It's been a year since Mabel made her BIG ESCAPE out of a Kill Shelter, then home of a HOARDER, then from a SECOND KILL SHELTER and finally to my home to be fostered. In some ways she’s like many of the adult foster cats we've had. I expect it to take a long time for her to find her new forever home after her adjustment period is over. We don’t have a shelter or do many adoption events and that’s usually the best way to get adults into homes. In other ways, how Mabel got here and my reluctance to let her go is unique.
©2010 Foster Mom Moe. Used with Permission. Mabel, called Cali-Mama back then, just after being spayed.
Mabel, along with her two kittens, Moonpie and Pattycake, were our first rescues under the Kitten Associates banner. Everything back then was so nerve-wracking because I’d only ever fostered kittens before under the guidance of another rescue. I never had to take on the responsibility for paying for their care or screening applicants, let alone sorting out what vet care they required or how to know they’d be good candidates for adoption. Mabel and family were in Georgia, too, which added to the difficulty in sorting out what the next steps for her would be as well as who would help me accomplish those things from 1000 miles away.
©2011 Robin A.F. Olson. Moonpie (left) and sister Pattycake (right). Mabel's kittens.
I’d had it drilled into my head by my former “boss” at another rescue that adult cats should be avoided. “Just focus on the kittens.” I didn’t agree with that but I admit that taking on Mabel made me nervous. She was barely a year old, but I was so accustomed to fostering 6-8 week old kittens that she might as well have been 10 years old. It left me feeling anxious about finding her a new home, but I couldn’t let her die in animal control where euthanasia rates are 98%. It wasn’t fair that she and her kittens should die. I couldn’t take the kittens and leave her behind either, as some rescues do. It wasn’t right.
What surprised me was that before the kittens were even put up for adoption, I got an email from someone in North Carolina who wanted to adopt Mabel. The woman had read my blog post about her and seen her photos. I had a long email volley with her about Mabel and talked on the phone a few times. I had a good feeling about her, but my error, one I will regret forever, was that I never asked her to fill out an application. I trusted her without checking on her background. I never called the Vet for a reference. It’s all it would have taken for me to find out she was a hoarder, but I didn’t do that. I sent Mabel off to her doom with a smile on my face, believing she was going to a good home.
Mabel could have gotten sick and died in the filth she was trapped in, but she didn’t. After a year someone reported this woman to Animal Control. They seized all the 22 cats and 1 dog (I was only told this person had 1 cat and 1 dog). What’s even more shocking was that she called ME to complain. I was expected to come to HER rescue. I told her flat out not to talk to me any further, that Mabel was OUR cat and that I would do everything I could to get her back. I told her to get a lawyer. I was furious. She was stunned that I had no compassion for her situation, yet another red flag that maybe she was a few fries short of a Happy Meal. How could her home smell so badly that people could smell it from the OUTSIDE? She tried to make it sound like she was a victim when she had done nothing but LIE to me.
Video still of the Summons sent to the woman who was charged with Animal Cruelty.
That began a painful, humiliating journey lasting nearly 2 YEARS. I called Animal Control right away so they knew someone would take at least one of the cats back. They couldn’t tell me details, but confirmed the situation at the home was ghastly. They grilled me about my rescue and in so many words chastised me for being so gullible (hey, I deserved it).
I could check in with them and they’d let me know when, if ever, I could take Mabel back.
Every month thereafter I wrote to Animal Control asking if Mabel was free to come to us. Every month they said the owner was taking it to another Judge, fighting to get her dog back, which were a package deal, so the cats, who she gave up on, were stuck until the entire case was settled. Meanwhile, I didn’t even KNOW if Mabel was ALIVE because they never seemed to have time to verify that the cat I was trying to get back was still there.
©2012 Iredell Animal Control. Used with Permission. My first confirmation Mabel was alive after 2 years.
Every month I wrote and every month when I saw they’d replied I felt sick to my stomach, wondering if this was the time they’d tell me she was gone. There are so many illnesses that can run through a municipal animal control and only so much vet care they can provide. It means a quick death to most animals because they don’t let them recover. It’s too costly and they can quickly spread disease. In this case, the fact that these animals belonged to the Court also meant if they got sick, they could not be euthanized unless it was an incurable illness, but once the case was resolved, any cats that were the property of animal control did not have long to live. During the two years I found out that one cat had to be put down, but I never was sure if it was or wasn’t Mabel.
But somehow, though she did get sick while caged for all those months, Mabel recovered. Finally, one day in late January of 2013, I got the email I was hoping for. The case was decided. She’d lost custody of all of her animals. Mabel was free to be released into my care and when did I want to come get her? [The answer was YES because that very next morning I had a friend in the area who could sign her out.]
©2014 Robin A.F. Olson. First time NOT in a cage and probably first time with catnip, too.
Mabel finally arrived in Connecticut in February of 2013. What shocked me about her was that she seemed unscathed by what she suffered. Right away she was affectionate. So unaccustomed to being petted, that when I ran my hand over her back her tailed pouffed out. She let me rub her belly. She purred right away. Her only fear seems to be the sound of someone walking in hard-soled shoes across the floor. I wonder if it was the sound she heard of the ACO coming to get the next victim to be put down to make space for more.
©2014 Robin A.F. Olson. Mabel makes herself at home just about anywhere.
Over the past year Mabel’s almost been adopted a few times, but I’ve been so overprotective of her that I’ve had to say no when push came to shove. The homes were all GREAT, but they lacked something, too. I didn’t see love in their eyes for her. I didn’t know if Mabel would be happy alone and every home would have had her as the only pet. I found myself trying very hard to move forward with each adoption and finish the process, often taking it way too far before I put the brakes on, leaving MANY people very angry at me.
I’m not proud of this and in my own defense, I was feeling very mixed up. As a rescuer, every cat I take on I love. I love them, but I admit to having a little barrier there, too. It’s just enough so that when the time comes I can part with that cat without falling to pieces. It’s too much pain if I don’t have that little wall and I have to think about my own mental health and the stress on me. I can’t save more if I’m a wreck.
©2014 Robin A.F. Olson. This is when I know fighting to save her life (again) for two years was worth it.
I also feel that I’m being irresponsible if I take on any more cats and declare them as my own. I have very good friends who have more than 20 cats. They provide them with loving care in a nice home. They manage that but I do NOT want to take that on. I have had over 20 cats, but most were rescue kittens. That’s fine for me, but to be a cat-mama to that many, plus extra foster cats, too? No. I need to have at least some of my home be set aside for humans and to not take on too much.
