Announcements

Continued from Chapter 1.

Instead of freaking out, I sat for a moment and thought about it. What did I need to bring with me? Maybe there was someone who could also help and advise me. I called our vet at the Cat Clinic and asked if there was anyone on staff who could possibly bottle-feed a kitten if my mama-cat rejected him. They put me on hold for a few minutes then told me to call Christine. She would be glad to help. GLAD TO HELP? Really? I didn’t have to make 100 phone calls? I didn’t have to beg for favors? All I had to do was keep the kitten alive for 24 hours and she could pick him up the following day. Even though I was woefully stiff, I got up and started to put together a kit of things for the kitten, energized by knowing that a Vet tech, no less, had my back. This was going to work!

Sam drove us to the Fire Station, while I went over in my head what I’d do once I saw the kitten. First, see if it was warm enough then give it a small amount of warmed goat milk. I had some in a baby bottle and in a syringe, covered by a portable heating pad so it would stay warm. I had a cat carrier with a warm blanket. I brought a flea comb but then realized he would be too young to treat with any flea products so he’d have to get a bath-which I still fear doing to little guys.

©2014 Robin A.F. Olson. Our first look at Wallace.

Once we arrived at the Station we were greeted by the Dispatcher who called for Lt. K. to bring us the kitten. She arrived moments later carrying an old blue milk crate with a towel inside it. I couldn’t see anything more than that at first, but as she placed the crate down, I saw a little kitten's head covered by a towel. The kitten started to cry. I saw stripes. It was a little silver tabby.

On the way to the Fire Station, I said to Sam we should name the kitten Wally since he was found in a wall. We both thought that was silly, cute and sweet so when Lt. K mentioned they had wanted to name the kitten Wallace, for the same reason, it was a done deal.

©2014 Robin A.F. Olson. After giving Wallace some goat milk he was so hungry he licked some of the drops off Sam's hand.

I lifted the kitten from the towel. I could feel dirt on his coat from being inside the wall. He was crying, very thin, but definitely about 3 weeks old-the same age as the kittens I was fostering, but half the weight. I checked him quickly for fleas while Sam held him. I didn’t even realize it but four other firemen had joined us and were watching my every move. As I continued to examine the kitten, one of them asked if it was a boy or girl. I took a look and I was certain it was a boy. They were delighted by that and amazed how I could tell the difference. Sexing kittens is not too difficult at that age, but they had never done it before. I realized how odd it was to be rescuing a kitten from people who spend their life doing rescue. We were giving back to our community and were honoring what they did every day by assisting them when they needed us. I felt really proud at that moment.

Wallace had a runny eye and continued to cry. I fumbled around and got a syringe of milk ready. Not even caring that I was the center of attention, I focused on being gentle, carefully urging the kitten to drink. I’d failed completely with Fio. He never took any nourishment no matter how much we tried. Wallace was quite different. He greedily slurped at the formula to everyone’s amazement. I quickly got two cc’s into him, which is not nearly enough, but I didn’t want to drop his body temperature and put him into shock since I didn’t know when he’d last had food. Clearly it had been a long time. I wanted to get him home, warmed up and fed again, but then I remembered…had he been voided?

©2014 Robin A.F. Olson. Mabel heard Wally's cries and ran over to be near him. How I wish I could have put them together, but I couldn't risk anyone getting sick or harmed.

I asked if they had helped void the kitten and they hadn’t, not clear on what I was asking. Panicked I asked for warm, wet paper towels ASAP. Of course they responded like lightning, and moments later I was gently stimulating Wallace’s genitals and rear end to get him to void. Sure enough we got some pale yellow urine out of him. The color was a good sign. Darker urine would have indicated dehydration or possible other problems. With at least some urine out of him and some food in him, he was stable enough for us to get him home.

The firemen thanked us and I promised to give them updates. It was such a strange situation. There I was, possibly seen as a true cat rescuer for maybe the first time in my life. I knew what to do. I got the job done. I asked, in parting, if I provided them with a kit of information and supplies on how to care for kittens would they make use of if and they eagerly agreed. They’d even share it with their other stations so in the future perhaps any kittens discovered would get better care until a rescue could be called upon. I felt like the seed of an idea was born at that moment that would allow Kitten Associates to be more involved with our community and would help save more lives. I’d even make up a kit for our Newtown Fire Dept, too, but first we had to get Wallace home.

