It all started on August 2 when our friend Cathy caught me after church and asked, “How serious are you about adopting kittens?" “Very serious,” I told her, my eyes lit with curiosity. “Why?”
Just the day before, a momma cat and her litter of seven teeny tiny kittens had been left at the door of Cathy’s veterinary clinic. Cathy had been our beloved Brad’s vet and she witnessed and shared our heartbreak when he died last May. She invited us to come look at the kittens that were probably all of a week old and offered that if we were at least vaguely interested, we could put our names on a list to adopt one or some of them when they were ready. Until then, they would live at the clinic under the care of about 20 cat lovers. It was hard to imagine a better scenario. About 24 hours later, we were staring in awe at the sweetest momma cat and the tiniest kittens we’d ever seen. “Put us on the list!” I told Cathy. “You’re already at the top,” she replied with a knowing smile. All we had to do now was wait.
Two days later and for the next four Wednesdays, I visited the kittens and took lots of pictures. Rob and I were adamant that we weren’t just going to adopt just any ol’ random kitten. Instead, we wanted to wait until a kitten spoke to us in that new agey way. We wanted to feel a bond, a connection, a sense of “yep, this is the one.”
The more we talked, the more we really liked the idea of having two kittens. We had often thought it would have been fun to get Brad a kitten – a Nermal to his Garfield – but Brad was firmly an only kitty and we didn’t want to rock his world. But two kittens – littermates – brought home together seemed like far too much fun. Cathy suggested two boys as the best combination, followed by a boy and a girl. Much like humans, two girl cats can get a bit territorial and make life a bit difficult and hissy for those around them. So it was settled. We would get two brothers. And although I was trying really hard not to judge the kittens on looks, I was happy to see that only two of the kittens in the abandoned litter were almost entirely black like Brad. I really didn’t want another black boy kitty. Too ripe for comparisons.
The best laid plans.
Looking back at the weekly pictures, it was clear from the second visit that a little grey girl was crawling into our hearts. Sweet little face, friendly, and the first to trot over when I arrived for my weekly visit. One day she fell asleep in my hand. I really wished she was a boy, but, oh well. She was speaking to us…and especially me. “Yep, this is the one.”
Rob was drawn to a sweet little boy. He, too, was friendly and playful and liked visitors. And he was almost all black except for a little white tuft on his tummy. Just like Brad. I had noticed him, too, but was trying not to. But, oh well. He was speaking to us. “Yep, this is the one, too.”
So it was settled and I was SO excited. We picked a name for the girl and kept debating the boy’s name. We thought seriously about “Wilmer” – as a male nod to my grandma who inadvertently named Brad. But the little guy was just too lively and frisky for such an Elmer Fudd-y sort of name. Over chips and salsa at our favorite Mexican restaurant, we decided on Zak. A strong, masculine name with some mischief but with a sweet, cuddly side. And spelled only with a “k” to make it unique. It was perfect.
The girl’s name was obvious as soon as I thought of it. Sarah Jean was the name I planned to lobby hard for were Rob and I ever to have a daughter. I love the name Sarah and Jean was Rob’s mom’s name. Since we’re pretty firm on the “no kids” thing, Sarah was the perfect cat name, although we stopped short at adding the middle name. Call it wisdom, respect, and family harmony. Sarah fit the little grey girl perfectly. Sweet and dainty but strongly determined and able to hold her own in a pride of brothers. We were set. All we had to do was wait. I started sending out photos to a few family members, sharing the news of our imminent fuzzy arrivals.
Then around Labor Day things changed. Momma cat and all the kittens suddenly got sick. Really sick. No other cats in the clinic were ill, which was a relief. But despite a brief rally, all of them were quarantined and not visitable for three agonizing weeks.
I don’t have kids, and I would never say this to a mom who has experienced the real-life thing because I can’t imagine the enormity of it with a child…but I felt like I had babies in ICU. I was a wreck. I was quiet and withdrawn and distracted and consumed with worry. All for kittens that weren’t even technically mine yet.