©2013 Robin A.F. Olson. Mabel fetches!
So there's my problem in a nutshell. The barrier I put up with Mabel was being worn away. I’d watch Mabel run across the room with her precious pom-pom in her mouth. Mabel is a freak about pom-poms and even fetches them from time to time. She somehow manages to meow while she holds the pom-pom, too. Her chubby butt wiggles left and right as she races across the floor with her tail held high, proud to have her sparkling possession. It makes me laugh, while at the same time I cringe inside. She was really getting under my skin. What the heck was I going to do?
Can I let her be adopted after all she's been through or will I find relief in knowing I finally have the perfect forever home for her? Find out in the NEXT POST!
On March 31, 2014 my rescue was blessed to gain 5 new foster kittens when their mom, Mia gave birth. It's been such a hectic kitten season, with calls and emails coming in almost daily, that I haven't had a chance to properly introduce you to Mia or our little wards.
Dirty, scared, pregnant. We didn't know if we could even help Mia or if she was feral or worse, sick with Feline Leukemia. Thankfully Mia wasn't sick and was not aggressive so we could get her out of danger.
“Mama-Mia” delivered quite the wild combination of kittens. It was if we had almost one in every color combination there were so many variants. Instead of trying to give them a group name, I asked a few dear friends to each name a kitten. Their names are as varied as the kittens are.
©2014 Foster Mom Moe. Under the sink, about to POP!
Without further adieu, here is our family.
Mia came out of a VERY dangerous situation. She was living off scraps at an apartment complex. A woman was feeding her, but she knew the management of the facility was going to put out poison to get rid of all the strays. When we got the call, we knew she might not be very friendly and she might be very pregnant. We can't provide for a feral mom cat with our limited space for fostering, but if she was a cat we could work with we decided we HAD to do something.
©2014 Foster Mom Moe. Mia checks out her new foster mom.
Mia was a filthy mess, but relatively healthy. Being a long-haired cat and me being a sucker for long-haired cats made it a lot easier for me to say yes to taking her on. Our Foster Mom, Moe only had Mia for a few days before she went into labor. We feared she would prematurely deliver because she was so stressed being trapped, transported and around humans she didn't know. We also expected some of the kittens to not make it. Thankfully every one got through the first few weeks and are still doing quite well.
©2014 Foster Mom Moe. March 31, 2014. Happy Birth Day kittens!
©2014 Foster Mom Moe. Proud mama feels safe under the bathroom sink in the cabinet. It's never been said our rescue isn't flexible about keeping our mamas happy.
Woody got his name from our dear friend, Mickey. If you've read my posts in the past, you know she was the mom to our beloved cat, Jackson Galaxy. Jackson died a few days before Woody was born. Mickey wanted to honor both her dear cat AND the artist, Woody Jackson, who painted the famous cows you see on the cartons of Ben & Jerry's ice cream (Woody's fur looks like cow hide). Mickey works with artists and lives in Vermont. Ben & Jerry's is a big part of their community.
©2014 Foster Mom Moe. Woody a few days old.
Woody is growing into the perfect namesake for Mickey's cat. He's got sass. He's silly. He loves people and he's only a few weeks old.
Foster Mom Moe named our dilute calico Ivy. She's sweet and charming and her face will melt the coldest heart. She's a mama's girl and a little spitfire. There has yet to be a photo of her that doesn't make me smile or laugh. Whoever adopts her will be very lucky.
©2014 Foster Mom Moe. Ivy and the giant pom pom.
Fernando was my choice. Of course if his mom is Mama-Mia, he had to be named after an ABBA song. 'Nando is a real card with stylish white markings on his black coat.
©2014 Foster Mom Moe. Fernando heard the drums..and it woke him up.
He should be called "heartbreaker" because he's got such charm and an easy demeanor that everyone loves him. Look at that face. What's not to love?
©2014 Foster Mom Moe. Will you accept this cutie?
Snickers was named by another dear friend of ours, Chris C., in honor of her soul-cat of the same name. Chris loves black and white kitties and has two of her own. She's also a really really cool person if you ever get the chance to meet her when she's not busy ruling the world or watching The Bachelor and cracking jokes about it with me.
©2014 Foster Mom Moe. Woody and Snickers share a nap.
Torties are adorable, but I have to say that Greta is one of the cutest I've ever seen. We asked our uber-cat-mama & friend Ingrid King, who has two famous torties, Allegra and Ruby to choose the name for this kitten. I think it suits her perfectly because Greta is a little lady and will one day grow into a great beauty.
©2014 Foster Mom Moe. Who's going to be a little troublemaker?
©2014 Foster Mom Moe. A mother's job is never done.
©2014 Foster Mom Moe. Moe isn't going to give up on Mia. There have been some trying days but our goal is to get Mia to trust again and find her place with a new family one day.
We have food donated and some toys, so we just need funds for vetting. These funds won't be enough to cover any emergencies, medicine or anything fancy but if we have the basics covered, it will make a big difference!
©2014 Foster Mom Moe. Mia's amazing family. Can you help get them to the next part of their journey? They need to be vetted soon!
To maximize every contribution (instead of directing you to a fundraising site where THEY TAKE A CUT of every donation), we’re asking you simply go to KittenAssociates.org and press the Donate button which will take you directly to PayPal (who also takes a small fee). Once we reach our target, I will update this post and end the fundraiser. Make sure you BOOKMARK this post so you can see our UPDATES!
If you'd like to mail us a check, checks can be made out to: Kitten Associates and mailed to: P.O. Box 354, Newtown, CT 06470-0354. Our Tax ID number is: 27-3597652. Your donation is tax deductible. See your tax adviser for details.
©2014 Foster Mom Moe. Ivy says please let your friends know that if everyone donates the price of a cup of coffee, it will add up to a wonderful donation. Personally, I also think Ivy has had enough coffee (joking! no caffeine for cats!).
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Biscotti, our former foster has a new job title now that he's adopted. He also has a new name. Qubit. Q lives with Amanda, who is a very cool science writer. Since his adoption, Amanda has let me know how well Q has done since his arrival. After an evening of uncertainly, Q cautiously explored his new home. There were no other kitties to scare him and Amanda and her boyfriend were there to let him know everything was going to be okay.
©2014 Amanda Gefter.
