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Mama-Cat, Gabby is doing well after her spay surgery and is recovering nicely. She'll be released back to her woodland home in the coming days! Finally free of annoying humans, she'll be able to run free and do her thing, but be healthy and not worry about getting knocked up again!

This chapter is a difficult one to write both physically and emotionally. Last night I wrestled with whether or not I should leave out what happened and just keep this as a positive, uplifting story, but that's not how life goes some times.

The truth is, socializing feral kittens can be difficult, frustrating and painful. It's part of the process. Some times all the work is for naught. Some times we have to accept the results we get, knowing we did our best. Some times things go beautifully and without a hitch and it's just another notch on our belt of success.

Yesterday, though Tweetie was mellow and friendly, the three kittens I introduced him to, didn't care for him one bit. Poor Tweetie wanted to fit in and play, but they just hissed and arched their tiny backs. Eventually, Tweetie hissed back and ran off to hide in his carrier. I got them all to play together and eat in close proximity, but clearly the kittens were all stressed.

Tweetie putting up with hisses from Sprinkles

Pixie, is not thrilled, while Tweetie looks to make friends elsewhere.

At 6pm Sprinkles' adoptive family come to see her again. Since they also wanted to see Tweetie, I left him in the room, instead of moving him to his private quarters.

Still hoping to make friends. Tweetie tries his luck with Twinkles.

Friend or Foe? Who's that knocking upon my door?

It was clear, fairly quickly, that all the kittens were stressed during the visit. Because it was important that Sprinkles show well, I realized I needed to move Tweetie to his room. Tweetie was upset. I reached to scruff him and he went down right away. A good, submissive move.

Because I was distracted by the visitors, I missed scruffing Tweetie properly and grabbed his shoulder. He flipped out and bit me. Instead of moving my hand, which I SHOULD HAVE DONE, I tried to adjust my grip, but it was too late. Tweetie's teeth sunk deeply into my index finger-the same one he bit a week ago.

Instead of screaming, I calmly let him go, stood up and told him to "go to your carrier." As I walked behind him, he ran into his carrier. I shut the door, preparing to return him to his room. My finger was throbbing painfully and starting to gush blood. Sprinkles' family thought I had magic powers over cats, by getting Tweetie to obey me so quickly, but I just knew he'd run to the first, small, dark place he could find.

I summoned up the courage to be calm and excused myself from the room, bringing Tweetie with me. I put him back in his room and quietly left him to calm down while I took care of my wounds.

I have five bite marks on my finger. It hurts like Hell. I furiously cleaned my finger, fearing infection. I've been down this road before with my very own formerly feral cat, Cricket. He sent me to the hospital once when he didn't want to go to the Vet. He sunk his teeth into my hand. It swelled up like a balloon, even though I cleaned it out. I got a few shots, one in the ass, for my troubles. I wasn't sure this wound was that serious. I sure hoped it wasn't.

The family finally left and I basically fell apart. I haven't slept well for a long while and I was very upset, thinking about Tweetie. He'd made all this great progress. Would his chances of being adopted end because he bit me? Would anyone see past that and feel safe around him?

I know it was MY FAULT that Tweetie bit me. He told me, most clearly, that he was upset and I did not heed his warning signs, so the warnings became more explosive. I never should have touched a cat in the "red zone." I should have re-directed him with a toy and got him into his carrier. My fear was how would he behave now that we've had this "incident?"

I went to bed at 10pm after getting everyone fed. Normally I'm up much later, but my body was aching. I laid in bed and couldn't get comfortable. I tossed and turned, worrying about Tweetie. In my heart, even though he hurt me, I know he didn't mean it.

I got up an hour later and made some chamomile tea. It tastes like ass (actually, I never tasted an ass, so this is just a guess). I brought it into Tweetie's room, not knowing what his state of mind would be.

