If you’re looking to start your week off with some light and happy reading, this isn’t it.
Seriously.
If you’ve got the Monday blues, skip this one.
You’ve been warned.
& & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & &
Soooooo.
There might have been some goings-on around here last week that I didn’t exactly write about. (No, I’m not pregnant. No, we’re not separating or divorcing. No, Fred didn’t lose his job.)
Mister Boogers, you’ll recall, died on a Tuesday.
(I feel very Forrest Gump right now. “You died on a Saturday morning. And I had you placed here under our tree.”)
(No, this is not about another one of our cats dying.)
On Friday, the shelter manager sent out an email asking if anyone wanted to take four 4 day old kittens. I exclaimed “Oh! Baby kittens! This is EXACTLY what I need to take my mind off missing Mister Boogers!” I had a brief discussion with Fred, who shrugged (as he usually does in the face of my desire to bring more cats into the house) and said that if I wanted it was okay with him. I sent an email to the shelter manager offering to take them.
I didn’t hear back from her that day, so I figured she’d found someone else to take them. When I got back from cleaning at the pet store on the morning of the 4th of July, I had an email from her accepting my offer. I called and made arrangements to get them right then, and headed out.
The woman who had them lives 10 minutes or so from the shelter, so I swung by the shelter first to pick up the shelter manager, and off we headed. The kittens, it turned out, came from an animal control facility in Tennessee. Where they are not, shall we shall, fans of cats. The mother to these kittens gave birth to them, and was euthanized before the kittens could have any time with her at all, not one minute.
The mother was euthanized because she had an upper respiratory infection. Before they could put the kittens down as well, the woman who works there had snatched them up and brought them home. By the time I got them, two of them – the smaller two – weren’t doing so well. The two larger ones seemed to be okay, though. I knew there was a good chance that one or both of the smaller two wouldn’t make it. I was going to do everything in my power to make sure that didn’t happen, but when it comes to tiny baby kittens who weren’t allowed to have that vital time with their mother, it’s kind of a crap shoot.
I got home and got the babies set up in a large carrier lined with a towel and baby blankets over a heating pad. After a little time passed, Fred suggested that we feed them. We did, and while the two smaller ones weren’t interested in eating, they did eat some, and the two larger ones ate pretty well.
I began feeding every three hours. As Saturday bled into Sunday, the two smaller ones seemed to be struggling at feeding time. Once they refused to even suck on the bottle, we began using (needleless) syringes to put formula into their mouths one drop at a time. They seemed… not flourishing by any means, but okay. We were getting some food into them, they were peeing okay, they’d occasionally wake up from their dozing in a pile to do a lap around the carrier.
I didn’t want to name them until I knew they’d survive, knew them apart, and knew what sex they were (they all looked like boys to me, but at that age it’s hard to tell), but we started calling the larger two “The Porkies”, the larger of the two smaller ones “Marty” (he had what looked like it was going to be a bulgy sort of eye, thus his expected resemblance to Marty Feldman), and “The runt.”
By Monday, Marty and the runt were being fed exclusively by syringe. The Porkies were starting to fight the bottle. And all of them were starting to sound congested. Fred took on the runt as his special project – it was a challenge to him to force the little guy to survive. I’d bend down to check on them, and the runt would have crawled off the heating pad, so I’d put him back on it. A while later, he’d have crawled off. Monday night, Fred took a long time feeding the runt and when we went to bed, he was feeling pretty hopeful that the runt would make it.
All four of them, Sunday or Monday (I don’t remember which). The Porkies are on the right; the runt’s in the back, Marty’s in the front on the left.
When I got up at 3:30 Tuesday morning, the runt was dead.
I had been expecting it, and I got teary-eyed, but wrapped him in a paper towel and set him aside to be buried later. Fred was disappointed when he came downstairs a while later, but all we could do was concentrate on the three remaining kittens.
At this point – or perhaps shortly after – all three were being fed via syringe. The problem with feeding via syringe (and with bottle feeding, for that matter), is that you can put the formula in their mouths, but some amount of it will dribble out one side or the other, and end up matted in their fur. So you can feed them a certain amount of food, but you really don’t know how much is actually going into them.