Cathy was wonderful at keeping us informed but I still struggled not to pounce on her for information every time I saw her. She and the clinic were amazing. The time, resources, and love poured into these little animals were nothing short of heroic. One particularly difficult Sunday, Cathy was at the clinic all day, well past 9:00pm, hand-feeding the sick kittens every two hours. They weren’t keeping much in; I can only imagine the repeated cleaning that took place with eight gastrointestinally sick cats. Cathy sent me several emails that night. Three kittens were doing rather well and seemed as if they hadn’t gotten very sick at all. Zak was in that group. The other four kittens had gotten hit pretty hard. A little tabby boy was particularly struggling. Cathy wasn’t sure he was going to make it. She mentioned with some caution that two of the others were showing signs of improvement. She was careful not to mention Sarah in her emails. I tried hard not to notice.
Loads of tests were being run and I learned about regenerative anemia, nonregenerative anemia, and hemobart. The tests could only be conducted on momma since blood draws are tricky on kittens, plus they tend to be naturally anemic anyway. We were praying that whatever they had wasn’t genetic with long-term implications.
The little tabby didn’t make it. Through him, it was determined that the illness was an infection. Although that was a relief, while waiting for those results, Cathy’s own personal cat, Java – who was just shy of his 5th birthday – had to suddenly be put down. It was a terrible day capping off a terrible week. I was utterly consumed by cats and grief and a longing to understand why all of this was happening. It all seemed so unnecessarily painful and difficult. All I wanted was a couple of kittens. How hard is that?? Most people just go to a shelter one day and come back with a kitten in a box and a promise to Bob Barker. The situation with the clinic kittens had seemed so ideal and now it was rife with anxiety and fear and a thing I loathe: a need for patience. I had bonded with these kittens. I had named them. I had showed off pictures. I desperately wanted to bring them home with me. But now their future was uncertain. And I was kicking myself for allowing myself to get so involved so soon...and for bringing others into it.
Over the next couple of weeks, the three “healthy” kittens continued to thrive. Zak was described as a “chow hound” and apparently liked to lick fingers. This was wonderful news. They were being kept separate from the three “sick” kittens which included Sarah. While the two “sick” boys seemed to be making slow but optimistic progress, some of Sarah’s symptoms returned. Cathy told us that Sarah was determined and stubborn and was trying her hardest to keep up with her two brothers. That gave us hope and confirmed why we were drawn to her in the first place. I understand stubborn.
After three long weeks, I was finally able to see the kittens on September 23. I was allowed to pet Zak – who was the cutest little bundle of fur – but I could only watch Sarah through the window of an exam room dedicated to the sick kittens. My heart started to break as I watched Sarah. She indeed had mighty determination but so much time spent sick in a small space left her muscles weak and underdeveloped. She wobbled as she walked and she struggled to keep up as her two brothers scampered about. As I watched her, it hit me. I said to Cathy, “She almost didn’t make it, huh?” Cathy’s look said it all. Their efforts had indeed been heroic.
As I snapped some photos of Sarah, I also took a few of another grey kitty. A boy. A polydactyl (5 toes on his front paws instead of 4). I took the pictures “just in case.” Just in case Sarah wasn’t adoptable after all.
We saw Cathy a few days later. Sarah wasn’t really progressing. Cathy shared some reservations. We prepared ourselves to let go and told Cathy that if Sarah wasn’t able to come home with us, we’d like the little grey boy we were now calling Paulie (poly – for polydactyl). So now we were back to two boys, the original plan.
A few days later, on our regular Wednesday visit, the clinic was ready for us. In one room were the three “healthy” kittens: Zak, a little black girl who had been rather blah and nondescript all along, and a grey girl with white socks whom another couple had already claimed. In another room were Sarah, Paulie, and a little black and white guy we had long named Whiney due to his less-than-endearing temperament. We were allowed to go in and play with the kittens in Zak’s room. But because they were still recuperating, we were only allowed to watch Sarah and her two “sick” brothers through a window. Cathy readily admitted the next day that it was a set-up.