He was sitting on the cat condo, so I sat on the floor next to it. I didn't reach out to give him a pet, I just looked over at him. He looked at me and burbled, then cocked his head, curious as to why I wasn't petting him. He jumped off the condo and nervously ran past me. He sat on the floor and looked at me as I sipped my tea.

He got up and jumped onto my leg. As I lifted the teacup to my lips, he head-butted my elbow and burbled another greeting. I touched his back and he melted into my lap, looking up at me as if nothing tragic had happened and that everything, as far as he was concerned was just fine...and oh, could I pet him some more so he could purr louder??

So this, my friends, is part of my difficult journey with a cat who has literally gotten under my skin in so many ways. He's a good egg, I promise. I take all the blame for what happened. I'm not sure what this means for him or if it's just another bump in the road? I just hope beyond hope's limits that I can find Tweetie the loving home he so deserves and a band-aid for my finger. I seem to be out.

Tweetie's Feral Kitty Boot Camp began almost a week ago. What was once a shy and fearful kitten, has softened and warmed into a sweet kitty. The next stage of the process is to begin to open up Tweetie's comfort zone. This will also allow the poor guy to get a break from hours of alone time.

Tweetie's first escapade was to travel with me to one of the only other rooms that, a) has a door on it and b) doesn't need to be kitten-proofed. Yes, another bathroom! Good thing I have more than one.

It was easy to put Tweetie into a carrier and bring him to the Master Bathroom where he could keep me company while I shower. And no, there is no and will not be ANY photos of this! Do you want to go BLIND? I mean, really!

Never undress in front of a kitten.

Tweetie was a bit nervous, as I expected, but the room isn't that large and he had some toys to occupy his attention. That was, until I turned on the faucet to start the shower.

Tweetie hid. Okay, no problem. I tossed his toys around and coaxed him back out of his carrier. I got into the shower and called out to him. He took one look at me and ripped out a YEEEOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWW!!!!

In cat, I believe this translates to mean: "GET OUT OF THERE!!!! WATER!!!! YOU'LL GET WET!!!!! GET OUT!! GET OUT!! GET OUT!!! OH MY GOD GET OUT!!!"

I ignored Tweetie's pleas and called out again, assuring him that "hoomins need to not smell bad and this is the only way to get there, other than wear too much perfume, which really only masks the problem and doesn't really head the problem off at the pass, like people who think those air fresheners really do anything other than mask a lie. They should clean their house, not spray chemicals on their belongings."

Thinking back on it, maybe all I said was; "It's ok, Tweetie. Don't worry. I'll be out in a minute."

Tweetie just meowed.

After two days in a row of shower-meowing and with feral Mama Cat, Gabby no longer with the other fosters, I got the go ahead to let Tweetie share his play time with the kittens. Finally, no more day-long alone time. There'd be some adjustment time for all kittens concerned, but after that, it should be all right.

In another hour, the lady who is going to adopt Sprinkles will be here with her Fiancè. She wants him to make sure he also wants to adopt Sprinkles. Normally, we have one meeting, they adopt the cat, they go. This will be meeting number two of at least three meetings before Sprinkles goes home. They also asked to see Tweetie again, you know, just to help with his socializing, of course. They don't want to ADOPT HIM. Sure they don't! After all the oo-ing and ahh-ing of their last visit, I have a feeling they will change their mind.

Good thing Tweetie may already be spoken for.

:-)

What the heck shape IS this? Blobular?

I swear Nicky has no bones.

Well? What's the opposite of "Uplifting?"

Sheesh.

Today had some very big ups that I can't talk about right now, other than to say that there are some very interesting, exciting, joyful things percolating. How it all comes to pass, I do not know, but it's nice to have something to look forward to nonetheless. I don't mean to be a turd by keeping quiet, it's just, well, know that I'll tell you as soon as I can. Ok, you want a hint?

I can't. Not yet. Sue me. No, please don't sue me. I really don't want to be sued for teasing my readers!

Anyway, back to being miserable.

I HATE, HATE, HATE this part of rescuing cats. In fact, it doesn't feel much like something that can be described as part of "rescuing" a cat. That said, I know there are many who would disagree with me.