As Tuesday went on, Marty started to fade. He seemed to rally that evening at feeding time, but mid-morning on Wednesday, I did a periodic check (which I did approximately every five minutes) and found him dead. Again, I’d been sort of expecting it. At a certain point when you’re syringe feeding, you can put as much formula in their mouths as you want, but if they won’t swallow, you can’t force them to do so.
I stepped up the feeding on the two remaining kittens, the Porkies – who were not nearly so round and porky as they had been when I first got them. They were raspy and lethargic, and I was spending half an hour feeding each of them, not to mention giving them antibiotics to help them fight the infection (and who knew how much of that they were actually swallowing?).
In the shower one day, I was thinking about the larger of the two Porkies, the one who seemed to have a bit of sass to him. He reminded me of a hamster, and I came up with the name Hamilton for him. Then I decided he needed more of a name, so decided his name would be Hamilton J. Porks III. And because you can’t just name ONE kitten, I named the other Jefferson Porks, Jr.
(It made me laugh, and I was so sleep deprived and worried that anything that made me laugh was a good thing. The names stuck.)
Hamilton in the front, Jefferson in the back.
Thursday came, and Hamilton and Jefferson got weaker. They were eating less, they were eliminating less. Jefferson, in particular, was urinating very little, and it worried me. Fred called and asked if I’d thought about tube feeding.
I’d heard of tube feeding, but really – just the name is daunting, isn’t it? You have to thread a tube down the kitten’s throat into their stomach and push formula through a syringe and down the tube. It sounds like something I would inevitably mess up.
Fred directed me to a video of tube feeding. We discussed it. We decided against it.
The kittens grew weaker.
Fred arrived home from work, having stopped on the way home at a local area vet to pick up the supplies to tube feed. I was incredibly relieved. We got the formula warmed. He showed me how to pull the formula up through the tube into the feeding syringe. I got Jefferson, handed him over to Fred, and two minutes later we had a kitten with a full stomach.
Feeding the tube down a kitten’s throat into his stomach is almost distressingly easy. You lubricate the end of the tube with formula, put the tube in the kitten’s mouth, and begin pushing it toward the back of his throat. He responds by swallowing. You slowly feed the tube to the premeasured mark (please, for the love of god, if you’re going to tube feed a kitten, talk to a veterinary assistant, don’t go by what I’m saying) and very slowly push the plunger of the syringe until all the formula is in the kitten. Slowly pull the tube out, stimulate the kitten to pee/ poop, and off they go to sleep with full bellies and empty bladders.
If I had had any idea at all how simple the process was, we would have been tube feeding from the beginning. It very likely wouldn’t have made a difference (with no mother’s colostrum to start them off right, they had a huge strike against them to start out with), but I’d be feeling better right now, knowing that we’d at least tried.
Thursday evening, after two tube feedings, Jefferson (who’d been more lethargic than Hamilton) seemed to rally. He was perkier, he seemed to respond more when I touched him, if his eyes had been all the way open, he would have been bright-eyed. We went to bed feeling better about both of the kittens’ chances.
Friday morning, Jefferson still wouldn’t pee very much, no matter how much I tried, just one or two drops. Fred suggested that perhaps he’d been dehydrated, and his body was holding on to every bit of fluid it could. I fed him mid-morning, and he just seemed to be getting weaker.
Hamilton, on the other hand, was a fighter. He didn’t want me to make him pee and poop. He didn’t like having the tube down his throat. He didn’t like that I restrained his paws so I could put the tube down his throat. He didn’t HATE having a full belly, but he peered at me like a little old man (his eyes just starting to open) and I could tell that when he grew up BOY was I going to be in TROUBLE.
About an hour after his mid-morning feeding, Jefferson cried the saddest meow from the carrier. I went and picked him up, and he sat in my hand and cried some more. I sat at my desk, Jefferson laying on a baby blanket, and stroked him. He gagged, and then started throwing up. By the time he was done, he’d thrown up a large amount of yellow bile.
I cleaned him up and sat on the floor by the carrier and held him. I tried petting him, but every time I did, he’d cry. He just sat there, his breathing becoming shallower and shallower. He started shaking, and I talked to him, and then his breaths became further and further apart.
