Posts Tagged ‘Kittens’

Kittens of Spring

March 23, 2016

It’s too cold for kittens. We had a cold snap a few nights ago. 

A woman called me because she was monitoring a nest of kittens born to a feral mother, and suddenly, the morning after the cold night, the kits weren’t moving. 

They were basically so cold that the thermometer could not get a reading. Today, they are on soft bedding in a crate on a heating pad. They have been fed and rehydrated and dewormed and de-fleaed. Which is not a word except in my world. 

If you would like to donate a dollar or two, there’s a “Hep a Kitten Out” button on the main page. 

Or just send happy thoughts our way!

Want to Help A Kitten? Donate Here!

April 19, 2015

Donate Button with Credit Cards


Help! I don’t want to even admit how many cats I’m taking care of right now. ‘Cause y’all might still be holding on to one last hope that I’M NOT CRAZY, and that would kill the deal.

I have hungry babies and would appreciate your donation, however large or small…

Darlin’ Baby Goes Home

October 29, 2014

It’s time.

The Darlin’ has graduated to the point of weighing enough to be neutered, vaccinated, and re-homed.

He’s been playing with one of the Mother Cat’s babies, who is probably about the same age. His friend is Little Orange with the bad left eye. I’m treating him with medicated ointment applied directly to the eye, per the vet’s recommendations. It’s really not improving as hoped, probably because I just can’t apply the meds twice a day, what with my work schedule.


A plot was hatched.  We took Darlin’ Baby to his new home, and just happened to have Little Orange in a separate crate.

Introductions were made, and then I asked if they would consider taking Little Orange on, just so they could medicate him twice a day & so that Darlin’ Baby could have a playmate.  And if it didn’t work out, I would be happy to take him home, and if there were any doubts RIGHT NOW, Sugar and I would take him home with us.

See if you think this will work out…





I love happy endings.

Darlin’ Baby Plays with Friends

October 26, 2014

We have now arrived at a difficult transitional time.

The Darlin’ Baby has been living in a crate during his babyhood.

He graduated to a guinea pig cage.

Back in the day, when I had 3 rescue guinea pigs, I bought the largest cage available.  This particular one was about $80 from  (I know, I know, how shameless that I spent that much on an animal product when there are people starving all over the world.  If they were here, I would feed them, too.)

It was a guinea pig’s dreamworld.  It was super big, maybe 2 feet by 4 feet.  That’s pretty big for a creature that doesn’t do very much.  I added plastic igloos and wooden houses, ’cause guinea pigs like to squeal and hide and hop about a bit, and that added vertical spaces.

Alas, all the piggers have gone on to piggy heaven, but I still have this fabulously large cage.  Large enough for a bed and a litter box and a water bowl and a food bowl.

Just big enough for a Darlin’ Baby to stretch his legs and get fresh air and be safe.  That would be his new night-time home.

During the day, when he wasn’t at work with me, I’d let him out to run and play in a little wooded patch.  He made friends with one of Mama Cat’s babies, who looked remarkably like his twin.



Here’s the Darlin’.


Here’s his twin.

Don’t believe me?  Here are the two of them together.







And sometimes, just like people, when animals get overstimulated, they get all cracked-out and crazy.


He ran over to a wood block, which is supposed to be used for supporting a jack stand for the RV and makes for a dandy little bonus cat stand, and clung to the top of it, and looked around like he having hallucinations.

Endorphins much?




Soon, the Darlin’ Baby is going to his new home.  We’ll miss him, but I’ll bet that another one, or six, are making their way here.

Darlin’ Baby Rides Again

October 25, 2014

To the grocery store, that is.

Some people don’t believe we take the Darlin’ to the grocery store.  They think that I’m mispronouncing PetSmart when I say Publix.  Because a brain cannot hear what it cannot hear.




And later he falls asleep on the coffee aisle.  Clearly he needs coffee.  Grocery shopping is boring, as boring as an afternoon math class.  My apologies to all you math teachers.




Good parenting.  Teach them young.

Darlin’ Baby Learns to Eat Canned Food

October 24, 2014

I never, ever, EVER buy canned food for the cats.

NEVER.  It’s a sentence of doom.  Your cat will turn into a bigger, needier, demander.


Jackie:  Where’s my #*!%^@!! canned food?

YoursTruly:  Just a minute, Jackie, I just walked in the door.

Jackie:  Canned food.  Canned Food.  CANNED FOOD, DAMMIT!

YoursTruly:  Now, Jackie, that’s a little greedy.  Please remove your claws from my shoulder, and stop looking me in the face.  You need to brush your teeth.

Jackie:  Aaaaaah!  I’m dying!  I haven’t eaten in one hour!


Multiply that by a number larger than 5.  Granted, I’m not buying canned food still.  I got a huge food donation, and I heard that some cats don’t drink enough water and need the additional moisture in canned food.  Whatever.  Come and get your damn canned food.  I give in.


Darlin’ Baby showed no interest in eating canned food at 4 and 5 weeks.  Then 6, 7, 8, 9, and 10 weeks.  This was unheard of.  Cats are crazy for canned food and will start eating it when they are just kittens.

Apparently Darlin’ Baby didn’t get the memo.  Or the phone call.  Or the email.  Or the text or tweet.