Our brave and tough-cookie Director came for Mama cat-Gabby this afternoon. It was time to remove her from her kittens, forever. Gabby will be overnighted in a trap, then taken to the Vet to be spayed, given her shots, ear tipped and a checkup while she's sedated. After a day of rest, she'll be taken back to where she was first trapped, a few miles from here. I'm not sure if she'll immediately be released or if she'll be in a dog crate for a few days. Regardless, she will go back to living her wild life, free from ever being knocked up again and free to live her life as she decides is best.

I hate separating Moms from kittens. So does our Director. It's another part of the "tough love" stuff we do. It makes me feel like guano, but I know I can't keep everyone together forever. Sooner or later the day will come. Here it is.

Mama went ballistic when we tried to get her into the carrier. I felt so bad. I know she was terrified. Ironically, with all her running around we finally got her into the big dog crate. She ran over to the end of the crate where I was standing and climbed up the wall. It was the first time I was less than a few feet away from her. Her eyes were dilated in fear, but all I could think of was how pretty she was, close up, and that it would be nice to have been able to pet her during the eight weeks she's been with me.

Our Director got her packed up. The room was a disaster. I'd removed the kittens before we even started so they wouldn't see what we were doing. When I returned them to the room, after I'd cleaned it back up, they seemed nonplused and went about playing with their toys. I'm guessing they'll notice something's wrong, but I snuck out of the room before they could do that. I just don't have the heart.

Even though she was nasty and she'd hissed so many times, her "hisser" was barely functioning, I still feel sad. I'm sorry we had to do what we did, but weighing all the options, this was the best choice for her. As with all my fosters, I wish her a safe, happy, joyful life. Her caretaker and his wife will look out for her and make sure she's fed. A week from now she'll be lounging in the grass, enjoying the taste of freedom and because I've got Jewish and Italian heritage, I'll still feel guilty!

Tweetie continues to amaze me. His fearful shell is crumbling away to reveal a perky, outgoing, imp. He's in full kitten mode-meaning he's all about playing and exploring. Resting is for the hours he must be on his own, part of his "tough love" quarantine.

When I enter his room, he no longer runs off. Instead, he'll lie on his cat bed, relaxed. I can hear his purr. It's deep and echoes off the hard surface of the shower walls, making it sound like it's coming from a much bigger beast.

Tweetie's curiousity has replaced fear. If I see him begin to act fearful, I redirect him with a toy. He soon forgets to be bothered by the sound of the nearby dryer spinning or by me shifting position so my legs won't fall asleep from sitting on the tile floor.

I've also started introducing new sounds to check Tweetie's startle reflex and get his used to the noises people make (ok, not ALL noises, ok only after I eat Mexican food). Apparently my singing isn't that good, as you can see in Tweetie's reaction, below.

So far the only noticeable problem is that Tweetie may not like men. Not sure this is a problem! Oops. Just kidding. Just another thing to work on, though with the quick progress Tweetie's making it won't be too much longer before I can really put him to the test to meet lots of strangers to see how he'll react.

By the way, I a heard rumor that Sockington's "people" may be requesting a visit with Tweetie! I hope they're not coming to do a DNA test to rule out paternity! After all, it just takes one look to know little Tweetie might as well be named: Sockington Jr. !

Either my cats are oddly gigantic or this heated Kitty Cabin is too small. Spencer CAN squeeze himself into this thing, but he's more likely to get stuck in the opening, which causes him to freak out and run excitedly around the house. At least it got him to move!

Please accept this goofy photo as my Blog offering for today. I'm still wiped out from the past two weeks and yesterday, spent at an Adoption Event in a bit too warm weather, tapped me. I promise to get you updated on TWEETIE (many updates there), as well as poor Pixie, the other fosters, Bob Dole, Nicky and Gracie. Lots going on!

Stay tuned!