And then he died.
I lost it for a little while, because I had so hoped that he was going to pull through. I just knew that I was going to end up with two fat, sassy, sweet little kittens and that when the time came, after we’d been through so much with them, that there was no way on earth we’d adopt them out to someone else, that they were going to be ours and when they were 15 years old and still holy terrors, I could tell the story of how tiny and sick they were and how they’d fought so hard to live. That we’d had them every day of their lives except for the first five.
I think Fred believed that, too.
So Hamilton became an only child. He fought harder and harder at each feeding. His breathing sounded worse and worse, but since I could make sure he got his antibiotic in the feeding tube when I fed him, I was certain that he’d fight off the infection. I read somewhere that the biggest reason kittens with Upper Respiratory Infections die is because they can’t smell the food you’re trying to feed them, and thus won’t eat. We knew he was getting food directly into his stomach, and so we thought maybe between the strength from the food he was getting, and the antibiotic (and the hours of holding he was getting every day), he’d make it.
Fred and I worried that Hamilton would grow up weird, having not had siblings to keep him in his place. I suggested that maybe when he got a little older, I’d ask the shelter manager to keep an eye out for another kitten (or a few of them) around his age, and they could grow up together.
Hamilton went from 5 1/4 ounces to just under 6, and then yesterday morning he weighed in at over 6 ounces. Since the charts I’d seen said that the average 2 week-old kitten weighs around 7 ounces, I felt good that he was on track. Both his eyes were mostly open (showing up those pretty blue eyes all kittens start out with), and whenever I reached in to pick him up out of the carrier, he arched his back against my hand. When I put him on the kitchen counter after his mid-morning feeding, he crawled around a little, peering at everything. His breathing was raspy, but sounded better to both of us.
When he was in his carrier doing laps on the rare occasion I wasn’t holding him, I’d turn to say something to Fred, and in the carrier I’d see Hamilton’s ears wiggle. I referred to myself as “Mommy” when I talked to Hamilton.
I was a little concerned that he wasn’t peeing much, but he WAS peeing some. He also didn’t fight his noontime feeding much, but I theorized to Fred that maybe he was beginning to understand that having the tube down his throat meant he was about to have a full belly.
We are such optimists.
I went to a gathering for a few hours yesterday afternoon – a gathering of shelter volunteers, actually. And it was the best kind of gathering, because you knew everyone present was a cat lover, and we talked about our cats a LOT, we talked about past and present fosters and shelter residents. I told everyone who’d listen my tales of woe, that we’d lost three of the four, but that Hamilton was a fighter and I was hoping.
I lied and said I was “cautiously optimistic.” To be correct, I was WILDLY optimistic. I couldn’t wait to get home and hold Hamilton.
When I did, his breathing sounded worse to me. He didn’t pee at all when I fed him. An hour later, he vomited up a puddle of formula. He laid in my hand and gasped for air.
There was nothing I could do to help him. I could only hope to comfort him. I stroked his back and ears. I talked to him. I brought him into the living room to watch TV with us. He slept for a while, then he’d wake up and arch his back and cry, and flail around. I kept him warm and talked to him, petted him.
At 8:30, he died in my hand.
So, to summarize: I dealt with the heartbreak of the unexpected death of the most personable cat we’ve ever had, by getting super attached to beautiful litter of tiny kittens who probably had no chance from the outset, and got my heart broken again.
I treated heartbreak with heartbreak. It didn’t work so well.
I stupidly got super attached to that little guy and I really expected wholeheartedly that he was going to make it; I think I didn’t realize how completely I expected him to make it until he didn’t. I know we did all we could and I know I’m going to see that in time (I really do kind of see it now), but boy.
I’ll be back tomorrow.
Previously
2008: No entry.
2007: Because then I’d probably poop my guts out, and that just wouldn’t be a pretty sight.
2006: I think I need a nap.
2005: Hey. What’s worse than not being able to stop yourself from crying? WHEN A MOTHERFUCKER KEEPS LOOKING AT YOU TO SEE IF YOU’RE CRYING. [I find it all cirrrrrrrrcle of life-y that it was about this time four year ago that Mia, from our first batch of foster cats, died.]