As Sam was reaching the car, I realized I forgot my purse and turned to get it. Lt. Katherine was there holding it in her outstretched hand. I thanked her and smiled awkwardly, then turned back to the car. I almost ran into who I assumed was the Captain as I turned. He asked me a few questions about the kitten and if I thought he would be all right. The Captain was clean cut, muscular, with richly toned skin. His uniform was pressed and spotless. Seeing him made me realize I rarely ever see men doing rescue, let alone one who was so handsome. I'd been so wrapped up in Wallace, it never occurred to me to take a moment to enjoy the thrill of being near so much testosterone (excluding Lt. K, of course!).

I told the Captain I'd keep them updated and he thanked me for helping them. I looked up and one of the fire trucks was pulling out of the bay. Some of the folks who had been with us moments earlier were on the rig. I raised my hand to wave, feeling a tickle of delight when they waved back. For those few seconds, I was part of the team.

Wallace cried as Sam drove along the highway. I took the tiny kitten out of his carrier and held him. He squirmed and wriggled, then got very quiet. I flashed back to Fio, how he would be so vibrant, then nearly dead after he was fed. I knew Wallace had a very big day and had just been fed so I tried not to be upset when he seemed to pass out in my arms. He was just tired. Let him be.

©2014 Robin A.F. Olson. The little guy purred for us right away.

We got home and checked Wallace for fleas. I didn’t find any or any flea dirt. His ears looked good. I opened his mouth. He had a few baby teeth and no visible sores. Another good sign that he might be fairly healthy, other than very thin.

Sam and I discussed putting him with Celeste. I was still very fearful of being the sole caregiver for this kitten after just losing Fio, so we decided to try. We brought Wally to Celeste. He was crying. She saw him, sniffed then backed off, growling. I tried to pet her and pet Wally but she was far too angry to give it a chance. Even if with a scent swap she accepted him, I’d have to stay up all night out of fear she could turn on him and kill him. We decided to not risk it, but instead pull an all-nighter to make sure he was fed when he needed it.

One of our Facebook friends shared a link with me to Kitten-Rescue (thank you JodiAnn!). This web site is not fancy but wow they have great, simply prepared info on kitten care. I’d read other books about it and frankly they fell very short. This one gave me the info that I couldn’t find elsewhere-a clear cut amount of formula to give the kitten and WHEN. It’s 8cc per ounce of kitten. Since we could only guess at Wally’s age, it looked like some time around every 4 to 5 hours we should feed him. Void him first, then feed, then wait 15 minutes then void again, then a warm place to sleep.

Thanks to one of our donors we had a big case of evaporated goat milk. Another donor sent us special nipples for the baby bottle and our friend Joanne McGonagle sent us a SnuggleKittie,™ a plush cat toy that comes with a battery operated heart beat. I’d had it on hand for months and now I could put it to use.

Sam held Wallace while I tried to bottle feed him. It just didn’t work well at all. I used the syringe and that was a bit messy but it got the job done. I gave him 7cc of milk and he seemed full. He was so thin I didn’t want to push it. I’d give him a few hours before feeding him more, but for now it was time to pee and get some sleep.

©2014 Robin A.F. Olson. I honestly believe that without his SnuggleKittie™ Wallace never would have had any sort of comfortable time sleeping. He got as close as he could to the artificial heartbeat and fell fast asleep.

After we got Wallace cleaned up we put him back into the small cat carrier with his new plush buddy. I slipped a heated pad under the blanket in the carrier, but placed it so only half the space was warm in case he wanted to get off it. He didn’t want to have anything to do with it. He wanted OUT of the carrier and weakly stood up, crying with all his might. Sometimes he only opened his mouth, but no sound came out. I found it unnerving. Maybe he was getting weaker? I hoped to God I hadn’t messed it up and that he was too cold to be fed and was going to die.

Mabel ran over, jumped on the garbage can next to the counter where we had placed the cat carrier. She pawed at the cat carrier door, wanting to get at Wallace. Her mothering instincts were in high gear. Wallace saw her and tried to get at her, too. I so wanted to let her soothe little Wallace, but I had also just discovered that Mabel has ear mites so I couldn’t risk it-also if Wallace was sick, then Mabel would get sick or vice versa and all our other cats could get sick, too. I felt terrible so Sam and I took turns holding little Wallace and soothing him the best we could.