Qubit responded quickly. Instead of being fearful, our little lion continued to explore. He slept on the bed with his mom right away. He sits in her office as she works on her next book. She gave me a synopsis and it sounds REALLY FASCINATING. I can't wait to read it.
©2014 Amanda Gefter.
Now that Amanda has a proper Muse I suspect this next book will be her best yet. I also believe that this is the best home for our sweet tux based on the reports I'm getting. Q adores Amanda and the love is mutual. It was from the moment they met. I could tell it was going to be a match by how he responded to her and how gentle she was while interacting with him. Her eyes sparkled as she looked at him.
©2014 Amanda Gefter.
©2014 Amanda Gefter.
Amanda's loving care is helping Q continue his journey to grow and gain confidence in the world around him. Q is no longer a tiny kitten thrown away in the trash. He's no longer scared of people or what's around the next corner. I wonder what the person who heartlessly threw him away last summer would ever guess their “trash” was such a treasure.
©2014 Amanda Gefter.
©2014 Amanda Gefter.
This is the best part of doing rescue-seeing my former foster thrive in his forever home.
©2014 Amanda Gefter.
©2014 Amanda Gefter.
If you want to check out Amanad's book, “Trespassing on Einstein's Lawn”, visit her web site!
I didn’t give up on #3, but I noticed an alarming new trend. While trying to feed him, he would fuss and fight, then after a very little bit of formula he would totally collapse. I was afraid that feeding him was killing him, but how could that be? I’m sure someone out there knows what I did wrong. He wasn’t swallowing much but I didn’t see anything come out of his nose. I cursed myself for not getting that bulb syringe. I had to make due with what I had. I tried to clear his nose, his mouth. I tried to tell him not to give up, choking back the words. He was so weak and frail. We backed off on how much to feed him and thought maybe just a few drops more often would work.
©2014 Robin A.F. Olson. Although it looks like he's nursing, #3 was resting his head on Celeste's abdomen.
The vet said it could be her being stressed out so I thought it was a good time for me to take a break. I was so stressed out myself that I was about to fall apart if I didn’t get some sleep.
It was 5pm. #3 had lived a day. I was exhausted. I told Sam I needed to rest-just for an hour or so. #3 was with Celeste. If he wasn’t going to make it I wanted him to be with his family. He’d already nearly died on me three times that day already.
©2014 Robin A.F. Olson. So small compared to his siblings, #3 rests.
I didn’t sleep. I was too worried. I lay in bed going over in my mind about how much to feed him next, how to make it better for him. I got up at a bit after 6pm. I was woozy and scared. What I would see when I opened the door to the blue bathroom where Celeste was caring for her family? I tried to brace myself, hoping I'd see him finally nursing.
I called out to Celeste before I opened the door to let her know it was me. The first thing I noticed when I entered the room was she’d dumped out about half the litter pan across the room. She was rather messy but this was much worse that normal. I took a deep breath and looked down into the tub searching for the kitten. There was #3 snuggled up against the blanket near Celeste’s tail. At first he looked so peaceful, but then my stomach did a flip flop. As I sank to my knees, I knew it before I touched him. He was still; the kind of still that means all life is gone. I touched him. His body was hard.
Celeste’s panting and high respirations had resolved. I then realized that she had to know her kitten was going to die and that’s why she was so upset. I told her I was sorry as I lifted #3’s body and placed him away from her and the others, not sure what to do next…where to put him or what to put him into? I had to tell Sam but he was on the stupid phone with a stupid client. I wept hard, my chest heaving with raking sobs. #3 was as dear to me as any of my own cats. I paced around the house not sure what to do. I had to let everyone know what happened so I sat down and wrote emails and posts while trying to make sense of something so senseless.
©2014 Robin A.F. Olson. .
Sam got off the phone and joined me upstairs. He was as devastated as I was. We sat with #3 and I said he needs a name. Sam suggested Tre since the kitten was #3, but I said I wanted something special. The name Fiorello popped into my head. In Italian it means, Little Flower. As I said the name, Sam nodded solemnly in agreement.
We both petted and kissed Fiorello goodbye. He laid on his side, his front legs pressed together as in prayer. His fur was so soft. I marveled as his sweet face. I carefully placed him in the pink blanket that featured happy green frogs on it. I’d used it to cover him when he was under my shirt. The vet was closed so I brought him to the room where we do our mediation and placed him in front of our Shambhala shrine. I lit a candle for him then closed the door behind me. I’d bring him to the vet in the morning to be cremated, garnering me another little tin box for my sad collection. For now I needed to sob, to rant, to hate, to mourn.
I gave myself a few hours to attend to other matters. I was too upset to sleep, but I realized I hadn’t eaten in two days so Sam and I got take out. It was a good meal. We've been eating too much rice pasta for too long so we splurged. It helped revive me somewhat, but my heart was broken.
©2014 Robin A.F. Olson. Fiorello and mama.
What surprised me was what I did next. I could have gone to bed, but it occurred to me that I hadn’t paid our Georgia Peaches kittens or Bert a visit since this all happened. They’d been fed, of course, but had no interaction with me since Sam had taken that on.
I entered the room and they raced over to the bed, next to where I was standing. They were all meowing furiously at me. Maybe they wondered where I'd been. I sat down and they rubbed up on me, then excitedly ran around the room, energized by my appearance. Bert stood on my belly and rubbed his face onto my cheek. I felt joy seeing them and some relief. They had long since grown past a fragile age and were now healthy, vigorous and happy. In that moment, I realized the same thing that broke my heart would also help heal it.
Although my starfish necklace remains where I left it, I know one day I'll be ready to wear it again and along with it the mantle of resilience and determination all rescuers require to continue saving more lives.
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Continued from Chapter 1…
Another hour passed. Celeste tried to rest a bit and kept fussing with and licking the kittens. She was clearly going to care for them, which was a great relief. There was always the chance she’d abandon them if I scared her or if she was a young, new mom. I didn’t know if she had delivered the last kitten or not so I paid close attention to the time.
It didn’t take very long before the fifth kitten arrived. At first glance I though the kitten was black, too, but as it was cleaned and dried I saw stripes-a little tabby. Since cats can have multiple partners, it explained the different colors of kittens. I made a joke about her being a slutty.
©2014 Robin A.F. Olson. The fifth kitten is born.
That’s as much detail as I can remember about the births because after that began a 24-hr fight to save #3’s life. Between exhaustion, fear and anger I’m not sure how much I want to remember about what happened next.
©2014 Robin A.F. Olson. While the first two kittens are dry and looking for a nipple, #3 is still wet and needing care.