2004: She looked simultaneously confused and disgusted. “When do I eat CHICKEN eggs?” She wrinkled her nose.
2003: No entry.
2002: No entry.
2001: Sh’yeah. I’m sure Brad’s reallllly worried.
2000: Could that paragraph have been any more rambly and pointless?
Hugs Robyn. I am sorry…so very sorry….
I am sooo sorry. D*mn, wish that I could think of something more comforting to say. So sorry you are going through all of this. It has to get better.
Robyn, you’re such a sweet woman to do all you did for those kittens. I’m so sorry they didn’t make it, but I know they had your TLC right until the end. Hugs to you.
So sorry, I know you tired very hard and it is sad the kittens didn’t make it.
I’m so sorry Robyn. You and Fred were the best chance those kittens had, but it was just too much for their little bodies to overcome without their momma.
Oh, Robyn. *hug* We’ve worked with fosters for a decade and haven’t managed to do half what you and Fred have done in just a few years. Those kittens were lucky to know you (and you them!) and I am so sorry the outcome was such as it was. Our motto has always been “lose a cat…help a cat” and YOU DID. Hang in there, my friend. All of Crooked Acres is in my thoughts today.
Sending hugs your way. I wish I had more to say except I’m so very sorry.
So sorry Robyn, what a terribly sad week you’ve had. I hope this doesn’t stop you from fostering kittens. As hard as it must be to lose some, think of all the ones you did help.
I’m so sorry.
Oh Robyn. Every day when I am sick of all the assholes I encounter everywhere, what I should be doing is thanking my lucky stars that there are people like you and Fred in the world. Those kittens are truly blessed to have shared their tiny little lives with you. I’d much rather hear those kittens died in the loving hands of someone who cared rather than they were euthanized by people who didn’t give a shit. I’m sorry for your heartbreak, though, I truly am.
That truly sucks. But at least you gave them the best chance they could have possibly gotten.
I am sorry to hear this <3
Aww… you guys. Big, big virtual hugs for the both of you. What heartbreak. I wish I could call up Bully Beatdown (not that I watched that insane show for the first and only time last night or anything) and sic them on ALL the SUPPOSEDLY HUMANS that put those poor kittens in that position.
You poor girl! The good thing is that those kittens were in the best possible place with humans that loved them and cared for them instead of some nasty shelter all alone.
I’m so sorry. You and Fred are wonderful people.
Oh, man… I’m so sorry.
Oh, Robyn, I’m so sorry.
Well, bless your heart.
You don’t have to worry about bring happy back tomorrow. Talk about what you need to talk about. We’ll listen.
Big hugs <3
Robyn, I am so sorry. In this sad time, try to think of all of those wonderful, beautiful kittens that you were able to rescue and of the people whose lives you’ve made so much happier because of their pets.
These 4 little kitens were cared for by two very wonderful people.
At least you tried! You gave them a better life than they would have had otherwise. You did the right thing and the best thing and for that, you rock!
((HUGS))
Oh Robyn I am so sorry for what you are going through right now. You rest easy knowing you did the best you could.
I came home from Vacation once, to find a dying baby kitten on my front porch. I had no way to keep him safe all the time from my two inquisitive dogs, so I found a huge fishbowl I had my turtle in. I made him a bed in the fishbowl. (he was that tiny). The fishbowl was kept on the headboard of my bed (I had a bookshelf headboard). My daughters and I took turns getting up every two hours feeding, warming, comforting our baby. He lived 24 hours. I was devastated for weeks. We tried so hard.
I’m so sorry Robyn, I know you did everything you could.
I came home from Vacation once, to find a dying baby kitten on my front porch. I had no way to keep him safe all the time from my two inquisitive dogs, so I found a huge fishbowl I had my turtle in. (the turtle had moved on to an aquarium) I made him a bed in the fishbowl. (he was that tiny). The fishbowl was kept on the headboard of my bed (I had a bookshelf headboard). My daughters and I took turns getting up every two hours feeding, warming, comforting our baby. He lived 24 hours. I was devastated for weeks. We tried so hard.
