I caught myself in an old, familiar pattern. When the man leaves town, I have a tendency to burrow into my blanket fort, and not leave the house. I'm doing it again. If I am not mistaken, I have only left my house three times in the two weeks he has been gone. This is great for my wallet and my gas tank, but not so much for my emotional health. I tried to remedy that today, going out on an out of town mission, getting myself a little driving therapy. It was weird, walking around I felt almost dizzy not to be hiding in my little safety cave. Even worse, I felt that way driving on the highway too. But I broke out of the shell, which was the important part. I need to get a local drivers license, and I want to go tomorrow. I'm not sure whether I'll get out two days in a row. That might be asking too much.
It doesn't help me leave the house when I get emotionally attached to the little kittens in British Columbia and the world's greatest foster mama. And it has become exceptionally compelling to an animal lover like me. A couple days ago, a property owner noticed two kittens on his land who appeared to be doing poorly. They were just barely old enough to be weaned, but one of the brothers was obviously on the road to starvation, because very early in life (probably at the moment of his birth), he lost both of his back feet. The theory is that his umbilical cord wrapped around his back legs, which might have caused his mother to chew off his feet as she removed the cord and placenta. The stumps of his feet had healed over (poorly) and he wasn't able to hunt for food, thus he was rapidly starving to death. He was running a fever and dehydrated from intestinal distress. After a day of observation at foster mama Shelly's, he spent last night at the emergency vet, and today at the regular vet clinic, receiving IV fluids and having his infected stumps opened, drained, and disinfected. He just came back to foster care this evening, bandaged, with an IV catheter still in one arm. He's drugged, sluggish, and miserable. It is incredibly difficult to watch this kitten in obvious pain, but it is absolutely impossible for me to look away. His little tuxedo patterned coat reminds me of the first kitten I ever had, and his brother is a floofy wild thing who looks exactly like Athena. How could I not watch, how could I not feel the pain in my heart for this poor baby? I know how difficult it can be to care for an animal who can't walk on all four legs. I want so badly to take him (and his bonded brother) in and get him a set of wheels just like Murray's. I have to remind myself that two handicapped pets isn't merely twice the work. It's more like the work increased by an order of magnitude. So I will watch from a safe distance, on the internet, and not throw my hat in the ring as a potential forever mama. But in 48 hours, I have become obsessed with this little guy and his brother. Heaven help me.
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