I reached out to everyone I could. I asked a lot of questions. I took advice. I tried this and that, but I knew I was in over my head. I felt like a moron. Why take this on? Why not just rescue kittens that are already born and not have to go through this. I got some formula into the kitten but I wasn’t sure how much or how often to feed. Every person I asked gave me a different answer. It was infuriating.
A few hours later I had a moment of success. #3 latched onto a nipple. I was so happy. I thought maybe we were out of the woods. I got it on video, but he only latched on for a few seconds. After numerous attempts to get him to latch on throughout the next day, he never did it again.
©2014 Robin A.F. Olson. Screen capture from the vide of #3 nursing. Sadly it was only for a few seconds.
I stayed up with him all night. I put him into my shirt. I’d heard if you put him between “the girls” he would be warmer. It seemed to soothe him. Maybe it was my heartbeat. As I sat in the bathroom with him under my shirt and a blanket over us. I tried to keep the faith as I sat on a cushion leaning my head against the wall, resting my eyes, trying to hang on for his sake. I was so sleepy, but I couldn’t leave him alone. I imagined how he'd look as a full grown cat, white with gray polka dots. Running up to me, his tail held high. I would say to him “Remember when you were born, how sick you were? I can't believe how big you are now.” More than anything, I wanted that day to come. He squirmed and squeaked, then raked his tiny claws against my flesh. Even in such poor condition this newborn still had sharp claws. Maybe it meant he was a fighter?
By 3AM I felt it would be ok to take a nap for an hour. I put #3 back with his family, then reached down and took off my necklace. It was a gift from my friend Connie, who also does cat rescue. It’s a cotton thread chain with some beads and a tiny starfish, a symbol rescuers relate to due to the story that goes along with it. The story has taken many forms but is basically that of a person throwing starfish stranded on a beach back into the ocean. The beach is covered with them and this one person can't possibly get them all into the water before they die. Another person asks the rescuer why bother if you can't save them all. What difference would it make? The rescuer replied; “Because it makes a difference to that one I can rescue.”
©2014 Robin A.F. Olson. While the other kittens nurse, #3 does not. Though I tried over and over again, he wouldn't take to any of the nipples.
Sam stepped in to help out as he could. He asked me what to do and I replied I didn’t know. I was so brain-dead and scared and angry. I’d asked, pleaded for the vet to come...to just show me I’m feeding the kitten the right away or to let me come there, but they just said to keep him warm and fed. I felt abandoned. I asked so many people for help, offered to pay them to come help, but no one could do a thing. I was on my own and for all the things I do to help to not be able to count on anyone was something that I don’t know I can forgive.
©2014 Robin A.F. Olson. Celeste never gave up on her son.
Around 6 AM I tried to feed #3, but he went limp on me afterwards. Limp like dead limp...no breathing...nothing. I furiously rubbed him, as his mother might do with her tongue. I turned him upside down foolishly thinking he’d aspirated the formula. I sat there and cried. I looked at Celeste with her other kittens and said “now we are four.”
I looked down and #3 moved. He was still alive. I put him back into my shirt and after a time he recovered and was wiggling around. I probably did something wrong, but I didn’t know what it was. I put him with his mom. She licked the formula off him. I got her away from the other kittens and put #3 with her all by himself. This is it. No competition. Celeste seemed to understand and sat with him, touching him with her paw, giving him a lick. He wouldn’t latch on. I hoped maybe after a day or two he would get the hang of it, IF he had the time. At that point I was very worried he had any chance to survive.
This story concludes with a final chapter, coming up next.
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A blanket of fog settles in the yard causing the newly blossoming leaves to almost glow-green. It’s early. I can’t hear any birds singing. The only sound is the hum of my computer and my cat Spencer who sits beside me, grooming himself. Lick. Lick. Lick.
I’m glad the sun isn’t out today. This is the perfect gloom to match my sad heart. It would have been unfair if the sun shone brightly because Mother Nature owes us something back for taking a precious life away…but when things like this happen, there is NO fairness.
©2014 Maryann Chiomak. My first look at Celeste.
Celeste was someone’s cat. She got dumped in an affluent neighborhood at least a few weeks ago. Maybe the person who did it thought she’d get help or maybe they just wanted to abandon their cat where someone wouldn't know them. Celeste is a seal point Siamese with crystal blue eyes and dainty little paws. How was she supposed to survive on her own? Being friendly with strangers told us she’d known love from humans, but why would a usually easy to place cat be left to fend for herself?
Maryann is the neighborhood cat lady. She traps the feral cats and gets them vetted. She does what she can while working a full time job far from her home. When Celeste showed up at her door, Maryann was right there to help, leaving her food, then doing some detective work to find out if this was a lost cat or one who lost her home with a family searching for her.
©2014 Robin A.F. Olson. Lovely Celeste two days before giving birth.
Meanwhile, I’d been thinking about taking on a pregnant cat. Our foster mom, Moe already had Mia and her five kittens. My friend Katherine took in 5 cats to her rescue, discovering later that 4 were pregnant (and have since given birth). Maybe it was my own (very) delayed need for motherhood or the fact that Mother’s Day was coming soon, but I felt ready to take on the responsibility of fostering a pregnant cat and experiencing the birth of her kittens.
I’d taken a number of neonatal kitten classes. I’d fostered kittens (with their mom) who were a few days old. I thought I could handle what might come.
Years ago the idea of fostering six kittens was more than I could fathom. These days I’m responsible for four times that many.
When I had to medicate nine very sick kittens multiple times a day with multiple medications I thought I would lose my mind. I made Sam crazy. I couldn’t manage my own fears that I’d kill the kittens by taking on too much, but they lived.
Even with all that I did for Fred last year. I never gave up. I never fought so hard to save a cat’s life and I would do it all again. I just didn’t expect it to be so soon.
©2014 Robin A.F. Olson. Our first kitten is born.
Celeste arrived on Mother’s Day. The timing was perfect. Maryann had the vet x-ray Celeste and said he’d seen 4-5 kitten spines. I was so excited I began doing research online about genetics. Could I hope for a litter of Siamese kittens? It was unlikely since their genes are recessive so unless Celeste was bred with another Siamese we’d most likely be getting a mixed colored litter. I joked to some of my rescue friends that they’d probably all be black because we still find adopting out black cats to be more difficult. If she did have all black kittens, they wouldn’t be loved any less by me, but it was enjoyable to imagine what was to come next.