I put him back into this carrier and after a time he went over to the plush kitty and fell asleep. He tucked himself next to the toy, as close as he could to the heartbeat. It was working. He was warm and comfortable, though I should have wiped him down more, he’d had enough for now. Time to rest.

©2014 Robin A.F. Olson. Feeding time was a bit messier than I imagined, but together Sam and I got the job done.

It was almost 10pm. Sam and I talked about what we’d do for the rest of the night. We worked out a plan then grabbed a quick bite to eat. I kept checking on Wallace. I had to make sure he was breathing-he was.

I couldn’t let this one die. No way.

I slept fitfully between feedings and had bad dreams about Sam’s clients chasing us down and forcing us to hide in the bathroom to get away from them. I was holding Wally in my dream and we were hiding in the shower stall. When would these people leave us alone? In truth, Sam has been so busy with work it was a small miracle that he was willing to help with Wally. I hated to ask for more but between my back problems and this kitten in crisis I had no options.

Chapter 3 is next…where we find out how Wallace fared after his first night and what lies ahead for our latest foster kitten.

I’ve come to the understanding that doing cat rescue is more often based on gut instinct than rational thought. Is one better than the other; one more appropriate to doing rescue? I suppose being rational would leave less to chance, but I also think that something gets lost in being so very careful. Mistakes are made, but lessons follow. Perhaps that’s how I make sense of this next story about a fearless little kitten whose accidental separation from his mother may have also been his saving grace.

My back has been killing me over the past week. So much so that the pain flares up to the point where I have to catch my breath and to sit down after standing for a short time. I blame it on no exercise, sitting here at the computer for hours without getting up, and having too small of a bed with too many cats vying for the same small space. Waking up with pretzeled limbs is okay some days, but after chronic repetition, my body had to revolt.

After lots of ice, heat, ice came some small relief. I had a bad health scare two weeks ago, heading to Urgent Care, certain I was having a heart attack. Fortunately, it was a confluence of issues, one being a possible ulcer from taking too much naproxen to counteract constant headaches-again from sitting down at the computer, eye strain, poor position at the keys. The other was from lifting too many heavy objects (aka taking cats to the vet) which pulled on the joints on either side of my sternum. The resulting double-whammy caused severe chest pain.

Something had to give.

I made big sweeping changes. I quit gluten and sugar. I don’t sit at the keyboard for long periods of time. I had to stop pain killers, for now, to let my gut heal. When my back started to go out, I decided to treat it with ice and heat, no meds…some rest…go easy…hope for the best.

With all that I did start to feel quite a bit better, other than missing having cake or a big fat croissant.

My back was improving. I figured another day or two and I’d be okay. That’s when the phone rang. It was after 6pm and usually I don’t pick up calls on the Kitten Associates line that late in the day. I need to have time for myself and I have to make boundaries, but I did look at the Google Voice transcript of the call. Even though the transcription leaves a lot to be desired (e.g.,“police station” is transcribed to “please state one”), I did see three words that caught my eye: Kitten and Fire Department.

There were two messages one right after the other. I listened to them both. One was from an associate who does wildlife rehabilitation. She told me that I’d be getting a call from the local 24/7 Vet hospital about a kitten that had been trapped in a wall and needed help.

Alarmed, I listened to the next message from the Vet. It said that a Lieutenant from the Danbury Fire Department had brought in a kitten that needed help and though they were sorry, since the “finances” couldn’t be provided, that they could not provide care and that I should call them to arrange to help this kitten since they turned it away.

I’ve had a problem with this Vet hospital for a long time. They’ve taken advantage of us before, having people call us when they can’t afford care, putting the burden of the life or death of that animal on whether or not we can pay the bill. I’ve had words with them about this. We’re a small rescue. We paid $1200.00 for one cat that did not even belong to us AND they called us at 10 PM the night of the Sandy Hook Elementary School Shooting to put that life or death burden on us! What would we say-especially on THAT night? It wiped us out.

Here they are calling yet again, but this time for a tiny kitten they easily could have helped. At least they could have shown the Firemen how to feed and void the kitten. What would that have cost? The Fireman didn’t have to save the kitten. They did what they felt was the right thing to do. They pitched in. They didn’t charge anyone for their efforts. Why couldn’t this Vet give this kitten some support? No. They sent it away. Now it was on my rescue, with few resources, to take care of this fragile creature. Who know how many hours had passed since the kitten had been found? When did it eat last? Little ones need to be fed every few hours or even more often if they are neonatal. Every second wasted put the kitten at higher risk of dying.

