Three and a half weeks ago we saw him for the first time—a filthy, scrawny tuxedo kitten wandering the neighborhood alone. We tried to catch him with love and food, and when that didn’t work and a kid from down the street guaranteed that she could catch him if we gave her a towel, we took her up on the offer.
Thirty minutes later, we had a new baby.
We named him Toby. Toby Toe Beans, Tobes, Toblerone. He’s a super sweetie pie who purrs in seconds when you snuggle him into your chest.
The next morning we took him to the vet who confirmed his scrawniness but verified that he was relatively healthy and would be fine soon with a good home. He took his first shots like a champ.
His current room is our shower stall, complete with food, water, bed, and a small foil pan for a litter box. We quarantined him for five days before introducing him to the family, but we still lock him up in the shower overnight and when we’re both at work. Another week and he should be fine with everyone except my mother’s cat who hates anyone who isn’t my mother.
We learned yesterday to take the shower stool out of the shower, though. We’d left it in for a hiding spot, but yesterday morning I woke up to a little baby on my cover. He’d jumped from the stool to the shower caddy to the top of the shower doors, where he knocked nearly everything down but made it safely to the floor. Then he squeezed under the bathroom door, and he was out.
What an adorable little handful.
attention must be paid
Today a quote by Arthur Schopenhauer, stolen from my loving husband:
Compassion for animals is intimately associated with goodness of character, and it may be confidently asserted that he who is cruel to animals cannot be a good man.
Have you seen the meme about the “Cat of the Month,” but they only have one cat? While he may be a shoo-in, today we decided to start selecting a Pet of the Month, so as not to leave out the one dog or two turtles.
Now, to find out where one might acquire those employee-of-the-month plaques…
Today was flea day. Everyone else is no big deal. Some pettings and you sneakily squeeze the little bottle on their neck and they’re good.
But Kitten is another story.
Ian chased her around the porch for ten minutes this afternoon while she caterwauled like she was being skinned alive. The porch, because there’s no where to hide under that can’t be picked up or reached under.
And then she sulks forever.
And that’s flea medicine, the easiest medicine she gets.
When we give her vaccinations, the more towels wrapped around her, the better. She will murder you.
And pills? The absolute worst. I believe that she can cough them up from her stomach. It’s better since we moved, because we don’t have as many waterbugs. She used to get worms all the time from catching and eating them at or old house. And then of course she’d infect the other cats.
The first time we were told that we could crush the worm pills and mix them in wet food. Kitten was locked in the bathroom for two days with her plate. We had to let her out because she refused to eat it.
She’s pretty suspicious.
The next time we learned that no, that advice was wrong, and you can’t administer them that way. Good to know. But that meant giving her a pill.
You know the tip to squeeze their cheeks in so they won’t bite because they’ll bite themselves? She doesn’t care. Kitten would chew her own leg off if it meant she didn’t have to be medicated.
And this is why we try to catch her first to give her a dose of whatever.
Waffles and Amarillo are cool with shots. Not fans of pills, but they forgive quickly. And flea stuff? No biggie.
But damn, that Kitten.