We played with Zak and had a great time. We couldn’t wait to bring him home. We were glad the grey girl with white paws had a home cuz she was a mischievous, independent handful. And the little black girl, oddly, was suddenly very cute. It was as if overnight her personality blossomed. Instead of blah and barely memorable, she was now lively and spunky and held her own against Zak despite being nearly a pound lighter. (Did I mention Zak likes to eat?). We mentioned this to Cathy when she joined us on the floor covered in kitten toys. She said that she and a few of the other vets had noticed the same change just a few days earlier. “Do you want to take a peek at the other room?” Cathy asked. I did and yet in some ways I wish I hadn’t.
Sarah had gotten worse. Her mind was fine but the illness had obviously done something to her coordination. She was shaking and even more wobbly and had trouble controlling her back two legs. When she focused intently on her food dish or a toy, her head bounced around like a ceramic dog in the back of a car window. Cathy said there was something neurological going on and she suspected meningitis. It was all I could do not to cry. As I watched Sarah struggle, my dreams of bringing her home died.
I asked Cathy what would happen to Sarah if we didn’t take her. She said that Sarah would stay there and be a “clinic cat.” They would continue to treat her and care for her as long as it made sense to do so. She said that everyone at the clinic had fallen in love with her and couldn’t bear to put her down unless there was no choice. This settled our hearts immensely.
We went back to Zak’s room. We watched the little black girl and Zak play together and it was obvious how well they got along. Despite Zak’s size, the little girl stood up to him. Neither was a push-over. I went back to the window and looked at Paulie. The infection had put him several weeks behind the healthy ones in the other room. He was small and somewhat submissive and passive. We worried about how he would fare with the playful linebackery Zak. We also were concerned how well it would work to bring kittens home several weeks apart. We literally went back and forth and then it was clear. The next day we told Cathy that when Zak was ready to come home, we wanted to bring his little black sister with him. Cathy endorsed our decision as the one she hoped we would make.
So day before yesterday, 9 longs weeks after we first met them, we brought two adorable, highly socialized, incredibly friendly, healthy kittens home to Woodhaven. Although I intended to be open to “whatever” I wanted two boys and neither of them black. I now share my life with a boy kitty and a girl kitty, both of them black. I’ve decided God must really find it amusing when I make plans.
As for the name of the little black girl, I thought long and hard about it. Rob pretty readily accepted Sarah as the right name for her. He lobbied that she had the same personality we had first noticed in the grey one and that it was still a special name to us. Plus there’s certainly not only one girl named Sarah so there was no reason that two cats couldn’t be named Sarah. But I wasn’t so easily convinced. I wasn’t sure it was right to name two cats in a row the same thing, and I didn’t want to diminish the importance and bonding I had felt with the grey kitty. So for a few days we considered Roxi, Zoey, and Bev. But as we prepared our home for kittens and went shopping and stocked our nursery, I found myself struggling not to call the black girl Sarah. When we picked them up at the clinic on Monday, I asked Cathy about “the little grey girl” -- unable to bear calling her by my special name. I asked what the clinic’s staff was calling her. “Almost all of them are calling her the little grey girl.” About half-way home, near a Lowe’s, while staring at two little black lumps of fur in a kennel on my lap, I looked at the smaller one and said, “Hi, Sarah.”
So we are ecstatic to be cat parents again. Our house is filled with cardboard barriers. Our sunroom has exploded in feathery toys and wads of aluminum foil and boxes and scratching posts. Our newspapers have gone unread. Our dishes and laundry are piling up for fear of running loud appliances quite so soon. And I am quickly learning what nooks and crannies I haven’t vacuumed in a long time. It is fantastic.
As for why all this happened and why it was so uncommonly difficult for us to simply adopt two kittens, I have no idea. But I have to believe there is a purpose to it; otherwise the universe looks rather mean. What I do know, though, is that Zak has the loudest purr I've ever heard and Sarah loves to snuggle. And I know that our lives will be completely chaotic for the next several months. I can’t wait.