I’m so sorry Robyn, I know you did everything you could.
sorry. 🙁
My heart aches for you. You both remain in my thoughts.
Gina
I’m so sorry. You guys are awesome for doing what you do, and giving all these cats a chance that otherwise wouldn’t have one.
Dear Robyn, I really share your pain. You gave so much of yourself. Be comforted that no one on God’s green earth could have done anything more than you and Fred did. Those babies were given all your love and best efforts; it just wasn’t meant to be. And pet heaven got a little brighter with the arrival of each of these sweet babies.
So sorry Robin,my heart is breaking for you. YOu did everything you could and more for those babies….Hugs…
So sad… RIP little ones.
I’m so sorry 🙁
(((big hugs)))))
I’m so sorry that you had more heartache Robyn. These acts of kindness you do, are the things that make you special. You did everything you could. Take care.
Please don’t try to write “happy” for us. What comes from your heart is why we all love your blog.
You are a good person. That’s all I can think, reading this.
That’s so sad. I’m sorry. I admire you and Fred for all you do for animals. I only wish there were more people like you both in the world.
So sorry about this, I know how it DOES hurt. When late husband and I were on the farm, someone dropped a female cat at our house, and of course, she was pregnant. I took good care of her, and she had 7 kittens. Thing is, she had a hard time of delivery; afterward some bleeding that lasted a day. Took her & kittens to vet, they were all checked out, given bill of health. Well, during the third week, the kittens started dying — I could see NOTHING wrong with them. I frantically called the vet in tears, but she said, “Sometimes that happens when they grow. The mom cat was very small, and those kittens probably lacked enough space to develop right, must have had internal defects that caused problems as they grew.”
I tried to do the best I could to make the last couple of kittens comfortable, but thought surely the larger yellow tabby would live. He died. By that time, I was resigned. Remarkably though, the runt survived against all odds. I hadn’t named her, fearing she’d die…just called her “Kitten.” And that became her name. She turned out to be a whopper, HUGE and FAT. I also kept the mom cat, and she is still with me: Ms. Bitty Kitty. Unfortunately Kitten had kidney failure about a year ago.
I didn’t mean to go on at such length, just wanted you to know I truly understand the heartbreak of seeing tiny kittens die when you’re doing everything you can to save them.
i’m so, so sorry. 🙁
Oh Robyn, fate is a cruel bitch sometimes. This is your site, where you write about your daily life, and if your daily life is currently kinda a suckfest, well that’s what you write about. You and Fred did everything you could, more than alot of people would have done. Certainly more than that dumbass who euthanized a new mother with 4 babies. Some people, gah. I wish none of this had happened to you. I’m sorry.
I am so sorry you and Fred have had such a rough few last weeks. I think the world of you two for taking in those kittens and trying to help them make it, especially after everything that’s been going on. Those kittens could NOT have gone to a better family in terms of love and care, and it sounds like there was nothing else you could have done.
what a tough week. I am so sorry Robyn. You guys did all you could, and I’m quite upset with that shelter!! Hugs to you and Fred.
I am *so* sorry to hear this — I was reminded about the time I had suffered a miscarriage, and found a feral kitten the day after. Excited to tame her/feed her. Well, ended up having to put kitten to sleep due to its enlarged heart a few weeks later. Then about a week after that I adopted a black kitten from a shelter and Pumpkin (as I called him) was killed in a freak accident a few days later. Talk about heartbreak — sending you and Fred good thoughts.
What a terrible, sad story–I’m so sorry for you and for Fred, and for those poor sweet kittens. Don’t be too hard on yourself for believing and hoping–I think it could have gone the other way, had any one of them had even a glimmer of hope for survival. Your care would have helped them make it–you definitely did all you could.
Ultimately, all I can think is: thank goodness Robyn and Fred were there to take care of those babies. They died, yes, but they died feeling loved and warm and cared for and wanted. That means something–it means a lot, in fact.
I’m so sorry Robyn and Fred.Perhaps it might be a comfort to know that your sweet boy Mr. Boogers is waiting for those tiny babies and none of them will ever feel pain again.