Perhaps I was fueled by anger as well as the need to help this kitten. I didn’t know how old it was or when the last time it had been fed. I knew we had Celeste, our mama cat, who might accept a fifth kitten, especially since Fiorello, her third-born had died. I also knew it was a BIG RISK to put an orphan with another family. Without testing the mother, we’d never know if the kitten carried Feline Leukemia, FIV or something else. Potentially, he could sicken or even kill our entire litter of foster kittens OR Celeste might carry something that would sicken and kill the orphan.

©2014 Robin A.F. Olson. Little Star looks on as her mom, Celeste feeds the rest of the family. Would Celeste accept a fifth kitten?

Did I really want to try bottle-feeding again so close to just losing and failing another? What if this one died, too? Could I stand the heartbreak; the shame of failure?

It’s just one kitten. Surely I could find a place for him.

I called Lieutenant Katherine and spoke to her about the kitten. My heart was racing. What was I getting myself into? Time was of the essence. I couldn’t back out. My instincts told me to hurry along and not worry about the consequences.

Lt. K. told me the shift before hers had been on a call to a property where there were people living illegally. They reported hearing cries coming out of the inside of a wall. Since calling for help also meant they would be kicked out of their illegal squat, they weren’t particularly happy about calling the Fire Department. I’m not sure why they called. They could have opened up the wall on their own, but then what would they do? They might not have realized it was a tiny kitten crying. Perhaps they thought it was something wilder?

What I know is that the mother and siblings were nowhere to be seen. The firemen looked for them but were told she had probably left the crawl space she’d been hiding the kittens. One kitten was left behind-the one that was in the wall. He was very thin and crying for his mother. They discussed leaving him there to be found by his mother, but they felt the people living at the location could possibly harm the kitten. It was decided to remove the kitten and find him some help. They had no idea what to do for the kitten, other than keep it warm. They weren’t sure they should give it cow’s milk, which was all they had, so they opted not to give him anything.

I asked Lt. K. to tell me how big the kitten was. Was it’s umbilical cord still attached? From what I was told, that’s what I expected. Her reply surprised me. She said, no, that he was walking a little bit, that his eyes were open, but were blue. I asked if his ears were straight up and down and she replied no. From what she told me I figured we had a 2 to 3 week old kitten. Okay. I can do this. Bottle-feeding an older kitten isn’t so tough. I thought I could manage his care.

I surprised myself by saying I’d be there as soon as I could. Here I am jumping in with both feet. I didn’t ask if the kitten has fleas, if he was sickly, what he even looked like, if it WAS a “he.” It’s a kitten. It needs help. Case closed.

Chapter 2 is up next, where we finally meet the little kitten and try not to drool on the sexy firefighters.

You could describe him as just a big brown tabby cat with a white bib, cheeks and paws. You could assume that because he lost his home or simply got dumped and was found in the back of a Home Depot in northern Georgia, that he’s just another cat who needs a new home.

You’d be wrong.

We all get notices about cats and dogs needing rescue. Many of them are marked as “urgent.” It's great that we can get together and help spread the word, BUT there are millions of animals out there who are "safe" in a rescue and who still go unnoticed. Many of them are older, or not a fancy breed. They don't have a group of folks trying to help them get a forever home. What happens to them? They wait and wait and wait and the longer they wait, the more animals that same rescue has to turn away because their spaces are filled.

I came up with a fun way to help animals who are not in crisis (so your friends won't be upset hearing about them-which is a bonus) but who need help. It's totally free, just takes a minute of your time and could potentially save more animal's lives. Don't just do it today. Do it EVERY DAY and see how YOU can change the world for animals in need.

I call it:

Save-A-Pet-Roulette

Step One: Visit Petfinder

Petfinder's home page.

Step Two: “Search for a Pet.”

Do you want to help a dog, cat, bunny, goat, what? Choose Location (City & State) Animal Type, Breed, Age and Gender. It's even more effective if you choose a town in your state, since most of your friends will be able to share with their friends and be able to act on a local level! Hit the “FIND PETS” button.

I chose Chicago, IL, Cat, Maine Coon, Any Age and Male in my search.

Step Three: Review Search Results.