The vet felt she would deliver in about a week. I was glad because it would give me time to get a few extra supplies and to get some good food into Celeste. I couldn’t find a bulb syringe, which vexed me very much. I thought I had more time, but I was wrong.
©2014 Robin A.F. Olson. First two kittens arrive.
Two days later I happened to look at my phone. I was running our SqueeTV Dropcam application on it and could watch Celeste while I was working in my office downstairs. I thought I saw her belly contract. I couldn’t believe it. She’d eaten breakfast, sat in my lap just hours before, wasn’t “restless” as I’d read. She’d eaten some lunch, but not a lot. I thought she didn’t like the food.
©2014 Robin A.F. Olson. Two black and white kittens. Okay, what is going on here.
I furiously posted the news online, called out to Sam, then headed upstairs. I tried to calm my breathing so Celeste wouldn’t be frightened. She’d only just started to get to know me and I wanted her to trust me. As I entered the room I smelled a somewhat dank odor. I found her furiously licking at her behind, but she was turned away so I couldn’t see what it was, then I heard it, the sharp cry of a kitten. I moved to get a better look and sure enough was a little black and white kitten still wet from being born.
©2014 Robin A.F. Olson. #3 is born.
I got down on my knees to lean on the edge of the bathtub where Celeste was giving birth.
I knew Celeste should handle things on her own, but I stayed close by partly out of the need to be there for her and to jump in if she needed help. Help? What could I do? I called Katherine. I asked her what to expect. She told me not to worry, so I tried to pay attention to how long it took before each kitten arrived. Two hours between births was a sign of trouble. One was here, 3 or 4 more to go.
The second kitten was born shortly afterwards. Celeste let out a loud cry. Stood up. Walked around. Cried again and again, then…a contraction and again another black and white kitten was born. From what I could tell the markings on both kittens were quite curious. I couldn’t wait to get a better look at them. I glanced down at my phone to see the time, making a mental note that the next kitten would be here soon. It was mid-afternoon. The newborns were wiggling and squeaking. Celeste was furiously licking at them, cutting the umbilical cord, followed by delivering the placenta then eating that right up. It was a bit disturbing to see, but I knew she needed the fuel to keep going.
©2014 Robin A.F. Olson. First two kittens are drying off, but mama isn't doing a great job getting #3 cleaned and I start to worry.
Seemingly no time later kitten number three was born, but I quickly realized something was wrong. Celeste wasn’t attending to this kitten as much as she had the first two. I thought maybe she was tired. She cleaned the kitten a little bit. It was alive but still very wet. I urged her to clean the poor thing off. I wore gloves so I could safely touch the newborn. I gave it a tug and realized the cord was still attached inside of Celeste. It made Celeste fuss with the kitten but she was very slow to pass the placenta or get the kitten as clean and dry as she had the others. I was very worried but it was moving around and crying. At first he looked black and white, like his siblings, but quickly realized he was white with grey spots that I found charming. I thought he just needed a bit more time. I didn’t realize that the runt of the litter doesn’t mean it’s delivered last. Delivery order isn’t something I understood or thought mattered. It’s another thing to learn about later, but maybe this one was the runt.
©2014 Robin A.F. Olson. The little guy with his Siamese-skinny-long tail, just like mama.
The first two kittens looked good and were starting to search for a nipple but #3 didn’t. Again I thought it was too early and to give it more time. Another cry arrived, then a scream and big push and just like that a big black kitten was born. Celeste quickly cleaned him off, cut the cord and got him ready to go. That kitten was so big I couldn’t imagine he’d have any trouble. I had a sinking feeling #3 wasn’t going to be as lucky.
This is a 3-part post. Next up: Chapter 2. The Longest Day.
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When I saw the news the other night, they were talking about the one-year anniversary of the bombing at the Boston Marathon. A few minutes after it happened, I was sitting in a waiting room at an Emergency Vet watching the TV news in the lobby, shaken by the upsetting news. I was waiting to take you to meet a Vet—a cold-hearted Ophthalmologist. It was the day I learned it was very likely you had Feline Infectious Peritonitis (FIP) and that you’d have a few weeks to live or you had lymphoma. Either way it didn’t look good for your future. The news was delivered without one ounce of compassion. It was delivered by a beast. I will never go back to that Vet again. You were just 9 months old. I couldn’t understand why she’d be so uncaring, but the photos of dogs and horses in her office hinted that maybe she didn’t care for cats at all.
©2012 Robin A.F. Olson. The strange coloration in Fred's eyes was one of the first signs of FIP. It's called Uveitis.
You could still walk then, but it had been weeks since you last jumped after a toy. If I had known what lay ahead for you in all honesty I think I would have just killed myself to avoid seeing you fade away like that. I’ve never witnessed something so completely devastating other than the one secret I could never share here until now.
My father killed himself with a shotgun in 1999. My mother offered to tell me what happened, but I was too distraught to know the details at the time. She never asked me again. We didn’t talk about it.
After she died in 2006, very unexpectedly, in going through her things, I discovered a photo album near her bed. My mother took photos of everything. I guess it was her way to control us because we always had to “form a group” or “stand by that flower” or she’d do weird things like photograph us when we were crying…even my cat after she died (she didn’t tell me she took my camera and photographed my DEAD cat! I found out when I picked up my photos from the drug store).
She photographed my father after he shot himself in the head. Maybe it was her way of processing what happened. I can't fathom or forgive her for doing that. The photos were in that bedside photo album…there was a story added to it about what really happened…how she saw him do it and could have stopped him, but didn’t. I was horrified in ways words cannot describe. I almost threw up when I saw the images of my dear father with his brains blown out, slumped down on the floor of my brother’s old bedroom. I had to call Sam to leave work right then and there, to drive an hour to come get me. All I could do was curl up in a ball on the floor and cry.
Seeing a kitten die from the dry form of FIP is horror I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. I’m so sorry it happened to you Fred.
On this, the anniversary of your passing, I’d like everyone to know that I created The Fred Fund in your honor; where we can set aside assets to only go to cats who need more than routine Vet care. That way, should we have another kitten in dire straights, we’ll be able to provide for him or her.
I’d also like to tell you about two special people who gave from their hearts well after you passed away. I commissioned a custom piece of art to remember you by from a crook (paper sculptor) named Matt Ross. We paid him $200.00 and he never did the art. He never did the art for another reader of this blog and took $300.00 from her. It wasn’t so much about losing the money, it was about him lying over and over again for months on end about how he promised he’d do the work, but then never did.