Nooooooooooo. Poor baby kitties. Robyn you and Fred gave those babies a fighting chance. Im glad you were there for them.
ive done neonatal fostering & it is SO HARD! plus with no colostrum and exposure to URI–those poor little kittens. Thank you for trying–i wish you didn’t have to have had more heartbreak, especially so soon after mr. boogers died.
I’m so sorry, Robyn, and I know how you feel because I took a kitten from my husband’s stepdad a few years back to try to hand feed. He had been hand feeding the kitten for days with no problems, and was so happy to give the kitten to me as I was recovering from surgery and needed something to take my mind off of it, but apparently I ended up getting formula into the kitten’s lungs and he aspirated and died. I felt like I’d killed him. But it’s very easy to get formula into their lungs, especially when they’re crying to be fed but not swallowing or sucking like they should. But I still felt really awful. But you’ve saved sooo many kitties over the years, try not to feel too bad about this.
That just really sucks. I am sorry you had to go thru this!
I am so sorry… we used to go through this when my mother breed and showed Yorkies. They are born very small and sometimes have to be tube fed and they have to be stimulated to pee. It is sad when you lose any animal especially when you know the odds are not good… you have had a rough week lady.. hang in there. The work you do with fostering cats is important. There needs to be more people in this world that care as much as you do.
Robyn & Fred, I am so sorry you had to go through such heartbreak last week. Losing pets is such a hard through to go through 🙁
Sending you comforting hugs from Michigan. I’m so sorry, Robyn. I feel your anguish 🙁
You can talk about all the dead cats you want. Your readers know how much you and Fred love cats. Just think how many cats are alive and living in happy homes because you two cared. Not every story has a happy ending. So sorry for your loss.
I’m so sorry Robyn and Fred. Sending good thoughts in your direction!
So sad 🙁 But, here is the thing, you became “momma” to those kitties when their own momma was taken away. Instead of them dying at the shelter you at least gave them a fighting chance and lots of love. Those babie kitties are whole w/ Mr. Boogers now 🙂
I meant to write either babies OR kitties, not *babie* kitties, wtf.
My mom once rescued a baby javelina (think: wild pig) from some people at her work who had found it and were tormenting it. She took it home and took time off of work to nurse it round the clock; she drove 75 miles to take it to a vet who had some experience with them to find out what kind of formula she should be giving it and what she should do. The vet told her not to get too attached; that animal, at that age, almost never survive if they’re separated from their mothers. She told him not to worry, she didn’t even *like* the thing too much, she just felt like she had to do something. When it died, two days later, she cried for a week. It’s got to be the hardest thing, to have something so helpless and to, in turn, BE so helpless, to be merely human and not a god(dess) – but you did your best; you did more than most people would or could do. I’m just so sorry that you’re hurting for it now. (((much love)))
Robyn,
You brought those kittens comfort and they died feeling love from you. Many pet owners cannot even do that for a pet that they have had for 20 years. You have a huge heart and this will only make it beat stronger. Thoughts and prayers to you and Fred. Never stop fostering, those kitties need you!
You have to have an outlet and if its your online diary, good for you, don’t apologize.
Most people wouldn’t have even bothered with those little guys. You did the best you could and gave them a little more time on this earth.
Even though this whole story is so sad, and I know my heart would have been broken if I’d been in your shoes- at least those sweet kittens died in your loving home and in your loving arms instead of alone or in a cage at a shelter that didn’t want them. I like to think that things happen for a reason, and even though it was so heartbreaking, those kitties arrived in your life just when they needed someone most. It’s good that there are people out there like you and Fred.
Hugs to you. I’m so sorry you had to take another blow like this.
Thanks for writing about Mr. Boogers and the kittens. I’m sorry you lost all those sweeties. I feel so guilty and responsible when one of our pets dies, and I’m not half the “Mama” you are! I know your heart must ache. By the way, I think that most of us read (and LOVE) you because you are smart, kind, an AWESOME writer, interesting, adventurous (seriously, I would never attempt half you do!), an animal lover, observant, and witty, not because of Happy Posts. Write what you want! You Rock!
Robyn, I’m with Jennifer, you and Fred brought those kitties comfort and love and God Bless you for it. Sorry for your losses.
