Cat Rescue

Friday, late afternoon, I received an email from our Director about Winkle's urgent need for eye surgery. Within an hour, I had the information out to my Tweeps, my FB friends and my dear friends here on CiCH.

Many of you were kind enough to help me get the word out. Some were doubly kind and offered donations, from a few dollars, to much more. That you would take the time out of your day, the money out of your wallet, to help a kitten you don't know and a rescue group you may not be familiar with-well that just humbles me to the core.

I want you ALL to know that The Animal Center is a registered non-profit, 501 (3)c. Your donations go 100 percent to helping kittens. We're all volunteer. No one gets a salary and I design any fundraising materials for gratis. I welcome you to check us out or ask any questions. We don't have a shelter, though we dream of having one some day. We do in-home fostering, so the kittens we can help are based on the number of foster families we have and the financial resources we have.

As you may know, our donations, like most rescue groups, are down from the past years, so having to raise funds for Winkle, was a bit daunting. I'm very GLAD to let you know that in barely a day, we've gotten close to reaching our goal. If we should get any extra monies, those are earmarked for The Angel Fund, so it will ALWAYS go to cats in dire need of medical help. Every year we have kittens in crisis.

I'd like to catch you up on Winkle. Right now he's comfortable and happy in foster care. In a few days he's being taken to a specialist to have his eye removed. Though the Vet feels his condition is due to a "blunt force trauma" to his head, there is a SMALL chance that Winkles has juvenile cancer. Winke's eye will be biopsied to determine if he has cancer. We'll still get him a great home-but his new family needs to know that Winkle's life may not be as long as other kitten's.

With any luck, Winkle will just be a one-eyed kitty and the rest of his life will be long, healthy and filled with love.

I'll get some photos of Winkle posted and more updates as soon as they're available.

Again, my deepest thanks to all of you.

This JUST IN from our group The Animal Center:

Unexpected twists and turns in life happen to everyone. Winkle the kitten is only ten weeks old, but has already had some big ups and downs in his life. First, something happened to seriously damage his left eye, leaving him partially blind and in significant pain. But then his life started to change for the better when someone spotted him in a busy parking lot and brought him to the neighborhood "cat lady," who then contacted The Animal Center for help.

Shortly after Winkle came to us in late July, we brought him to an eye specialist who diagnosed his left eye with severe glaucoma. Winkle is completely blind in that eye and the pressure behind it is causing him considerable pain.

Photo credit: The Animal Center

But despite his pain, Winkle is always in good spirits, greeting visitors with purrs and affection, and he loves to play. Like so many animals who are abandoned and rescued, Winkle has demonstrated a strong will to live and trusting, positive spirit from the very first day we met him.

We don't know how Winkle was injured, but his veterinarian suspects a blunt force trauma to his head.

Photo credit: The Animal Center

What we do know is we can make life a whole lot better for Winkle. By removing his left eye, his doctor will relieve the pressure behind it, eliminating Winkle's pain. His surgery is scheduled for August 5th, 2009.

Today, we're asking for donations to our Angel Fund to help us pay for Winkle's eye surgery and follow-up care so that this kitten has a chance to live a full and healthy life free of pain. And if you know anyone who's interested in giving the sweetest one-eyed kitten in the world a home, let us know!

Note from Robin:

Every dollar helps, so don't feel like you can't donate enough. We appreciate even a $1 donation. Please help Winkle! I'll be sure to update his progress as soon as we have more info available!

THANK YOU VERY MUCH!

I'm going to try to write while sipping iced tea and nibbling at a chocolate muffin. I know I shouldn't eat it, but heck, some times a girl's gotta eat what a girl's gotta eat. Plus, my pants feel loose. Okay, maybe my stomach popped over the top of my pants so they feel looser, but who can see me right now?

I'm trying to keep muffin bits off the keyboard. Good thing it's one of those uber flat ones from Apple. Less crap can sneak under the keys. Have you ever looked or dusted or CLEANED your keyboard? I got rid of my last keyboard because I swear I heard growling coming from under the "T" key.

For all those concerned, and there were a few, thankyouverymuch!, my finger is not infected and I didn't have to visit the ER. There's one spot near my knuckle that's quite sore, but nothing disgusting is oozing out of it. It should heal in time. I even found a bandage. Good old Sponge Bob Square Pants! I thought I had ones that looked like bacon strips, but I couldn't find them.

Oh! Tweetie. Yes, Tweetie.

Tweetie is insane, but to be fair so are Sprinkles and Pixie. Twinkles, is too mellow to be crazy.

There's an energy that forms when kittens hit about seven weeks old. It grows to explosive proportions that radiates from their tiny little bodies from eight to ten weeks and beyond. They can climb well, run endlessly, jump high, mixed with an insatiable curiousity for everything around them. These changes indicate the time is coming for the kittens to leave!

They start to GET ON MY NERVES!!!!

