Kitten Face

We were up early here today. We took our adorable, little, kitten-face Mew to the vet's to have her spayed.

In late August of 2007, the Chicago area was experiencing several days in a row of torrential rainstorms. Rivers overflowed their banks, streets were closed, backyards and basements were flooded. We actually still have the unfinished ark I started to build in our garage.

One evening, my wife was sitting in our screened-in porch during a lull in the downpours. She thought she heard what seemed to be a kitten calling from somewhere nearby. Since we have a good number of feral cats around our neighborhood, she ignored it. Eventually the sound quieted down, and my wife headed upstairs. She came into the bedroom and told me about what she'd heard, but I told her if it was a feral cat its mother would come for it, and she should leave it alone.

The next evening, my wife was once again on the porch, and she was sure she heard a young cat crying directly across the street. Our son happened onto the porch, and he also heard the cries. My wife said it was the second night she'd heard it. Our son became concerned and went for a flashlight. At first, he stood on our front lawn and shined the light across the street. He exclaimed there was a tiny kitten on the sidewalk. My wife assumed he was describing a kitten of four or five months, but he kept saying it was very small.

He went across the street to check out the kitten closer. He came  back very upset, and said it was probably not even weaned yet. Now my wife became upset because our street is extremely busy with heavy traffic and trucks at all hours. They were afraid the kitten would try to follow him across the street and get hit by a car.

Sure enough, not ten minutes later, the kitten was crying at the porch door. Now that it had crossed the street, my wife and son were certain if left alone, the cat would try to cross again and not be so lucky the second time. My wife took one look at the little thing and couldn't leave it outside. Needless to say, small kitten or not, it was wary of people, and led them on a merry chase around our property, winding up underneath our car. After fifteen minutes of coaxing and cajoling, our son was able to distract the kitten long enough to grab her and bring her onto the porch.

Through a series of circumstances, we already had five cats living with us, and I insisted we could not take in any more. They reluctantly agreed, and we decided to take it to the animal shelter in the morning.

Being a feral cat, we didn't want to expose it to our cats. Plus our cats, like all cats, are territorial by nature, and we didn't want to endanger the small thing. Our son put food and water out and went to bed.

Thus far, I had avoided our new guest because I was adamant that we couldn't keep it, but after getting ready for work in the morning, I went onto the porch to take a look. My wife tried to head me off because she knew I had a soft spot for animals, but I wanted to see what the cat dragged in, so to speak.

I didn't want to spook the kitten, so I quietly sat on the couch. It was hiding in a corner, but after a few minutes, the wretched, half-starved, half-drowned waif hesitantly crawled onto my lap. It began to purr and tried to suckle, but it was barking up the wrong tree there. I have a way with cats, however (my wife always says, 'What is it with you and cats'?), and it was soon fast asleep in my arms.

That was it. I knew the last thing the shelter needed was another charge, and even if the precious thing was adopted, that could mean another orphan animal might not have the chance to find a loving home. Besides, what was one more mouth. My wife came onto the porch, and I said, "Forget the shelter. Take it to the vet."

The vet identified it as female, and surmised the kitten had been born a few weeks before the storms, and the flooding must have washed away its “nest.” It had become separated from her litter mates and mother, and after two days of calling, the mother was too far away (or worse) to find her. The vet said at six weeks old, the kitten probably wasn't weaned yet, but we should start her on kitten chow and canned food and see how it goes.

But, the kitten had fleas, ear mites, conjunctivitis, and an upper respiratory infection. Thankfully she tested negative for feline leukemia or other life-threatening conditions.

We brought her home and I took on the task of dosing her with oral medication and applying ointment to her eyes. The vet recommended we keep her separated from our other cats until she was completely healthy and acclimated to us. We set up the porch with a new litterbox, and after a few mistakes, she learned to use it.

My wife toyed around with a few typical cat names for the bedraggled, gray tortoiseshell, long-haired fuzz ball, but I suggested Mew because of her constant mewling. Mew had unusually large paws, and we thought she might be a Maine Coon (there are Maine Coons in the feral population in our area), but she never did grow into her paws. In fact she's the smallest of our cats and was probably the runt of the litter.

Mew has never outgrown her kitten phase, and she is impossibly cute. She loves to have the top of her head kissed, and her way of showing affection is to lick the tip of your nose with her raspy tongue. She also loves to sit on your chest and knead with her big paws splayed out.

Mew has suffered through many misadventures, including being shoved out a second floor window by one of our other cats, but that's another story. What concerns us here is every month or so, she goes into heat. We should have had her fixed long ago (all of our other cats are spayed females), but at first we didn't want to traumatize her with surgery, then there wasn't a convenient time, enough money, and other excuses for procrastination.

Also, we put it off for a very selfish reason. When Mew goes into heat, her entire personality changes. She becomes super affectionate and loves to be brushed, which she usually doesn't tolerate. She trills and preens and begs to be petted and cuddled. But she also spots and marks, and the vet said having the procedure done will even out her mood swings, and prevent other health issues down the road.

In the time it took me to write this, the vet called and said Mew was fine and we could pick her up after noon. The recovery period will be about two weeks, and she'll have to wear a plastic cone to prevent her from biting at the stitches. We set up the master bedroom to keep her segregated from the other cats while she heals.

She's home now safe and sound, but she's not a happy camper, and we all have sad faces on. Prepare to say, "Awwwww!"