The best friends are the ones who take the good with the bad the bitter with the sweet. You give us all so much joy with your happy animal stories-I hope we are all good enough friends to be here for the sad ones as well. You will be blessed for all the loving things you do for the kittens. When you go to the rainbow bridge you will have the longest line of pets waiting for you. I’m so sorry for your pain and loss but thank you for giving your huge hearts to the animals.
So sorry the circle of life seems to be stuck there at Crooked Acres. But you and Fred are pretty amazing at all the work you do with your animals.
Darn. You tried. It’s sad, but I hope it doesn’t stop you from trying again.
“It is better to light one candle than to curse the darkness.” You tried, you gave love back the universe. You done good.
That totally sucks Robyn. I’m sorry.
I’m so sorry, Robyn. Some things just suck and there’s nothing that can be said to make them suck less.
I commented a while back asking for advice about the 5 week old kitten I’d found who was hiding behind the walls and wouldn’t come out. Lulu’s a beautiful, well adjusted 3 month old beast now who loves to torment my other cat. Sometimes there are happy endings.
Poor little things. At least, if they couldn’t have their mama they had a nice, warm place to be and your kindness during their short time here. I’m glad there are people like you out there doing such good work for animal shelters.
Robyn, I’m sending you and Fred hugs again. You both did the best you could and that’s more than some people would do. Thank you for caring about those little kittens.
Wow, I sure am glad I waited until the end of the day to read this – many tears!
Awwwwww! They were precious. I will tell you one thing. You and Fred are wracking up some good karma. I mean, your devotion to animals is inspirational. Maybe this video from YOU TUBE will cheer you up a bit.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FYarjPDfY2w&feature=related
Robyn and Fred – bless your hearts.
You love and care for the kittens and cats so much, with grace and real compassion. They are lucky to know the two of you for any amount of time!
Take care of yourselves.
Mary
I’m so sorry Robyn! Like everyone else has already said, I’m sure: You really did all you could and at least made them comfortable until the end. My blue eyed cat, Clarence, sends purs and kisses and I send hugs to you as well.
I am really, really sorry, Robyn. Hugs from Spain…..
Your story has touched my heart. Today,in memory of mr boogers and the 4 precious kitties that you took such loving care of, I took the largest bags of Purina Kitten and Dog food that I could find out to our Second Chance Rescue center. It was a small thing to do, but just my way of saying thank you to both you and Fred, for the loving care you give to your animals. You are an inspiration.
Oh what a week for you and Fred! 🙁
My deepest sympathy for the loss of those little babies.
I am so sorry. I had nearly the same thing happen when a pregnant mama was left to fend for herself when our asshole neighbors moved. We had a recurring flea problem, what with the fleas traveling between houses whenever we or our other neighbors would bomb for them. We had little money, so when the vet told me they needed tranfusions, I was heartbroken. He sent me home with one of those gel food supplements, but they died one by one. The third and last to die at home sent me over the edge, and was nearly as you described. The fourth, who had been given to friends, ended up dying a couple weeks later. I wonder if the mama’s poor health (though we kept her with them) contributed to it.
I just felt so helpless, as I’m sure you did. I guess we have to hold onto the fact that they were warm, loved and cared for in their final days.
Aw Robyn…I’m so sorry to hear about the kittens. You and Fred are amazing foster care givers and the shelter is so very lucky to have you as a part of the volunteer team.
Aw, Robyn, I’m so sorry all four of them died. I thought for sure the bigger 2 would make it. That’s the heartache of bottle babies that they have a high mortality rate. and it’s a damn shame that shelter in TN took the momma away from those babies. With her they could have all been treated and the babies could have gotten that special nourishment from momma. ((((hugs)))) to you and Fred for giving these little guys a chance. I’m so sorry you have more heartache now on top of Mister Boogers. You need a nice happy litter of bouncing healthy kittens to cheer you up.
My deepest sympathies, Robyn (and Fred). Rough week at Crooked Acres.
And a big “boooo hisss” to the shelter that put down mamacat without letting her care for her babies.
At least they were loved in your home. That counts for a lot.
*HUGS*
Robyn – You are amazing. Your heart and Fred’s heart have got to be about the biggest hearts I’ve ever seen.