©2013 Robin A.F. Olson. Fred's shrine. The red ball is his last “boo-boo” bandage. I found it in my bag one day and couldn't bear to part with it.
Two artists heard about what happened and offered to do tributes to you for no charge. Jodie Penn asked me to send her a photo of Fred and she used the image to create a custom pillow. It was almost the same size as you were, a bit bigger and better to hug. When it arrived Sam and I cried. It was like holding you in my arms again.
©2014 Robin A.F. Olson. Jodie told me she's stopped making pillows for now, but is revamping her web site and will have them again this summer. So stay tuned for info on how you can get a pillow should you want one, too.
Alysia Prosser offered to create a watercolor portrait of you. In the end she graciously created one of both you and your brother Barney so we could have a matched set. Her style captured your sweetness and her talent is clear. We will be framing the portraits and hanging them side by side so they will be together always.
©2013 Robin A.F. Olson. Joey, part of a litter of kittens I rescued after Fred's passing.
In the year since you’ve been gone your brother found a wonderful home with his new dad, David and Willow. You remember her. She was a friend to both of you for a long time. Everyone in your group got adopted into good homes. We rescued a mama cat we named Minnie a few weeks after we lost you. I wasn’t sure I could do rescue any more until I saw one of her kittens. He looked so much like you I felt it was a sign from you to keep going.
Alysia Prosser does do commissions if you're interested in a portrait of your cat.
Cat Fancy magazine wrote a story about Kitten Associates and they did a special photo memorial of you. I couldn’t have been more proud of you at that moment for being the star of Kitties for Kids and for bringing joy to the children of Sandy Hook after the tragedy here in 2012.
Last September, the blog post I wrote called “Dear Fred,” one a prestigious award from Dogtime Media for the Best Blog Post. Of all the awards I’ve ever gotten, that was one I will truly cherish because it helped so many people know what a wonderful kitten you were.
December 2013 Cat Fancy with Fred highlighted as the Mascot for our award-winning Kitties for Kids program
Each day I look at your photo and the small box of your ashes that lie next to another box of ashes of your siblings, Bam Bam and Pebbles, who died a few days after being born. I will forever be sad when I think of how this story ended and I will always look over my shoulder wondering if there was just one more thing I could have done that would have saved your life.
I cried so hard, knowing that some day maybe no cat would have to suffer the way you and so many others did. I wrote to Dr. Whittaker and asked him some questions. I’ll let you know what he said in my next letter.
I may have rescued 100’s of cats over the years, but I will never forget you for as long as I live. I hope we’ll see each other again one day.
Your mama, Robin
Four years ago it was rare to see an online plea to help a pet find a home. I’d been cranking away at my blog, wondering if anyone read it when a woman contacted me about her dire situation. She had an 18 pound orange maine coon and she was losing her home in a week. She’d tried asking friends and family to help, but no one stepped forward. She didn’t want to turn him into a shelter because in her heart she hoped her financial situation would improve enough so she could take her cat back. She just needed a long-term foster home.
Could I help her find a placement in Virginia for her beloved Cheese?
Our first glimpse of Cheese.
I’m in Connecticut. What could I do? I wrote a blog post and hoped for the best. What shocked all of us is that the very next day, Amy Sikes stepped up to take Cheese as a foster with the hope of returning him to his mom one day. It was a joyous time, knowing even from afar, a few words inspired someone enough to help save a cat’s life.
Amy contacted me for help and again I wrote another post. Kelly saw the story and reached out to me. Kelly understood that 10 year old cats just don’t magically find a home. She loved maine coons and felt she could give the kitty what he needed.
Kelly lives in New Hampshire, a far drive from Virginia. If the adoption didn't work out it would make a big mess. We had to hope for the best.
Amy and Kelly worked out the details and in good time Cheese found himself in a new forever home with growing boys and 2 squeaky papillons. It wasn’t a love match at first with the dogs, but Kelly knew to give it time and sure enough Cheese found his place. He even began to “chat” with everyone and quickly become the center of attention.
Kelly wasn’t done adding to her family. She ended up adopting our foster kitten, Buttons, then a year later a friend for Buttons named Penelope Possum because the youngsters vexed the big orange senior (it wasn’t a bad situation, but out of respect Kelly felt Cheese needed more chill time and less chasing-kitten time).
©Kelly Keating. Used with permission. Sweet Cheese.
I’ve become friends with Kelly over this time and she’s kept me posted about Cheese. It was always comforting to know he’d escaped being euthanized at a shelter and had been so loved and cared for.
When she got home she found Cheese laying still on the floor, that horrible kind of stillness that alerts one to the fact that there is no life left. Her son relayed that Cheese had stood up, cried out loudly, then died. Shocked and horrified, Kelly called me with the heartbreaking news.
We tried to make sense of what had happened. I knew from experience that cats with heart conditions, which are common in Maine Coons, can cause them to throw a clot and very quickly die. HCM, hypertrophic cardiomyopathy had claimed the life of my cat Stanley and our dear cat, Jackson Galaxy just a few months ago. HCM is very tough to detect without doing an echocardiogram. An x-ray or EKG can only tell so much and Kelly’s vet hadn’t had any suspicions.
©Kelly Keating. Used with permission. The most handsome boy, Cheese.
To Kelly and her son, Liam, who I am told is devastated, to Kelly’s other sons and partner Dana, we join you in mourning the loss of a kitty who just wanted a forever home and was lucky enough to find it with all of you. I wish it had been for 10 more years.
To all of you who read this post, please visit our Facebook page and leave a message for Kelly and her family. She needs our support so very much.
Fly free sweet Cheese. You will be missed always.
Saturday morning I got a text message from Warren that made me burst into tears. It was bad news about a cat named Big Daddy, a hunk of man-cat Warren had trapped behind Home Depot near his house in northern Georgia a few months ago. At the time, we assumed the cat was feral, but within hours after being trapped it was clear this cat was the exact opposite. He was SO charming we ALL fell in love with him. I wrote about Big D’s adventure in the post: The Accidental Feral, Big Daddy.
©2014 William Mahone. Used with permission. www.WilliamMahonePhotography.com. The face that launched 1000 sighs…Big Daddy.
Soon after my post went up asking for a shelter to take on Big Daddy we were delighted that Angels of Assisi, of Roanoke, VA, offered to provide a placement for him until he was adopted. [You can check out that story here The Accidental Feral's Next Journey is with the Angels]
After only a few weeks of being with A of A, Big Daddy was adopted, but sadly, was returned due to his serious fear of dogs. We knew he'd find his home so he returned to the shelter to wait. As far as we knew, Big D was fine until the shocking news on Saturday.