All these kittens do is RUN RUN RUN, fight, climb up the side of the dog crate...which gives them access to the top of the cable box (nearby), a shelf full of books, and a ton of crap I put high up to keep it away from their destructive paws. Then they...OOPS...knock stuff to the floor, hurt themselves, run so hard they start panting and Tweetie even started foaming at the mouth-which scared the shit out of me.

I ended up putting Tweetie back in his room, alone, to force him to just REST. He was fine in a few minutes, but I was shaken. I tried to just hang out with the Sprinkles and her gang, but they too were too busy poking around, ripping at things, treating me like a scratching post and fighting with each other. They would not sit still even after a good hour of hard playtime-an hour that I witnessed. Who knows how long they were running around BEFORE I was in the room!

It was getting late. Their crazy antics made me feel stressed out. It's weird. Their energy flows so strongly, you can't help but be effected by it. It was like coffeeless surge of caffeine. I had to leave the room and just stare at a TV show for an hour before I felt my pulse slow down. I was ready for bed.

I finally got a decent night sleep thanks to the new pillow I got at Bed, Bath & Banal. I have a "thing" about pillows. I constantly have a problem finding one that supports my gigantically fat head. They're either way too hard, then my neck aches, or they're so mooshy I have to shove my arm under my pillow to give me the support I need. I even blew $150!!!!! on a Tempurpedic pillow. I used it a few nights and it was ok, but then one night I woke up in the middle of the night. I literally could not sit up. All the muscles in my neck were LOCKED. I started screaming and hyperventilating. Poor Sam woke up, did not pee in his pants or the bed, thankfully, and after a few fuzzy minutes of me screaming and writhing, he got the idea to pull me up, then started to dig his iron fingers into my neck to loosen up the muscles, while I began to cry, of course.

Yeah, so I have a thing about good pillows.

So, I'm rested and somewhat refreshed. Ready to face a new day full of insane kitten behavior. Next Wednesday all but Tweetie are getting spayed and their final shots and tests ('cause Tweetie was already vetted). Then Thursday/Friday they'll be going to their new homes and I'll get the house back to myself and my seven bratty cats.

There's a new found appreciation for my own cats, I must admit. Yesterday I jiggled a few toys at them and they just laid there and looked at me. Not one of the cats would actually get up off their big ass to even bat at the toy! I whipped the feather toy past their heads, taunted them, was provocative in my every move and nothing. They just looked at me. Their expressions asking; "Are you quite through now? I'd like to go back to bed OR You could pet me OR you certainly could FEED ME. Other than that, would you mind going away?"

I love kittens. Really, I do, but there's nothing like an old, slow moving, bored cat that really makes my day.

And, by the way, that was a pretty good muffin, too.

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!

A week ago today, Tweetie bit me when I tried to pet him. Since it broke the skin and Tweetie hadn't had his rabies shot yet, I was "strongly urged" by Dr. Larry to get my arse to the ER to get post exposure Rabies treatment. I made a few calls and found out it would be covered, but the insurance company "urged" me not to go to the ER. The only place that HAS the meds IS the ER.

So I cleaned out the wound and decided to just give it some time. Tweetie had already been in our Program for more than the 10 day observation period, so odds are, he and I would both be fine.

I think this is a metaphor for Tweetie. At first, I was "urged" to consider releasing him. He'd bitten me and the Director. He was fearful, but not aggressive (whew). It was an appropriate "treatment."

As you know, we decided to give it some time and see how Tweetie did on his own. Isolation can some times push a feral kitten into yearning for physical connection so deeply that he'll seek it out from the ones he may have feared most, humans. But not every kitten will respond well and there's a tipping point at which we MUST release them if we can't coax them into being social butterflies.

Yesterday was an important clue to how things might go with Tweetie, once he was returned to living in my bathroom (still have other fosters in the "guest room" so this was what was left). I realized I was reluctant to engage with him, fearing another bite. After feeding him, I decided to just let him unwind for an hour. He'd just been returned from being neutered and getting his shots and being parted from his family and I didn't want to add to his stress.

I went up to see him again. I found him lying in a comfy cat bed in the bathtub. He was stretched out, relaxed. I called to him in a whisper as to not stress him. I kneeled down slowly and prepared to extend my hand out to pet him, keeping my fingers together (or else they think you're putting your claws out at them!)...when I heard something.

Tweetie was purring.

LOUD.

I began to pet the back of his head and he kept on purring. I petted his back and he tensed up a bit, but let me continue. I even rubbed his belly a bit, which scared him and he jumped up and ran to the cat condo near the tub. With me sitting, he could, in a sense tower over me. I felt this was better for him, too. He relaxed. I petted him a bit more, then he had enough and ran to rake his claws onto the cardboard scratchy thing.

We had a nice play time. I got him some new toys which he enjoyed.

Then he did something that broke my heart.