Just the day before, a momma cat and her litter of seven teeny tiny kittens had been left at the door of Cathy’s veterinary clinic. Cathy had been our beloved Brad’s vet and she witnessed and shared our heartbreak when he died last May. She invited us to come look at the kittens that were probably all of a week old and offered that if we were at least vaguely interested, we could put our names on a list to adopt one or some of them when they were ready. Until then, they would live at the clinic under the care of about 20 cat lovers. It was hard to imagine a better scenario. About 24 hours later, we were staring in awe at the sweetest momma cat and the tiniest kittens we’d ever seen. “Put us on the list!” I told Cathy. “You’re already at the top,” she replied with a knowing smile. All we had to do now was wait.
Two days later and for the next four Wednesdays, I visited the kittens and took lots of pictures. Rob and I were adamant that we weren’t just going to adopt just any ol’ random kitten. Instead, we wanted to wait until a kitten spoke to us in that new agey way. We wanted to feel a bond, a connection, a sense of “yep, this is the one.”
The more we talked, the more we really liked the idea of having two kittens. We had often thought it would have been fun to get Brad a kitten – a Nermal to his Garfield – but Brad was firmly an only kitty and we didn’t want to rock his world. But two kittens – littermates – brought home together seemed like far too much fun. Cathy suggested two boys as the best combination, followed by a boy and a girl. Much like humans, two girl cats can get a bit territorial and make life a bit difficult and hissy for those around them. So it was settled. We would get two brothers. And although I was trying really hard not to judge the kittens on looks, I was happy to see that only two of the kittens in the abandoned litter were almost entirely black like Brad. I really didn’t want another black boy kitty. Too ripe for comparisons.
The best laid plans.
Looking back at the weekly pictures, it was clear from the second visit that a little grey girl was crawling into our hearts. Sweet little face, friendly, and the first to trot over when I arrived for my weekly visit. One day she fell asleep in my hand. I really wished she was a boy, but, oh well. She was speaking to us…and especially me. “Yep, this is the one.”
Rob was drawn to a sweet little boy. He, too, was friendly and playful and liked visitors. And he was almost all black except for a little white tuft on his tummy. Just like Brad. I had noticed him, too, but was trying not to. But, oh well. He was speaking to us. “Yep, this is the one, too.”
So it was settled and I was SO excited. We picked a name for the girl and kept debating the boy’s name. We thought seriously about “Wilmer” – as a male nod to my grandma who inadvertently named Brad. But the little guy was just too lively and frisky for such an Elmer Fudd-y sort of name. Over chips and salsa at our favorite Mexican restaurant, we decided on Zak. A strong, masculine name with some mischief but with a sweet, cuddly side. And spelled only with a “k” to make it unique. It was perfect.
The girl’s name was obvious as soon as I thought of it. Sarah Jean was the name I planned to lobby hard for were Rob and I ever to have a daughter. I love the name Sarah and Jean was Rob’s mom’s name. Since we’re pretty firm on the “no kids” thing, Sarah was the perfect cat name, although we stopped short at adding the middle name. Call it wisdom, respect, and family harmony. Sarah fit the little grey girl perfectly. Sweet and dainty but strongly determined and able to hold her own in a pride of brothers. We were set. All we had to do was wait. I started sending out photos to a few family members, sharing the news of our imminent fuzzy arrivals.
Then around Labor Day things changed. Momma cat and all the kittens suddenly got sick. Really sick. No other cats in the clinic were ill, which was a relief. But despite a brief rally, all of them were quarantined and not visitable for three agonizing weeks.
I don’t have kids, and I would never say this to a mom who has experienced the real-life thing because I can’t imagine the enormity of it with a child…but I felt like I had babies in ICU. I was a wreck. I was quiet and withdrawn and distracted and consumed with worry. All for kittens that weren’t even technically mine yet.
Cathy was wonderful at keeping us informed but I still struggled not to pounce on her for information every time I saw her. She and the clinic were amazing. The time, resources, and love poured into these little animals were nothing short of heroic. One particularly difficult Sunday, Cathy was at the clinic all day, well past 9:00pm, hand-feeding the sick kittens every two hours. They weren’t keeping much in; I can only imagine the repeated cleaning that took place with eight gastrointestinally sick cats. Cathy sent me several emails that night. Three kittens were doing rather well and seemed as if they hadn’t gotten very sick at all. Zak was in that group. The other four kittens had gotten hit pretty hard. A little tabby boy was particularly struggling. Cathy wasn’t sure he was going to make it. She mentioned with some caution that two of the others were showing signs of improvement. She was careful not to mention Sarah in her emails. I tried hard not to notice.