Which animal would you like to save. Pick one! I chose CHANDLER. He's 10 years old, a total cutie and needs to find his forever home.

Chandler.

Search results page. Notice there are over 1000 cats MATCHING MY CHOICE in the Chicago area alone who need homes. That means there are LOTS more than that who fit other descriptions!

Step Four: Tweet & Facebook-Share

Chose the Tweet and the Facebook icons to share with your friends!

The share buttons to choose to let your friends know about the cat you want to help.

Tweet & have fun with it. I added a few words to this Tweet before it went out.

Chandler shared on Facebook. I hope it helps him find his forever home soon!

That's all it takes! Playing this game does NOT require you to adopt a cat or sponsor a cat or dog, etc, but it's a way of helping spread the word about animals in need. It's also gratifying to know that you may have had a hand in getting that animal adopted because one of your friends, or their friends, or beyond...has heard about that animal and it got a home.

Now go. Save a life!

==================================

This post is sponsored by BlogPaws. I am being compensated for helping spread the word about Adopt-a-Cat month, but Covered in Cat Hair only shares information we feel is relevant to our readers. BlogPaws is not responsible for the content of this article.

continued from part one…

Mabel will seemingly materialize out of nowhere onto my lap when I watch TV. She does the same thing to Sam. She just appears, makes herself comfy and sits, purring her very subtle purr, with what looks like a smile on her face as she makes herself at home. Even if we adjust our position on the sofa she remains glued to us.

Mabel’s coloring is amazing. She’s almost split right down the back, brilliant orange tabby on the left and classic black tabby on the right. Her eyes are vivid green. Her toes are pink and black. Her paws are white with little freckles of color here and there. Every time I look at her I notice different colors and shapes. I find myself getting mesmerized as I pet her, the colors seem to ripple as my hand runs along her back.

©2014 Robin A.F. Olson. Pretty patchwork.

Mabel has started to spoon with me at night and if she’s not doing that, she sleeps wedged between my pillow and Sam’s.

It’s not all perfect. Mabel some times causes issues and has peed here and there. I notice those things happening less and less as she secures her place in the cat-hierarchy of my home, but it may always be an issue. I ask myself if she would be happier in a home of her own, as I’ve done so many times over the past year.

©2013 Robin A.F. Olson. Meowing as she carries her precious pom-pom for all to see.

A few weeks ago I got an application from a very nice lady I will call Grace. She’s retired and lives in a spotless home with her husband who is fine with cats but not a fan the way she is. Grace has been mourning the loss of her cat for 2 years and is finally ready to adopt again. I asked Grace for a co-adopter because I could not risk Mabel losing her home for any reason and she agreed. Everything checked out, but I also knew that Mabel did not show very well. She always hid when strangers arrived so I suggested we consider fostering-to-adopt Mabel where she could give Mabel a proper “test drive” with the option of returning her if it didn’t work out.

©2014 Robin A.F. Olson. Blitzen (left) with Mabel (right).

During this process I told Grace I wasn’t sure I could part with Mabel. I was honest with her. I need to make room for more cats. Keeping her isn’t an option. Grace and her adult daughter came over. Their energy was very calm. As they walked into the room, they saw Mabel. She didn’t race off, but allowed them to pet her and say hello. The daughter and I backed away and watched from afar because Mabel got nervous while Grace spent a few minutes getting to know her.

We were all very surprised that Mabel was so welcoming to these new people. Normally that would seal the deal for me. I begged a delay starting the foster period by letting them know Mabel was due for a Vet visit before she went anywhere. Her Rabies vaccine was expired and I had a slight concern Mabel had a heart problem I wanted to get checked out so we waited another few days while I kept thinking about if I could really do this or not.

©2014 Robin A.F. Olson. To scone or not to scone?

The vet visit surprised me. They did an x-ray and EKG, then had everything reviewed by a radiologist. They reported back that Mabel’s heart and lungs looked good, but…they found what was described as a genetic deformity of some of her vertebrae. I’d noticed she didn’t jump very high and that was the reason. She might have some arthritis in her spine as she ages, but other than that she was cleared to go into foster care, then be adopted. I wondered if her spine damage was not from genetics but from sitting in a cage for two years with little space to move around.

I still wasn’t sure I could do the adoption, so once again I dragged my feet, coming up with all sorts of stupid reasons why I couldn’t get back to Grace. I thought about it and talked to Sam about it repeatedly…so much so that I could not think straight any longer. I thought, YES! I need to do this. It’s a good home. Mabel likes her, but will Mabel be lonely all by herself?

