Beech Tree News Network

I still have the rescue kittens I told you about in October, although, sadly, the smallest one died.  I buried him next to Figaro, under the pine tree in the back yard.  It was so sad.  I grieve over every animal that passes while under my care.  That’s just the way God sewed me together.

The two that are left are male and female.  I’ve started calling them Brother and Sister, in keeping with my resolution not to give them proper names.  My granddaughter begs me to keep them.  I tell her I won’t.  Garey tells her I probably will.  We’ll see, I guess.

Garey and I take turns feeding the kittens.  They’re still on the bottle.  The vet says they should be eating on their own by now.  The same vet that Garey took them to, because they were sneezing and had snotty noses, which made it hard for them to suck on the bottle.  Garey brought them home with antibiotics and wormer.  I questioned how they could get worms from kitten formula.  Garey said the vet explained that kittens get worms from the placenta while they are still in the mother’s womb.  Who knew?

I’ve been following the “Kitten Lady” blog for tips on how to get the kittens to transition from the bottle to wet cat food.  She suggests putting a small amount of wet cat food in with the formula then mixing it all together in a blender bottle—one of those plastic shake containers with the spiral ball. 

I ordered a blender bottle from Amazon and did just that.  Garey fussed at me for ordering the blender bottle.  He said I would only use it a couple of times before the kittens would be eating cat food on their own, and it was a waste, because he could do the same thing with a spoon and a measuring cup.  I reminded him about the four propane cylinders that had arrived that very day, the cylinders for the heater in his newly renovated “shootin house,” and I told him, if I were him, I wouldn’t be griping about my three-dollar-and-fifty-six-cent shaker bottle.  He said no more.  (You tend to get snarky when you have little ones in the house.)

I want to go on record as having used the shaker bottle ten times, as of this afternoon.  Although the kittens like the meat flavor of the milk, it doesn’t translate into their eating the cat food-milk slurry I serve them on a saucer.  It’s like trying to wean a human baby from a bottle.

We always feed the kittens one at a time, rotating who goes first, just in case they are keeping score.  While you are feeding one, the other is climbing your pant leg in an effort to get to where the bottle is, so he/she can take it away from its sibling.  They usually only get to about your knee before they slide back down to the floor.  Yesterday, Brother made it all the way to my right elbow, caught himself in my sweater, and hung literally by a thread until I could unsnag him and put him back onto the floor.

One morning, two days ago, Garey was already fixing their milk when I got up.  I watched as he carried a bottle into their room.  He was wearing only a tee shirt and underwear with a pair of crew socks.  Even in my sleep-addled brain, I knew that was a mistake.  “They are gonna have a field day with those hairy legs,” I said to myself.   He emerged fifteen minutes later, looking like he’d run through a briar thicket.  “Those rascals tore my legs up!” he said.  “No surprise there,” I thought.

If we don’t get those two weaned from the bottle pretty soon, I’m going to have to start writing my own blog, so I can have followers and sponsors to pay for all the formula and cat litter.  Garey is going to need some claw-proof pants, as well--maybe some canvas dungaree—and those things cost a lot more than three dollars and fifty-six cents.