recover from getting fixed. We’ll see how he does with some kitten food and cuddles, get him an official vet visit and get him neutered, then see about finding him a home. My husband is allergic to male cats (our working theory is they don’t tend to be as fastidious about grooming as some females), so he is safe and cared for now, but can’t stay here. I guess I’ve been selected to foster.
I thought it tragic that the long haired outside cats didn’t get brushed, all those stickers and burrs caught in their fur couldn’t be comfortable! I slowly convinced Mr Tom that brushing was a good thing. I started with a little brushing before treats, now he would rather be brushed than get treats. His Shadow was harder to convince, after all, Mr Tom had already provided payment (letting me brush him) and he collected the treats. It took longer to convince Shadow that brushes were good. At first he would only accept because he thought the sensation was coming from Mr Tom as the cats rubbed greeting. Then he figured out it was me, then he figured out it was OK. Now he also demands brushings, so I am grooming two long haired outside cats who are not technically mine. Be careful what you wish for.
I threw a couple fuzzy blankets onto my chair as I was picking up, and Izzy took it as an invitation to settle in. She is particularly pleased because she won the spot battle and over Missy the dog, who has decided a cushy blanket on my chair is The Place To Be.
Missy won this time
So in the nap spot wars, may the fourth be with you.
Critters and Craft 