Loads of tests were being run and I learned about regenerative anemia, nonregenerative anemia, and hemobart. The tests could only be conducted on momma since blood draws are tricky on kittens, plus they tend to be naturally anemic anyway. We were praying that whatever they had wasn’t genetic with long-term implications.
The little tabby didn’t make it. Through him, it was determined that the illness was an infection. Although that was a relief, while waiting for those results, Cathy’s own personal cat, Java – who was just shy of his 5th birthday – had to suddenly be put down. It was a terrible day capping off a terrible week. I was utterly consumed by cats and grief and a longing to understand why all of this was happening. It all seemed so unnecessarily painful and difficult. All I wanted was a couple of kittens. How hard is that?? Most people just go to a shelter one day and come back with a kitten in a box and a promise to Bob Barker. The situation with the clinic kittens had seemed so ideal and now it was rife with anxiety and fear and a thing I loathe: a need for patience. I had bonded with these kittens. I had named them. I had showed off pictures. I desperately wanted to bring them home with me. But now their future was uncertain. And I was kicking myself for allowing myself to get so involved so soon...and for bringing others into it.
Over the next couple of weeks, the three “healthy” kittens continued to thrive. Zak was described as a “chow hound” and apparently liked to lick fingers. This was wonderful news. They were being kept separate from the three “sick” kittens which included Sarah. While the two “sick” boys seemed to be making slow but optimistic progress, some of Sarah’s symptoms returned. Cathy told us that Sarah was determined and stubborn and was trying her hardest to keep up with her two brothers. That gave us hope and confirmed why we were drawn to her in the first place. I understand stubborn.
After three long weeks, I was finally able to see the kittens on September 23. I was allowed to pet Zak – who was the cutest little bundle of fur – but I could only watch Sarah through the window of an exam room dedicated to the sick kittens. My heart started to break as I watched Sarah. She indeed had mighty determination but so much time spent sick in a small space left her muscles weak and underdeveloped. She wobbled as she walked and she struggled to keep up as her two brothers scampered about. As I watched her, it hit me. I said to Cathy, “She almost didn’t make it, huh?” Cathy’s look said it all. Their efforts had indeed been heroic.
As I snapped some photos of Sarah, I also took a few of another grey kitty. A boy. A polydactyl (5 toes on his front paws instead of 4). I took the pictures “just in case.” Just in case Sarah wasn’t adoptable after all.
We saw Cathy a few days later. Sarah wasn’t really progressing. Cathy shared some reservations. We prepared ourselves to let go and told Cathy that if Sarah wasn’t able to come home with us, we’d like the little grey boy we were now calling Paulie (poly – for polydactyl). So now we were back to two boys, the original plan.
A few days later, on our regular Wednesday visit, the clinic was ready for us. In one room were the three “healthy” kittens: Zak, a little black girl who had been rather blah and nondescript all along, and a grey girl with white socks whom another couple had already claimed. In another room were Sarah, Paulie, and a little black and white guy we had long named Whiney due to his less-than-endearing temperament. We were allowed to go in and play with the kittens in Zak’s room. But because they were still recuperating, we were only allowed to watch Sarah and her two “sick” brothers through a window. Cathy readily admitted the next day that it was a set-up.
We played with Zak and had a great time. We couldn’t wait to bring him home. We were glad the grey girl with white paws had a home cuz she was a mischievous, independent handful. And the little black girl, oddly, was suddenly very cute. It was as if overnight her personality blossomed. Instead of blah and barely memorable, she was now lively and spunky and held her own against Zak despite being nearly a pound lighter. (Did I mention Zak likes to eat?). We mentioned this to Cathy when she joined us on the floor covered in kitten toys. She said that she and a few of the other vets had noticed the same change just a few days earlier. “Do you want to take a peek at the other room?” Cathy asked. I did and yet in some ways I wish I hadn’t.
