Room for One More?

I got a call yesterday. My son's girlfriend asked, "Do you have room for one more?" She told me a co-worker received "an early Christmas present she doesn't want," a seven-week-old kitten. After getting permission to intake her and wrangling up the necessary medicines, we made arrangements to pick the little one up this afternoon.

She was handed to me in a cat carrier. I put my hand in and pulled out a tiny little kitten, covered in urine and feces, fleas, ear mites and a swollen belly full of worms. There was kitten kibble scattered in the cage amongst the poop, but no water.

We have to torture the new intakes before bringing them home. We give them pill and liquid de-wormer and flea meds. It all tastes and smells awful to the kitten, but this poor little girl purred and kneaded the air as I held her by the scruff to get her medicated.

Once home, she got a bath, some food and water and made herself comfortable in the kitten playpen she'll need to be in for several days before getting the all clear from the vet. She took right to the polar fleece hammock I hung inside. After what she's been through, her little condo must feel like kitten heaven!

At the end of that kind of intake, you are just glad, as a fosterer, that the person had the sense to say caring for an animal was too much and made the appropriate calls to get the animal in a good environment. You keep your thoughts to yourself and try to leave a decent enough impression so that, if it happens again, they wont hesitate to call on you, rather than dispose of the animal in some awful way.

I'm grateful to have her here and am sure she's glad to be here! Now, to think of the perfect name for such a beautiful little baby . . .