It’s not responsible for me to keep Mabel and in the next breath I’d tell myself that this is my one life. It’s all I get. I can spend it mourning over letting Mabel go or screw it. I love the cat. She is happy. We’re happy. What’s the BIG DEAL?

©2013 Robin A.F. Olson. Getting bored with her early days of confinement in the blue bathroom, Mabel lets me know she needs OUT of quarantine (which happened shortly thereafter).

Grace. Grace was the BIG DEAL. I didn’t want to hurt her and I was well on my way to doing that, but do I give up Mabel to not hurt Grace?

I spent a good part of that day crying. Grace had emailed me and called me. I needed to get back to her. I could not let this go any longer. I would have rather done pretty much anything else, like walk on hot coals or do my taxes over and over again, but I had to decide.

I decided to let Mabel go. I had to be responsible. I run a rescue. I found a great home. What’s the problem? I would call Grace and set up a time for me to bring Mabel to her.

©2014 Robin A.F. Olson. Sweetly dreaming, Mabel's clearly found her home.

I started to imagine walking to the front door of Grace’s home. It’s only a few miles from where I live. I imagined Mabel softly crying in the carrier, scared, wondering what was going on. I knew she’d have some difficult first days but then she’d make new friends and be happy. It’s what she’d done over and over again during the past 4 years. It would be fine.

Except it wasn’t fine.

I couldn’t do it.

The thought of leaving her there made me cry. Something inside me was screaming; “Noooooooooooooo!”

©2013 Robin A.F. Olson. Mabel, Nora, Blitzen (tail), Gracie, Fluffy Daddy and the DOOD enjoy the morning sun.

Come Hell or high water I had to call Grace and beg her forgiveness. I contacted a few rescue friends and I found a terrific cat for Grace to consider adopting. I offered to reimburse Grace for any out-of-pocket expenses she had. I repeatedly told her I’d let her have any cat she wanted in our program except for Mabel. She was so gracious and understanding. She told me not to get upset about it, that in truth she worried that Mabel would miss her kitty-friends and maybe it was for the best. She'd become attached to Mabel and really wanted to give her a home, but only Mabel, no other cat. She didn’t want my help or to know about other cats. I told her I’d go to the ends of the Earth for her, whatever she wanted. She thanked me and said again not to worry about it, but that right now she needed time to sort out her feelings. She’d let me know if she wanted to look at another cat. Between many tears I told her how very sorry I was and I apologized for taking so long to get back to her.

©2014 Robin A.F. Olson. Making a place for herself in bed, right between me and Sam.

After I hung up the phone I cried again. I felt so badly about all of this. I wish Grace could have let me make it up to her. Maybe some day she will. I’m surprised she didn’t let me “have it” with a volley of nasty comments. I deserved it, but at least I’d been honest, telling her I wasn’t sure I could do the adoption when I first met her. In my heart I wanted to do the right thing, but I had no idea what that was because I had been over-thinking it for months.

©2014 Robin A.F. Olson. Zzzzzz.

I sat with Sam on the sofa and cried until I had no tears left, telling him what happened with the call to Grace. He nodded his head and gave me a hug. He’d told me to take Mabel off Petfinder earlier in the day and now he was smiling at me with that “I told you so” look on his face.

©2014 Robin A.F. Olson. Mabel sleeps in HER bed on my Mother's recliner.

A few feet away from us in HER bed that sits on my Mother’s old recliner was Mabel. She was fast asleep with her belly half-turned upwards and her front paws curled delicately by her cheeks. There was a sweet smile playing across her mouth. Mabel had no idea how important this afternoon had been and what it meant to her remaining days. From being dumped at a kill shelter in Georgia, to a rescue, to a hoarder, to another kill shelter in North Carolina, imprisoned for 2 years, and finally after 4 years Mabel landed where she should have been all along.

She was home, at last.

Welcome Home, Mabel. We love you.

©2013 Robin A.F. Olson. One of the first photos of Mabel after she arrived. One look at her face and I knew I as a goner.

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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 suppose I should have expected to make mistakes, but when you’re dealing with LIVING CREATURES, instead of a commodity like a pair of shoes, it can be devastating to make any errors. I had to get it right each step of the way.

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.

