Cute Photo

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

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

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

Tweetie putting up with hisses from Sprinkles

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Never undress in front of a kitten.

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

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

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

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

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

Tweetie just meowed.

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

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

Good thing Tweetie may already be spoken for.

:-)

What the heck shape IS this? Blobular?

I swear Nicky has no bones.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stay tuned!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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 just started to implement tags, that you'll see listed at the bottom of all my new posts. Click on any tag to see related articles I've published that contain those words or phrases.

Now, I've written about 500 posts, so keep in mind it will be awhile before I finish getting every one tagged properly. I may just curl up in a ball and cry, wishing a genie with magical powers would just "poof" and make everything tagged now, but if I had a genie with magical powers, I sure as heck wouldn't waste a wish on tagging Blog posts!

Really. Who do you think I am, anyway?

Oh yeah. I forgot to upload this a few weeks ago. I guess things got a bit busy. This is Sprinkles first litter pan poop. I'm so proud of her! She got her first round of shots and her first checkup today. She's doing great! (and I think she's gonna get adopted by a really great lady...shhh...don't tell)

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.