Tweetie is really growing on me now that I can pet him without worrying about being bitten. Okay, I worry, but it's not as it was before. This guy has really come out of his shell of anger and fear. I dare him to push the envelope of comfort by rubbing his face, head, back and...oooo...belly.

When I get to his belly, he lurches, then runs off, but he's never angry or rough with me. Perhaps the stimulation of being touched is too strange to him? It's as if he becomes electrified, hyper-sensitized. I'd like to ask him, but I don't they make Rosetta Stone for Cats.

Sprinkles had some company. Her adoptive Mom came to meet her. It went fairly well and I believe Sprinkles will be adopted into a nice family with two elderly dogs and an 11 month old kitty. I hear that Sprinkles name will be changed. I'm sad about that, but heck, I can always call another foster kitten Sprinkles. I could call them ALL Sprinkles, but that would annoy the crap out of our Director!

I was thinking of really BAD names for cats. Here are a few: Tampon, Rabid and Acne.

Anyway, I asked Sprinkle's Mom (who also had her 21 yr old daughter with her) if they would be willing to meet Tweetie, just to get him used to being around new people. I warned them about being bit, to move slowly and keep their voices down.

I figured the entire time Tweetie would hide or hiss, but he shocked me by allowing not just the daughter, but the Mom to pet him-all over. He rolled to the side and purred away. He had moments of nervousness, but he kept coming back to allow them to touch and play with him.

I started to realize that I made a mistake. Both Mom and daughter were cooing and ooing over Tweetie. Clearly they were smitten with this kitten! I reminded them that Tweetie would be a bad fit for their home (which was absolutely true). Their kitty, Patches, is already a fearful kitten and with Tweetie's strong personality, I think it would be a bad fit. They were very reluctant to agree with me, but did realize Sprinkles would be better for them.

At least I know that Tweetie is adoptable even as he is. This is fantastic news and I'm so very proud of him. As the days pass, I can see how anyone would love him. He really is adorable and when his motor gets going you just get sucked into his charms.

5AM, once again, almost as though a vengeful alarm clock went off, I wake up, hearing one of the blasted cats puking. I dragged myself downstairs to discover Cricket leaving a trail of puke from the kitchen to the basement stairs. Nice.

Before I can even reach the paper towel dispenser, I smell something awful. I look, and, of course, I find Nicky (most likely) dropped a few "friends off" on the bathroom floor.

I'm so tired and so tired of these 5AM puke up calls. I reach down to clean up another mess and all of a sudden I get horrible pains in my abdomen, then my chest. I slowly stand and shuffle over to the sofa and just sit down. I'm so woozy from the lousy sleep, it's really effecting me.

After I finish cleaning everything up, I slowly drag back to bed. My legs are heavy. It's too hot in the house. Ugh.

I finally get to sleep after an hour and I drop off deeply for awhile. Then, guess what? Yep. Bob pukes. 9am. He is hungry. I should have been up by now to feed him. I think he pukes when he's super empty because all he vomited was some water. I get the cats fed and figure I'm up for the day.

I get the food ready for the kittens and make my way back upstairs to feed them. I open the door to "The Ladies Room" (which is my guest room where Gabby and her 3 girls are) to find little Pixie laying on the floor, looking rather odd. Something is wrong, but I go about getting them fed. I see her on the bed, where I feed the kittens. She's not bearing weight on her front left leg. She looks like she's shaking. Oh no.

I feel her leg. It feels normal, though what do I know from normal? It doesn't feel massively broken. She doesn't want to eat much, if anything. I call our Director. I'm frantic, but it's because I'm not used to this stuff yet. She assures me she will get me a Vet app't and to not worry. Maybe the kitten is sick or she has had a bad reaction to the FCRVP shot she got a few days ago.

Longer story, shorter-I end up taking Pixie and her sisters to visit Super Deb and Dr. Larry. It just worked out better for all and I was glad to have them see the kittens.

Super Deb gives Twinkles and Sprinkles a nail trim. Ooo la la!