On Monday, my little wards went off to the Vet to be spayed/neutered. It surprised me that I didn't cry about them leaving. When the time came, they easily went into their carrier together, seemingly excited about the adventure they were about to take. They were curious about being confined, but no worse for wear.
The drop off, was like a drug deal. I meet our Founder at the parking lot of a deserted (sorry for the pun!) ice cream shop in town and she quickly transfers the carrier to her car and sped off. No time for an emotional farewell. Just time to wave and wish them a wonderful life and safe surgery.
Days later, the kittens are doing great at our main headquarters. They got through their vetting with flying colors and their appetite is great. Jelly finally started to eat regularly and without help the day before he was to leave me. It seemed so easy and natural when it finally happened. If I had faith he would come around, I would have been a lot calmer about the entire situation. Now I know better. Little Elmo gained more weight and on the last day he was heavier than his big strapping brother, Jelly.
I still haven't shed a tear, but I sure do miss them a lot. They were ready to go. I saw every indication of that and it just wasn't fair to keep them here any longer. Besides that, our group was overloaded with more kittens needing fostering. All worthy reasons for things to change. I also realized that fostering is painful when the time together ends. Yet, I would rather feel the pain of separation, than the pain of knowing they died because no one stepped up to care for them when they were at their most vulnerable.
The weather this spring has been mostly cool and even quite cold at night. It hit me like a ton of bricks that Elmo and probably Happy would have died if Jennifer and Laura hadn't trapped their mom while she was still pregnant and our group hadn't been able to step in to foster the family. If we hadn't put ourselves out there to risk feeling hurt, the kittens would have starved, frozen to death or fallen prey to wildlife. It's still happening out there right now. We're only able to save a tiny portion of the kittens and cats who need help so desperately. If I could convince every one of you to foster just one litter of kittens, we could all change the grim picture, into one of joy. Plus, if you foster for our group, it's only for a few weeks, so what's the big deal?!
Speaking of which, I was able to come to a delicate understanding with the rescue group, but it's a "wait and see" sort of thing. At least communication is good enough so we can move forward and I don't have to stop fostering—which brings me to my latest announcement:
Four tabbies. I can barely tell them apart. Shandy, Bam-Bam, Nutty and Gus. No. I did not name them. No, I do not know which is which. Supposedly they are about six weeks old, but they are SO TINY, I think they might be a bit younger than that. They're mostly quite friendly and already they enjoy using me as their cat bed. They also come with the warning that they don't like any of the food they're offered, so once again, I have kittens who won't eat, but this time I'll have faith they'll turn around when they're ready. Maybe it's working because they ate for me just fine! Knock wood!
I'll have the kittens for about two weeks. Then, off to Spaytown for their surgery and shots and on to the next batch.