He dove onto the bathroom rug and furiously began to "make muffins" on it. His purr filled the room. He was, most likely, comforting himself and thinking about his Mama. I wanted to pick him up and hold him, but it's too soon to try that. Tweetie has shown remarkable progress in a very short time, but I need to be patient and take it slow.

I'm really choked up right now. I just finished having a nice, cleansing cry. Some of my tears were for seeing the Masters of Mayhem leave to be spayed/neutered and on to wait for their forever homes. The rest of my tears, were allocated to Tweetie.

As we often see, the kittens we rescue during TNR, aren't always easy to socialize. Some are flat out wild beasts who will only be tamed over a long period of time, if ever. Because we don't have the time to socialize each kitten, we have to choose which are candidates for placement and release the ones that will simply take too much time in foster care to turn around.

It's the part of doing rescue work that I don't care for. I know the kittens who are released will have a harder life. At least they'll have good health and a caregiver to start with. The rest is up to them. I'm a big softy. I admit it. I want ALL the kittens to get a good home and not have to live under a fallen tree or under someone's shed, but it certainly beats being in a cage in a shelter, where they will slowly go mad, never be adopted for being too fractious and end up being euthanized.

So up until this morning, I was mentally preparing myself to be okay with Tweetie being released in the next week. He's getting neutered today, then evaluated, then probably returned to where he was first trapped. His old home base.

Then I got a short email. It was from Sockington's owner, Jason. Whose famous cat looks like he's Tweetie's father. He asked if he could possibly help little Tweetie and then...everything changed.

I realized it would be wrong to release Tweetie, when he has so many friends rooting for him. That perhaps, this one time, this one kitten's story of learning to love, might be worth telling. I spoke with our Director and we had an uncomfortable conversation, which, thankfully, blossomed into understanding and a little "bending of the rules."

Tweetie was slated to be ear-tipped today, just in case he ended up being released. It would prevent him from having additional sedation and stress, but I asked to cancel the procedure, worried that it would effect Tweetie's chance of being adopted. In our give and take, I offered to cover the medical expenses should Tweetie need to be ear tipped at a later point and instead of being evaluated by the Director just now, Tweetie is going to be released...

...to me.

This is going to be tough, but I need to give it a try. Tweetie is going back into my bathroom. He'll be on his own, without his siblings. "Tough love" may help turn him around. I'm going to give him the time he needs—which may be months, but I'm going to stick by him and with any luck, one day I'll be writing about Tweetie getting adopted.

This is very risky. Tweetie could end up not turning the corner, then we'll have to release him, but at what point? If he gets too old-even 6 months, he'll be harder to place and I can't have Tweetie in my bathroom forever.

For now, I'll be writing about Tweetie's journey to find his love for people and and my struggle to help get him there.

NOTE: I just created a special Twitter page for Tweetie. You can follow his "Tweets" here

Barely twelve days ago I took in four kittens. They've been living in my bathroom/laundry room and for an hour or two every day I let them into the adjacent hallway so they have a chance to get in a good run.

I'm impressed by their endless enthusiasm for play time. They run, jump, attack each other, climb up my front, back, legs, until I look like I tried to escape over razor wire at a Federal Women's Prison.

Even though I've blown through an entire tube of Bacitracin, in this short amount of time, I've fallen in love with the little buggers. Each one is special and I must admit I'm jealous of whoever gets to adopt them.

Twitter, is a quiet, friendly kitten. She's also a dead ringer for the first foster cat I took in over 15 years ago. She loves to play.

Angel is brave, bold, big, beautiful, with a quick purr and a sweet cry, whenever he knows food is being prepared. He loves to sit on my lap, then use the higher vantage point to jump onto the other kittens.

Fluffy, you complete me. I'm a sucker for tuxes and not only are you a fine tux, but you've got the sweet and silly personality to match. I love to watch you run. You have awesome fluffocks (butt fluff) and you crack me up. I think your name isn't good enough for you. I hope your new family calls you something more fabulous. Not that this IS fabulous, but for some reason I want to call you, Molly.

Lastly there's Tweetie. The cute fellow who looks like a celebucat, Sockington, and who is responsible for my wee website to actually get more than 40 hits in one day. Tweetie, I've seen you slowly come out of your shell. You let me pet you. You even purred. You even seemed to like it. Sadly, it may not be enough. I did try to convince our Director to let you stay here, after you're neutered tomorrow, but she has to evaluate you and if you don't pass muster, you'll go back outdoors.

I don't want to say this as a death sentence for you, but it hurts because I see your heart and I see you try, but deep down if you just had to live with humans and no other cats, I think you might be terrified and unhappy. I hope we get lucky and find an understanding adopter for you, but it has to happen in the next few days. Whatever happens to you, you won't soon be forgotten.

While I won't miss the mess that will take a good day to clean up and I won't miss having to move a blockade out of the way to do a load of laundry, I will miss the little 2.5 pound Masters of Mayhem.

It's been a pleasure knowing you and I wish you all a great journey and a happy, wonderful life.