The newest member of my family

The first weekend in July Craig and I went to Dallas, and this post was written one cheerful Friday afternoon a week later...
Saturday we drove up after the Kids Tri to catch a Rangers game and hang out with a college roommate Jackie; the whole reason this particular weekend was chosen was to get a cooler being handed out at the game as a promotional item. Well, we missed the coolers, at Saturday's game-- which of course annoyed me to NO end-- and went back to Jackie's house to hang out for awhile. On Sunday Craig and I were heading back to Houston after some yummy brunch and a trip to the Sixth Floor Museum, which covers the JFK assassination info/theories/whatnot.

As we got in line to get into the museum, someone mentioned there was a stray outside. We looked just in time to see a furry kitten scurry down the stairs and under a car in the parking lot. The kitten looked to be about the size that Gary was when we first got him at six weeks, so I begged Craig and Jackie to let us catch him, or at least try for 5 minutes. The kitten, wise to our plan, twice climbed onto the struts of the front wheel of a Sebring, just out of reach. The third time we tried to get it, it climbed into the engine area where we couldn't even see it, effectively forcing us to catch him; after all, if he died after being scared into some moving car parts, I'd be responsible.

About an hour into this ordeal the owners of the car came out, and we asked if they'd set off the alarm to scare the kitten out-- and they did. The kitten didn't budge. Then we popped the hood to see that the kitten was under the engine block. The car owners were very nice about the situation-- what a blessing to have nice folks around, huh? Finally, we risked starting the engine to get him out, and out he came. The guy driving the car slowly reversed, exposing the kitten under the front bumper, til we caught him under a parking cone.

As you can imagine, he wasn't too happy. He was spitting and hissing like a snake, and he managed to get Jackie and me with his claws when we tried to nab him. Finally a parking attendant got him into the canvas bag Jackie had in her car, and we took him home.

The kitten looked to be about 4 weeks old. He was filthy, covered in fleas, and his eyes and nose were gooey. His stomach was jutting out like a starving kid in a UNICEF ad, but the rest of him was skin and bone; you could feel every rib, every vertebra in his spine, all his awkward hip bones. He was more bird than kitten! The pad of one of his paws was also burned, exposing angry pink flesh. Basically he looked ready to be on his way out, and I declared as much several times... there was no sense in anyone getting attached to a goner. But once in the bag he was docile, drinking milk we fed him from a straw and from dipping some leaves in the milk bottle. We cleaned him up, put him in a box, and drove home to Houston. He slept on my lap most of the time, purring and snuggling.

When we hit Conroe, the little guy took a dump in the box we'd started him out in. At first it was funny (EW! The cat pooped in the car! Gosh it stinks! Ahahahaha!) as we prepared to get off the highway. But once we saw the poo-- full of twigs, an entire berry, and distinct roundworms-- it wasn't so funny anymore. I cried the entire way back home. It just seemed so overwhelmingly unfair: here was this cat, fighting like hell to make it and despite his struggles was still not a mean kitty, and all these vile little things were sucking the miserable life from him. Life isn't fair. But for a darned domesticated and reasonably helpless animal, life should be fair.

After a LONG ride and lots of tears we got home and set up the kitten in our small bathroom (it's like a 6'x7' room including the tub) and gave him a bath to drown some of those fleas. I slept in the bathroom with him so he wouldn't get lonely; after all, we'd just ripped this guy from under a car... the least we could do was be hospitable.


Hello tiny kitty!


So help me, if anyone comments on how fat Gary is I'll delete your snarky little jab. His skin is really loose (AND he's on a diet). Lily is checking out the new addition in the background.

The Monday vet trip wasn't very fun. I came in and the vet listed everything that was wrong with him and everything that could be wrong with him. The vet was very frowny and seemed to be prepping me to put the kitten down, which I found shocking since we'd already started treating his eye and he looked so cute and fuzzy having been bathed; how could such a purry fuzzball be dying? The vet whisked him away for 45 long minutes, while I sat pretending to read a Dog Fancy and crying. Still.

Turns out that old bat veterinarian wasn't right. Kitten tested negative for FLV, didn't seem to have any fleas, and was given deworming stuff that would have those roundworms dead in the litter box by the morning. He was also about 7-8 weeks old, not the 4 we'd originally suspected-- that's how underfed he was! He told me to keep him separate from my cats, gave me some food, antibiotics, and eye ointment, and an appointment in 2 weeks. None of this happy news was as gratifying as the congratulations he offered for the addition to my family.



Geronimo coming home from the vet

Now we have a frisky, fuzzy kitten named Geronimo (Gerry for short) in our bathroom. He makes training a bit more challenging because we try to keep someone in the house all day to play with him and the other cats, but they're so great to be around that it's no real trouble. And I'm so worried that his naggingly cloudy eye will never heal and that his cute kitten sneeze is far more ominous than it sounds. But how much more can I fret? If he's too sick to make it, at least he had a couple weeks of love and regular meals. If not, well... as far as I'm concerned he may be the best thing to come out of Dallas.

P.S. We never made it to the museum. Maybe next time.

I wrote the above at lunch, and was planning to add some pictures and get the post on my blog once I got home. But once I saw him that evening Gerry wasn't better-- he was way worse. Both his eyes were getting cloudy again, and he was sneezing all the time. Instead of being satisfied that my original dead-cat-walking prediction was coming true I was devastated. I spent the weekend crying in the bathroom with the kitten. I got so desperate that I begged Craig to take me to Walmart at like 1 AM to get the freaking kitten a freaking humidifier.

This experience was very disturbing for me, and I decided that if this is what it's like to have feelings, I'm glad I only have them a few times a year. I try to stay reasonable-- if not a little cold-- but there is something about physical suffering that really eats at my tiny, hidden soul. I'll leave the feeling to the rest of you for the most part.

After a few days the kitten again started getting better. His right eye weeps a bit and it's a slightly different color green (he's also on Lysine supplements to help with that... and yes. My cat is on supplements and I can't even get a one-a-day vitamin in my diet), but it won't spread to the other cats since they also already have the virus. [Virus= herpes. Like 80% of cats have it, as my others do, but it lies dormant in most animals unless they're sick or stressed. Just wanted you to know.] Geronimo is now a 3.5 lb snuggle bug of love, though he attacks Gary too much. I'm taking the kitten to school next week in hopes he'll calm down just a little over the next year. Don't worry-- I'm sure to keep you posted.


Geronimo last week, being a kitten. :)


Sleeping with Craig, though getting progressively more irritated that I won't stop taking pictures of him while he's sleeping. Geronimo won't make it as a model.