I would push canned food into his mouth.  He pushed it back.

I put him on the picnic table at the feeding station with the others milling around eating canned food.  He walked on their plates.

Finally at approximately 12 weeks, he decided that it was time.



Nom Nom.

Nom Nom.

Nommy Nom Nom.

Nommy Nom Nom.

There.  Satisfied?

There. Satisfied?

Thank goodness.  He can’t leave here if he doesn’t learn to eat big kid food, and grow big enough to be able to handle anesthesia to get neutered.

‘Cause I highly recommend the neutering of all males.

Moving on now.

Darlin’ Baby Goes to Visit Sugar

October 12, 2014

So I’m carrying the Darlin’ around in a crate.  Sometimes I go see Sugar, and this means the Darlin’ must go, too, ’cause everybody loves Sugar.

Darlin’ Baby is still not eating canned food, and by this time he’s about 8 weeks old.  He should have started eating yummy soft food by 5 weeks, but he doesn’t know about that law of averages.  Clearly he’s not going to major in math.  He loves his ba-ba, and boy, am I going through some kitten formula.  (My formula of choice is KMR – Kitten Milk Replacer – thankyouforasking.)


He still doesn’t know how to retract his claws.  He’s a slow learner, so he fits in well with me.  But he does know how to scream for his ba-ba.

Soon we’re off to the grocery store, all three of us.  Because he’s been carried around his whole life and spent a lot of time being handled, he’s *great* in a crate.  He walks in his crate like a little child loves a blanket fort.

He’s the baby-est baby.

Darlin’ Baby Goes to the Beach

October 10, 2014

Y’all already know that I bottlefeed kittens.  It seems like I’m one of two people in the area that does this for the shelter.

A lot of them don’t make it.  There’s a thing called Fading Kitten Syndrome, and they just slip away from you.  With me, they all get an equal chance to make it or not.  Without someone like me, they wouldn’t even have that chance.

So the problem becomes this:  what do you do when you need to go to the beach?

See, it’s hardly a problem.  The kittens are so tiny that they practically live in the crate.  This batch was a mixed bunch.  There was a litter of three.  One died in 24 hours.  When I’d get a random single, I just pop them into the batch.  Babies need tactile warmth.  This particular snapshot of time has the two remaining littermates and a slightly bigger single.


I call this one Darlin’ Baby.  That’s not his name; that’s what I call him.  I don’t “name” any of them, because they either die or go back to the shelter where they are given a name.  I had gotten this darlin’ about 1 week earlier, and I estimated him and his siblings to be about 2 weeks old at the time.  In the background, you can see a little gray head of Darlin’s sibling, and another random bigger single who I kept for a short amount of time.  The bigger boy was ready to go from the bottle to canned food, which is the mile marker that I use to know when to return them to the shelter.



Can you tell we’re at the beach?  It was a lovely May day, not too hot, and breezy.  Both my BabyGirl and my BabyBoy were there.  The BabyGirl brought her little doggie, and the BabyBoy brought a dog that he was taking care of (sorry for the prepositional ending).  BabyBoy also brought his handy tent/shelter which he got from Target for $30.  Best $30 he ever spent.


There’s a blue and white cooler in the shelter with some cold drinks in it and of course the baby bottle.  The crate is stashed in the corner behind the cooler, so you can’t actually see the babies.
















Yes, these dogs have access to fresh water.










Wow.  What a great day.  Look for further installments of the Darlin’ Baby’s adventures.

The Veterinarian

September 4, 2009

One Sunday, in counting the money in the weekly offering, the Pastor of a small church found a pink envelope containing $1,000.
It happened again the next week! 
The following Sunday, he watched as the offering was collected and saw an elderly woman put the distinctive pink envelope on the plate. 
This went on for weeks until the pastor, overcome by curiosity, approached her. 
‘Ma’am, I couldn’t help but notice that you put $1,000 a week in the collection plate,’ he stated. 
‘Why yes,’ she replied, ‘every week my son sends me money and I give some of it to the church.’ 
The pastor replied, ‘That’s wonderful. But $1000 is a lot, are you sure you can afford this? How much does he send you?’ 

The elderly woman answered, ‘$10,000 a week.’ 

The pastor was amazed.  ‘Your son is very successful; what does he do for a living?’  ‘He is a veterinarian,’ she answered.

‘That’s an honorable profession, but I had no idea they made that much money,’ the pastor said.’Where does he practice?’ 

The woman answered proudly, “In Nevada.  He has two cat houses, one in Las Vegas , and one in Reno.” 

I want to be a veterinarian when I grow up!

That's. Not. Right.

(Thanks to Linda for this joke!)


August 31, 2009
Strangest possums I've ever seen

Strangest possums I've ever seen

My friend Maria does wildlife rescue.  She’s had squirrels, red-tail hawks, rabbits, you name it.  Recently, the local animal “shelter” called her.  They had some baby possums that had been turned in.  I visited her and looked in on her possums.  I’d never seen black possums before. 

Possum cats

Possum cats

A feral cat, greatly pregnant, had been trapped in a humane trap and left at the shelter.  (Look up Hav-A-Hart traps to see what I mean.)  She gave birth in the trap, the shelter euthanized her, and called Maria to raise the babies.