Celeste's Journey. Chapter 3. The Darkest Day.

(Cont. from chapter 1 and chapter 2)

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.

That afternoon I brought #3 to his mom. Something was wrong with her. I’d put a space heater on to keep everyone warm and she was panting. I turned off the heater and opened the windows. I offered her water. She was breathing VERY fast. She growled a bit. I called the vet and made an appointment. I was scared she’d retained a kitten or something else was going on. I imagined having to feed ALL the kittens if she died and thought I would lose my mind at that point. With my lack of confidence about bottle feeding they would likely die along with her.

©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.

#3 was dead.

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. .

I felt I had failed #3. He showed me a few signs that maybe he could make it. I probably didn’t keep something warm or cool enough. Maybe his head was too far back when I tried to feed him. Maybe it was Mother Nature reminding me I can’t fix everything by working hard. That she had other plans for #3. We can tell ourselves whatever we like as we search for a reason for this wretched unfairness, but in the end it doesn’t change the outcome.

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 never want to take on a pregnant cat again. I know there are things everyone is good at and things they are not so great at. Maybe this is a “thing” I am not good at and it would be safer for everyone if I didn’t take on more situations like this one.

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.

Cats. Cats would break me and in the next moment, the love for and from cats would be my salvation.

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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