My own vet, Dr. Larry, had never even heard of anything like that happening before and neither had I. Though technically it could be possible, it was not something that happened with any regularity and also proved how seriously ill Big Daddy was…
I posted a PawCircle for Big Daddy right away on our Facebook page and so began the flood of good wishes, prayers and loving messages from over 30,000 people from as far away as Australia and the UK.
It was up to Big Daddy’s compromised immune system as to whether or not he would survive once he was getting IV antibiotics and other supportive care.
©2014 Warren Royal. Used with permission. Before Big Daddy got sick
I wanted to bargain with God to spare Big Daddy’s life. I promised I’d rescue more cats or be a better person…I was so busted up I couldn’t stop crying. For the next 24 hours I felt sick to my stomach with worry, hoping Warren wouldn’t update me or that he would, but only with good news.
Megan, Big Daddy’s foster mom at A of A relayed the story of how things unfolded. With her permission I’m sharing her words here with some minor edits:
Big Daddy first got sick last weekend, Chelsea and I saw him on Saturday April 26th and he had the typical URI symptoms - runny nose, sneezy, congested, a little lethargic. He was still in good spirits at that time, while he wasn’t coming to the front of his cage demanding love he was accepting when we reached in. He had been started on antibiotics at that point. Put a bowl of wet food in front of him and he chowed down. By Monday (April 28) he was getting worse – very congested, blowing snot, not eating. The vets changed up his meds at this point to guifasen cough tabs, clavamox, and some nasal drops to help with the congestion. On Wednesday (April 30) I brought him home to foster and help him recover, I have a very good track record with sick kittens and thought I’d give Big Daddy a try here. I was aware that because of his FIV he would have a harder time fighting this infection, but I had no idea what was in store for us over the next few days. … I was syringe feeding him (he was not eating on his own at all at this point), giving him his meds, nebulizing him twice a day, and keeping a humidifier running in his room all the time. He seemed stable Wednesday and Thursday, but Friday evening he began going downhill very quickly. He was wheezing and gasping for breath most of the night. As I was trying to syringe feed him Friday night he had started clenching his jaw so tight I was not able to wiggle the syringe in to feed him at all. At that point I started panicking, unsure what to do for him. I tried giving him subcutaneous fluids, but he was fighting so much that the needle wouldn’t stay in.
After another attempt at syringe feeding he got very agitated and started walking away from me… He got to the edge of the bed and walked off, not jumped, walked off the bed right into the floor. This is when I REALLY panicked and started to think maybe he couldn’t see, I had also noticed that he would sit with his face against a wall and paw at the wall.
Big Daddy first got sick last weekend, Chelsea and I saw him on Saturday April 26th and he had the typical URI symptoms - runny nose, sneezy, congested, a little lethargic. He was still in good spirits at that time, while he wasn’t coming to the front of his cage demanding love he was accepting when we reached in. He had been started on antibiotics at that point. Put a bowl of wet food in front of him and he chowed down. By Monday (April 28) he was getting worse – very congested, blowing snot, not eating. The vets changed up his meds at this point to guifasen cough tabs, clavamox, and some nasal drops to help with the congestion.
On Wednesday (April 30) I brought him home to foster and help him recover, I have a very good track record with sick kittens and thought I’d give Big Daddy a try here. I was aware that because of his FIV he would have a harder time fighting this infection, but I had no idea what was in store for us over the next few days. … I was syringe feeding him (he was not eating on his own at all at this point), giving him his meds, nebulizing him twice a day, and keeping a humidifier running in his room all the time.
He seemed stable Wednesday and Thursday, but Friday evening he began going downhill very quickly. He was wheezing and gasping for breath most of the night. As I was trying to syringe feed him Friday night he had started clenching his jaw so tight I was not able to wiggle the syringe in to feed him at all. At that point I started panicking, unsure what to do for him. I tried giving him subcutaneous fluids, but he was fighting so much that the needle wouldn’t stay in.
I slept in my guest bedroom with him Friday night, unsure if he would even make it through the night. Saturday morning I got him to the vet at Angels of Assisi with tears in my eyes because I was afraid there was nothing else we could do for our sweet boy, our fabulous veterinarian Dr. Raeann Foster immediately started working on Big Daddy in between paying clients.
He was started on oxygen via facemask; she gave him some steroids, and was planning on starting an IV to give him fluids. After describing how he walked off the bed and was staring at walls she tested his vision and confirmed that he was blind.
She believed that his brain had been oxygen deprived for so long and that’s what had led to the blindness. Obviously, with the blindness everything we tried to do was absolutely terrifying to him and he became very stressed and started lashing out at everyone who would touch him. Raeann (with the help of two great vet assistants!) was finally able to start an IV catheter so we could give him fluids.
We got him back on the oxygen, but he became very stressed and thrashed until he ripped out the IV. At this point Chelsea spoke with Warren to update him on Big Daddy’s status and let him know that we may lose him…Warren generously offered to sponsor Big Daddy’s care if we could/would get him to a full service clinic.
I high tailed it to Emergency Veterinary Services of Roanoke and they quickly took him from me to begin examining and working on him. The vet there updated me quickly and warned me that his prognosis was not good and that he could crash and go downhill very quickly. She told me the plan was to place him in an oxygen chamber where he would be able to get continuous oxygen to help him breathe better. When he was more relaxed they would start running blood work and get chest x-rays. They had to take everything very slowly as it didn’t take much to stress Big Daddy out and cause him to lash out at the staff. I left him in their very capable hands at this point. I called later that evening to check on him and was told that they’d been able to start an IV to give him fluids and antibiotics, had drawn some blood, and he was resting comfortably.
I called again late that night to check on him again and they’d been able to do all his blood work and x-rays, but did not have results yet. I tried to get some sleep Saturday night wondering if Big Daddy would make it. I called first thing Sunday morning for an update on him and was shocked to hear that he’d eaten a little on his own! The oxygen and fluids and antibiotics were working wonders! He seemed to be regaining some vision; he was more relaxed and very friendly with the staff taking care of him. She even told me that he was purring!
