There's a sucker born every minute

Saturday morning began much like any other weekend morning in DarcC-land. I awoke, unleashed the hounds, fed and turned out the horses, and even managed to feed myself, all in short order. I then dashed directly off to the local feed store to procure a roll of fence wire, in order to install a new and improved dog yard. However, the universe had other plans, which initially manifested themselves as an inability to get the 5ft high, 100ft long roll of fencing in to the back of the effing car. No amount of rear-seat 60/40 split-bench folding, trunk slamming, and front power seat reclining could make that bad boy fit. Fine. I informed the nice boys who regularly stuff hay, shavings, grain, etc. into my erstwhile vehicle that I would have to return later, when my swedish-pickup (aka volvo wagon) driving friend would be coming to visit; I was certain he wouldn't mind a scenic trip to the feed store. He arrived and didn't mind at all, so off we set.

Only this time, the universe saw fit to have a little kitten start across the road in front of us. Eagle-eyes that I am, I detected scrawny from 150 feet away. As we got closer, instead of scampering, the kitten merely crouched down in the other lane. As we slowly crept by, I got a good look at him and saw that his entire face - eyes, nose, mouth, everything - was completely obscured by a crust of dried pus. Friend kept driving as my freakout began. I'll spare you the details. Suffice it to say that we didn't drive much farther, and luckily I keep my neighbor/vet's number on speed dial. I called her now, informed her that I was about to "do a stupid" and pick up a sick feral kitten, and would she help me, seeing as her office was already closed for the weekend. She said she would, and we returned, sans fence, to the dairy farm where the kitten sighting took place. I saw the kitten, thankfully out of the road, disappear into a hole in the door of a big old barn.

I knocked on the door of the farmhouse and when a man answered the door, pretended (while inwardly seething) to really want a kitten, and ask if I could catch one I had seen go into the barn. "Take them all" I was told. "If you can catch them, people dump them here all the time". Which is undoubtedly true, but 1) when I see its mother and several other probable generations too, you can trap/fix/release for short or no money, call the animal rescue league's spay waggin; and 2) this is a dairy farm, do you really want diseased cats running around your milk cows and veal calves? Bogus. He did find me a cardboard box to carry it home, and told me which barn door to use, and off I went.

I had visions of clambering around the big old place searching for this kitten, but he was in even worse shape than I thought and hadn't gone far, crouching just inside the door, sparing me the need to search and chase. His eyes were so obscured by crust that he didn't even see me reaching for him, and when I picked him up gave only one weak swipe with a front paw, no match for my heavy winter work gloves. Then into the box he went, without so much as a hiss or a yowl, and he was quiet and still the rest of the ride home. Here is a picture taken AFTER we had cleaned up his face! None of the pics capture what a rack of bones he is, held together by nothing but skin.

I put him into a dog crate with a bolster cushion and waited for Neighbor Vet, who didn't take long at all to arrive with supplies. She expertly cleaned his face with dampened gauze pads (I regret not getting "before" pictures in time), listened to him struggle to breathe, declared he had both an upper respiratory infection and a secondary herpes infection in his eyes, injected subcutaneous fluids, syringed human baby food into him, and pronounced him a male of the species. She then generously offered to open up the clinic to get the antibiotics, eye ointments, and de-wormer he required, so we followed her there and got the pills and potions, and returned home to further dose the little guy while she continued on her way to a family function. After the initial dosing, friend and I went to actually get the fence, litter box, teeny food and water bowls, kitten kibble, and dinner, and when I returned little Crusty was sleeping like the proverbial dead, covered in the blanket I'd put in earlier, head propped up on the bolster of the cushion. He woke up long enough for me to rearrange his crate and add the litter pan, and had perked up enough to purr as I cradled and petted him. Wild kitten tamed, at least temporarily.

Here's the reaction from the inmates who run the asylum:

"Holy Crap! It's a kitten! When did we get a kitten? I didn't ask for a kitten! Why was I not consulted?"




















Luna, Willow, and Wylie don't look too happy. Midgie is distinctly displeased.











Mooney wonders if he is somehow not cute enough anymore, now that he is a big seven month old boy?






Oblivious to the uproar his presence has caused, Crusty slumbers on... He perked up one more time around nine, just long enough to meow a couple times, and otherwise gasped, gurgled, snorted and sneezed his way through the night. It was so bad whenever I couldn't hear him breathing I thought I'd lost him. But he was still there in the morning, so I guess he decided to live. Neighbor Vet came by to check on him right after I'd dosed him again, and was going to come back to give him more fluids, but wound up coming back to take him home with her to be able to pump fluid into him all day. I only know how to give intramuscular shots to horses, I guess I should learn cats and dogs, and intravenous of all types. He spent last night with her and went to work with her today, to be tested for FIV and FELV. If he had tested positive he would have been put down, happily he is negative for both. He is spending tonight next door as well for a final dose of fluid in the morning and a steam bath all night to help his breathing. I'm working at home tomorrow so he'll come back in the morning, I'll post an update tomorrow.

Procrastination

Pouring down raining sideways day. Need raincoat to do horse chores (horses are finally home, post forthcoming, I keep forgetting to take pictures for illustrative purposes). Leave dry warm mudroom apartment for main house, where aforementioned raincoat has been left due to lack of motivation to hang proper coatrack in mudroom. Notice basement lights left on. Go down to basement to turn lights off. Notice water dripping onto basement floor, from ceiling. Quickly put two and two together, arrive at four. Return to first floor to assess damage. Laugh out loud due to irony of drip from second to first floor impacting dead-center on a book titled "Dry" (awesome book, btw, by Augusten Burroughs - highly recommend anything and everything he's written. His brother's not bad either). Rescue piles (plural) of books from deluge, hope they freeze tomorrow until I can dry them out proper, like maybe in the spring. Continue past second floor, also soaked but bereft of belongings, to attic. Laugh out loud due to irony of line of empty buckets under recently repaired and therefore no longer leaking roof at back of house while water pours unabated through leak in roof at front of house. Spew forth vile invective at self's procrastinating tendencies okay long-term behaviour pattern. Move buckets.

Proceed back downstairs. Dial headquarters to inform answering parental unit of new leak newsflash. Sperm donor answers. Inform sperm donor his roof is leaking. Download less succinct, more profane version of prior paragraph. Best he can come up with is "okay, well, we'll clean it up", to which I retort "actually, I was thinking more along the lines of FIXING IT". "okay, I'll tell your mother". Perfect. Thanks for that.

Hang up. Curse day surfed equinesite real-estate ads. Don raincoat, head out into storm to do horse chores. Question sanity. Briefly consider selling farm, re-homing animal collection, quitting day job and assuming new identity. Decide not tonight, maybe tomorrow.