Contrary to popular opinion, I am not entirely risk averse. I just choose my moments to walk on the edge of danger. Today is one of those days. Last Friday, a friend forwarded a link on Facebook for a local animal society, putting out a desperate plea for someone who could take bottle fed kittens, at 4:30 in the afternoon, right before the weekend. The photo set off all my protective instincts, and I messaged the organization. They found someone to take that particular set of kittens, but they kept my contact information and said they would probably call me. It took them only until early this afternoon to do so. I went down and assumed care of two tiny infants. They are about two weeks old, with freshly open eyes, and zero coordination. Right now they're a little messy and a lot stinky. I took them into my spare bedroom, and shut the door. Within five minutes, there was a trio of black and white units on the other side of the door, systematically removing bits of carpeting to get in. I gave up and opened the door, but none of the adults has been allowed to touch the babies. We need a few days of separation and observation before that happens.
As risky as it seems for me to foster kittens, I think I needed this opportunity to feel like I'm contributing somehow, that I'm sharing my skills where they're needed most. Plus, I needed a shot at redemption. My man has been known to go out of his way to help wild animals, once going so far as to shoo a rattlesnake off of a California desert highway. A little over a year go, one of his rescues was a baby squirrel who was orphaned in the Park. We had absolutely no idea how to take care of one so tiny, but we tried to keep him going until we could turn him loose outside again. We had done it when the girls were little with a blue jay, but mammals are harder than fledgling birds, apparently. PetSmart doesn't sell powdered squirrel milk, and when we guessed what would come closest, we guessed wrong. We tried kitten replacement milk, and we tried almond milk. We didn't know about warming them up before they eat. We didn't know a lot of key details, and despite a valiant effort, including me staying up several nights in a row snuggling him under an electric blanket, he survived only a week under our care. We buried him under a rose bush near the front door, and I still refer to it as Edmund's rose.
I must do better with these kittens than I did with Edmund. I have more literature than I did with the squirrel, and I have more support. They made sure I had the emergency care phone number listed in three places in my care instructions. I got the number to text the foster program lady if necessary. I have the opportunity to succeed where I failed a year ago. I'm going to take it. And the first place I'm going to start is to provide better names for both kittens. The person who surrendered them had a four year old boy who named the male kitten Batman. Seriously? Not on my watch, kid.
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