It wasn’t enough that I knew I could get Mabel out of the Kill Shelter. As penance for my wrongdoing and out of love and respect for the others left to die, I worked very hard to find placements for those surviving 12 cats. Thanks to SPCA of Wake County and some smaller rescues, every cat got out alive. I even heard from one woman who ended up adopting Jethro, one of the cats who was part of the seizure. I was so happy these dark days were coming to an end, but for my efforts I got hate mail from this woman’s friends. I was stunned. If it hadn’t been for me, all those cats would have been euthanized.

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

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!

We hope that Mia will be open to being more socialized after the kittens are weaned and we can spay her. I don't know how much she'll change after her hormones are not so strong, but we'll give her every chance we can to become an adoptable kitty.

©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 Jackson

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.

Ivy

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

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.

Lil' Snickers

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.

Greta

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?

The kittens are 7 weeks old. Between helping 4 pregnant cats find a rescue, helping adult cats find a new home and trying to find homes for the kittens already in our program, I seemed to have forgotten to do something…

©2014 Foster Mom Moe. A mother's job is never done.

We need to be able to cover the costs for the vetting on this family AND the new family (Celeste & 4 kittens) we just rescued last week. We can't continue to save lives without you being part of our team. Not including food, litter or toys, we need about $1700.00 to provide the basics for our two litters of kittens and their moms (11 cats total).

©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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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.

I so wanted to take delight in this magical experience but I soon realized my fears that something was wrong with #3. He just wasn’t nursing. He was trying but he couldn’t sort it out. I feared I’d have to intervene but I’d never cared for a neonatal kitten. I’d only fed 2-3 week olds and that is much different.

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.

#3 was half the size of his siblings. I had to try to feed him, keep him warm but not too warm. To not feed him when he was cold because that would kill him. To make sure the formula wasn’t too cold or too hot. How the HELL does anyone achieve this? On top of it, the little guy wasn’t too keen on being fed and was so tiny it would be easy to harm him.

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?

He would perk up after spending time resting on my chest, then become so limp after being fed his head would flop around. I couldn’t get him stabilized and felt ill equipped to do so. Seeing him so energetic in one moment, fighting me because he couldn't tolerate the phony nipple on the baby bottle, then crash like that set me on edge.

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.

I didn’t feel I deserved the necklace. I wasn’t doing a good enough job. I hung the necklace over the edge of a picture frame in Celeste’s room and turned off the light. I had a bag of dirty litter to bring to the trash so I headed downstairs. I realized I hadn’t eaten and really had to pee. I was half-awake until I took one step into the bathroom into a BIG puddle of cat urine. Nicky had peed on the floor. I wanted to SCREAM, but all I could do was wash my foot and clean up the mess. After all this, my own cats couldn’t cut me some slack. They knew what was going on. I’d discovered three other areas where they’d peed within that single day. It was not normal behavior and I was resigned to just clean it up. I was too tired to care beyond that.

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.

Celeste was a bit chubby, but also seemed thin. Maryann realized Celeste was pregnant on top of being on her own. Her fur was dirty and patchy. After offering her some food, Celeste quickly ate every bite and wanted more. How long Celeste was on her own we’ll never know. There are many aspects of her story that will be only hers to tell and for us to imagine.

©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.

I knew it was a risk. I knew the fact that 30-40% of the kittens in a litter won’t live, but out of all the cats I’d known who recently gave birth, only one kitten didn’t make it. I could do this. Part of doing rescue is challenging yourself to take on more difficult cases.

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.

I continued to watch and I saw another contraction. THIS WAS IT!

©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 felt like crying. It was magical to see this new life arrive. I whispered, “Happy Birthday” through tear-filled eyes.

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.

I only reveal this because seeing you die, Fred, die so very slowly, losing the ability to use your hind legs, then your front, then you couldn’t even sit up…and on the last day I know you had a hard time swallowing was heartbreaking…seeing that happen to a little innocent, once joyful kitten, who I loved dearly, cut through my heart as badly as seeing the aftermath of my father’s suicide. It made me question whether I had the strength to continue to do cat rescue any longer.

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

Though your life was far too short, I hope it was filled with more love then you could have ever hoped for. Sam and I miss you so much. Tears come far too easily when we think of you.

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.

A few months after you passed away I learned that Dr. Gary Whittaker had made a discovery that would finally open the doorway for testing for FIP and possibly a vaccine.

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