Sarah had gotten worse. Her mind was fine but the illness had obviously done something to her coordination. She was shaking and even more wobbly and had trouble controlling her back two legs. When she focused intently on her food dish or a toy, her head bounced around like a ceramic dog in the back of a car window. Cathy said there was something neurological going on and she suspected meningitis. It was all I could do not to cry. As I watched Sarah struggle, my dreams of bringing her home died.
I asked Cathy what would happen to Sarah if we didn’t take her. She said that Sarah would stay there and be a “clinic cat.” They would continue to treat her and care for her as long as it made sense to do so. She said that everyone at the clinic had fallen in love with her and couldn’t bear to put her down unless there was no choice. This settled our hearts immensely.
We went back to Zak’s room. We watched the little black girl and Zak play together and it was obvious how well they got along. Despite Zak’s size, the little girl stood up to him. Neither was a push-over. I went back to the window and looked at Paulie. The infection had put him several weeks behind the healthy ones in the other room. He was small and somewhat submissive and passive. We worried about how he would fare with the playful linebackery Zak. We also were concerned how well it would work to bring kittens home several weeks apart. We literally went back and forth and then it was clear. The next day we told Cathy that when Zak was ready to come home, we wanted to bring his little black sister with him. Cathy endorsed our decision as the one she hoped we would make.
So day before yesterday, 9 longs weeks after we first met them, we brought two adorable, highly socialized, incredibly friendly, healthy kittens home to Woodhaven. Although I intended to be open to “whatever” I wanted two boys and neither of them black. I now share my life with a boy kitty and a girl kitty, both of them black. I’ve decided God must really find it amusing when I make plans.
As for the name of the little black girl, I thought long and hard about it. Rob pretty readily accepted Sarah as the right name for her. He lobbied that she had the same personality we had first noticed in the grey one and that it was still a special name to us. Plus there’s certainly not only one girl named Sarah so there was no reason that two cats couldn’t be named Sarah. But I wasn’t so easily convinced. I wasn’t sure it was right to name two cats in a row the same thing, and I didn’t want to diminish the importance and bonding I had felt with the grey kitty. So for a few days we considered Roxi, Zoey, and Bev. But as we prepared our home for kittens and went shopping and stocked our nursery, I found myself struggling not to call the black girl Sarah. When we picked them up at the clinic on Monday, I asked Cathy about “the little grey girl” -- unable to bear calling her by my special name. I asked what the clinic’s staff was calling her. “Almost all of them are calling her the little grey girl.” About half-way home, near a Lowe’s, while staring at two little black lumps of fur in a kennel on my lap, I looked at the smaller one and said, “Hi, Sarah.”
So we are ecstatic to be cat parents again. Our house is filled with cardboard barriers. Our sunroom has exploded in feathery toys and wads of aluminum foil and boxes and scratching posts. Our newspapers have gone unread. Our dishes and laundry are piling up for fear of running loud appliances quite so soon. And I am quickly learning what nooks and crannies I haven’t vacuumed in a long time. It is fantastic.
As for why all this happened and why it was so uncommonly difficult for us to simply adopt two kittens, I have no idea. But I have to believe there is a purpose to it; otherwise the universe looks rather mean. What I do know, though, is that Zak has the loudest purr I've ever heard and Sarah loves to snuggle. And I know that our lives will be completely chaotic for the next several months. I can’t wait.
5 comments:
It was like reading a lovely short story - - - with tears and smiles - - - and a happy ending. Thank you.
OK I got a little verklempt there! So glad for you guys.
Welcome home little Sarah and Zak!
Beautiful! Now, you wrote, "I don’t have kids, and I would never say this to a mom who has experienced the real-life thing because I can’t imagine the enormity of it with a child…but I felt like I had babies in ICU. I was a wreck. I was quiet and withdrawn and distracted and consumed with worry." I have two children, two dogs and three cats. The SAME worry and nurturing is there when any of them get sick. You make a wonderful furbaby Mommy, and CONGRATULATIONS!! Great blog :)
Thank you everyone! We are having a wonderful time with our new family members. They are both awesome kittens that obviously we just needed to wait for. :-)
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