By the way – I was in your state – just yesterday! Picked up my son down in good old Brewton AL. Wow. Crazy place!
that sucks ass…
sorry 🙁
Damn, I’m so sorry. You and Fred certainly have had enough heartache and loss this past week. Sending hugs your way and hoping that things get better soon. I think you and Fred are amazing, compassionate people and I know it had to be so hard to watch those kittens die but they were given love and caring the short time they were on this earth.
*hugs* Oh Robyn… i’m so sorry. And i’m crying right along with you. You wrote about the whole experience so descriptively it was like living it out myself. God Bless you and Fred for loving those little souls and making their crossing over into The Summerlands so much warmer, kinder and easier than it ever would have been without you.
There *will* be happier and better days coming for you both. I hope for a swift easing of your heartache. And i hope maybe one day, when the time is right, a special, tiny little kitteh soul will come into your lives to stay, and bring you nothing but smiles and laughter and happy stories to tell to all of us. Hang in there. I know the perils of having a big heart can open you up for big hurt. But the joys of knowing kitteh love is so worth it.
Now go and hold one of your many whiskery fur-people and let any remaining sadness melt away to the sound of their purrs.
That’s so sad. RIP little kitties.
Oh my gosh, Mum. You had me bawling my eyes out. The best way to handle heartbreak is to keep on going with fostering =D Bring more cats into the house, but don’t adopt anymore. Oh my. Please don’t adopt anymore. You already have like 40 cats. Haha. Love you.
I am sobbing. But it’s because I feel for you and you do so much good that my heart breaks for you.
Robyn and Fred, I am so sad for you. It’s stupid that I’m crying over four baby kitties I didn’t even know exited before they died, but it’s partially for you both as well and at what you’ve been through this week.
crying…so glad those poor little kitties had you & Fred to love them.
Oh, I’m sorry.
Oh, Robyn, I’m so sorry! What a time you’ve been having. I know it’s not much consolation, but how wonderful that you and Fred were able to give those kittens love and affection in their brief time with you. I always admire the work you do fostering, which is never easy (especially this week). Hang in there!
I’m so sorry Robyn:( My heart breaks for those little kittens. And for you and Fred both. Thank God they had you both in their final hours.
Oh, Robyn (and Fred), how heartbreaking all of this must be for you! :*(
I am so sorry Robyn. Remember how hard you and Fred tried. I understand your optimism, and your hope, and I think it was a positive thing. Thank you for taking care of those poor little babies, and a big fuck you to the people who euthanized their mother. Grrrr. That makes me so mad.
I’m so sorry for your loss, Robyn. I can’t even imagine. And I’m sooooo pissed at those people who killed their mother. What is wrong with them? What the hell? Terrible.
Robyn,
Just catching up on your posts from the week. This is so sad. I have been a shelter volunteer for 17 years and have fostered and seen my fair share of kittens come and go. Sometimes they just aren’t meant to make it. I’m so sorry you had to go through this.
Megan
I just wanted to share a story to maybe brighten your day. My neighbor brought a black kitten to me on Monday evening. To make a long story short, she shrugged off trying to find any help for it whatsoever. If it was up to her she would’ve just put it back outside. Anyway, the kittie had something really wrong with it’s eye. I couldn’t tell if it was some kind of viral things or something had gotten ahold of it. It almost looked like the 3rd eyelid was completely swollen and covering the whole eye and it was also snotty and sneezy. So I put him/her up in my upstairs bathroom with litter, food and water and visited him off and on thru the evening and into the next day. On Tuesday I called all kinds of shelters, etc to see if there was anything I could do, or somewhere I could take the kitten. Finally I ended up taking it to the U of I animal clinic and they were absolutely wonderful there. They said they would check it out and get back to me. I recieved a call today and they said they were getting it’s eye all fixed up and one of the vet tech students was adopting it. I was so happy to hear that and am optimistic again about the world:) I thought about adopting the kitten but I already have 2 cats and one has a sneezy/snotty problem himself so I didn’t want to compound the problem. Sorry so long, but just wanted to share some cheer:)
Thank you for all you do.
I’m so glad those kittens had such a loving family to live with. Thank you for giving them a home.