She told me that he was not out of the woods just yet, but that she was very happy with the progress he’d made over night. His blood work results were in – his WBC count was very elevated (Which was expected with an infection); his kidney enzymes were slightly elevated (possibly due to dehydration). His x-rays showed the he had a possible collapsed lung, which explained his difficulty breathing. She said they would begin trying to wean him off the oxygen then. So while he was not out of the woods, we became cautiously optimistic for a full recovery!
…I went to visit BD that evening at the Emergency Vet clinic and he was looking amazing, I could not believe this was the same cat I’d dropped off just 24 hours prior when he couldn’t breathe or see! He was now completely off oxygen, his vision was returning, he was eating on his own, he was purring and loving on the staff…
©2014 Megan Greer. Used with Permission. Big Daddy, down 3 pounds from being sick, got a visit from Megan at the ER Vet.
As the hours ticked by it seemed that Big Daddy was responding to treatment enough to leave the ER. By Monday he was back home with Megan, who would provide him with continued care and monitoring. With the good news spreading that Big D. was going to make it I think we all shared a sigh of relief and plenty of tears, but it also left us with more questions.
What was next for Big Daddy? How could he go back to A of A’s shelter after being so very sick and be exposed to other cats? If he couldn't be in the shelter where would he go? Could he stay in foster care for the time being…but how long could he stay there if it prevented the shelter from saving more lives?
Angels of Assisi has an Amazon WishList that includes some food for Big Daddy. If you'd like to send him a Get Well gift please visit THIS LINK. MAKE SURE YOU LEAVE A GIFT MESSAGE THAT YOUR GIFT IS FOR BIG DADDY (he likes Blue Buffalo and Spot's Stew and others).
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Rescue is an exercise in loving, then letting go, whether the cat leaves to be adopted or passes away while in foster care. It’s a challenge we face and have to find a way to accept, but many times instead of finding peace with the loss, we’re left with scars on our heart. I think a cat rescuer’s heart must look pretty ratty between the effects of sadness and stress on it. It’s a wonder it functions at all and miraculous that we find a way to love again and again.
©2013 Robin A.F. Olson. Mandy a few days after rescue, already brewing the URI that would plague the kittens for months.
In the case of “the Clementines,” our six, once skin-and-bones, flea-covered kittens from Kentucky, my heart was truly tested. At first it was stressed from worry. The kittens arrived covered in fleas, then got sick over and over again with an eye infection that wouldn’t quit. Then I fell in love with their silly antics as they began to blossom from little squirts to young adults. I dreaded the time when they would be adopted. They'd been here far too long.
©2014 Robin A.F. Olson. Mango and sister, Mandy, together always.
Our original six kittens, after many many months, were finally well enough to be find their homes. Quickly after being posted on Petfinder first Marigold, then her sisters Blossom and Buttercup were adopted. I was happy to see them find their place in the world, but secretly feared the day when their big brother Mango would find his place, too.
Mango is the biggest of the litter. He’s dopey, friendly, a bit too nippy when he’s bored. He’s always been courageous and ready to bust out of his foster room and dash down the stairs. In seconds he makes it all the way to the basement, tail up, ready for adventure, driving me crazy in the process.
©2014 Robin A.F. Olson. A world full of adventures awaits Biscotti and buddy, Mango.
©2014 Robin A.F. Olson. Late night laptime.
It wasn’t so bad that he got out, but it was a pain in the neck to have to retrieve him all the time. He got into a little game with me where he’d run out of the room, dash down the hallway into my bedroom. He’d run over to a plant and chew on the leaves. I’d get him off the plant and he’d sit comfortably in my arms with his front paws crossed over each other as I carried him back to the foster room.
©2014 Robin A.F. Olson. Fluff and Mango's game time.
Once Fluff Daddy was here, they developed a new game. Fluff would wait outside the door and as Mango made his escape, Fluff would trill and call out, chasing after him. They’d head into the master bathroom and Mango would run into the shower stall, even if it was wet from recently being used. He’d wait a minute or two while Fluff burbled after him, then he’d race out, right into my arms and I’d carry him back to his room once again.
©2014 Robin A.F. Olson. Sweet and silly Mandy.
After some time I decide to just let him out, get the food put down, then go get him. My favorite part of the game was watching him run down the hallway. His little butt would wiggle back and forth as he so proudly pranced along, enjoying his little game, waiting for me to come get him. He never struggled to get out of my arms, even at nine pounds he was never too big to be held.
Mango definitely was a “keeper” in my book, but I knew I just couldn’t do that. He deserved a home. At least that’s what I kept telling myself.
©2014 Robin A.F. Olson. The final sniff.
A few days ago, a very nice lady named Ann Marie came over with her mom, Dotty. These two ladies love cats. Ann Marie has an apartment in her parent’s home so when Ann Marie had to go to work, her mom and dad would be with the kittens. I loved the idea of Mango having that much attention, but I also knew he needed a buddy. Mango is a real cat-cat.
Ann Marie agreed saying she’d often had two cats and would welcome the chance to adopt one of Mango’s siblings. As she and her mother played with the kittens, I could tell her choice would be Mandarin.
©2014 Robin A.F. Olson. Oh Mango!
Mandy was the smallest of the litter, the most dainty, the polar opposite to big thug Mango. Her eyes are almond shaped, not as round as her brother’s, which gives her a very sweet, girly-girl look (and was one of the few ways I could tell the cats apart when they were little kittens). Mandy is often rather quiet, but loveable. She surprised me by fetching one particular, ratty toy. If I threw it she would either return it to me or she would leap high into the air, catching the toy with her front paws. She looked like an outfielder at a baseball game. I’d never seen anything like it.
I knew Ann Marie and her mom (who is so gentle with my own cats that when she sat with the two most skittish cats, they didn’t run off.) were falling for the two kittens. It was not long before we were doing the paperwork and I was kissing each kitten and loading them into their cat carriers.
©2014 Robin A.F. Olson. Mr. Handsome.
Then the all-too familiar feeling…rip, rip, rip goes my heart.
After the kittens left for their new home and I returned to the foster room it felt completely empty even though two cats remained. Biscotti and Bert, the last of the Clementines, looked up at me clearly confused about what was going on. Mango, the master of mayhem, was gone. His story with me had reached the final chapter. I wouldn’t need a “kitten plow” to enter the room any more, nor would I see his little round butt shake its way down the hall ever again.
©2013 Robin A.F. Olson. Baby Mango hit with URI, didn't stop him from being adorable.
©2014 Robin A.F. Olson. With their new mama, Ann Marie and her mama, Dotty.
Goodbye babies. Have a wonderful life.
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