not a live AA battery in the house....

Sorry they are late, had to get batteries.

Meet Monster



and Ashes

 

Monster got his name by being the litter protector, hissing and spitting at anyone that came near his siblings.  Ashes is a demure little lady that is more shy and looks like a pile of ashes.  I didn't name them, don't yell at me.  They were barn kittens and are still skittish, but they are adjusting.  I guess them to be 7 weeks old.  I wasn't crazy about taking two but these two seemed to stick together.  We hope they will play with each other and leave the dog alone, making it easier for her to put up with them.  So far that seems to be working.

Please consider adopting a pet from a shelter.  Or two.

Minnie

The call came in mid-July 2007. My stepdaughter and her friend had found two tiny kittens duct-taped into a cardboard box at a rest stop. In July, with no food or water. A few hours like that would have killed them both. She wanted to know if she could keep one of them.

I love cats and dogs, I’ve had several of each. We already had a dog that we adopted when she was about eight years old, at this point she’s nearly ten. My wife and I had already discussed getting a cat. We put down a condition: the dog Lady had to get along with the cat, or we’d find another home for it. This was fair as the dog was here first. She had been in a home with cats so we didn’t think she’d mind. “Bring her home”, we said.

A few hours later the fuzzball entered our home, and things have not been the same since. She was maybe 4 weeks old, too young to have been taken from her mother. She fit in the length of my hand, tail included. She was a bit incontinent and needed a bath, which wasn’t fun for anyone. Orange and white with one very tiny black spot on the top of her head. She had the softest fur I've ever seen on a cat.  And she had thumbs.

The technical term is polydactyl which translates to “many fingers”. I’ve met one human with an extra finger. It seems humans, cats, and dogs are the species most likely to have the mutation. Polydactyl, or “thumbcats” were favored by sailors because they were thought to be better at climbing on ships when most wooden ships needed rodent control. They are still called “ship’s cats” in some parts of Europe. They are most common in Boston and can be found in East coast port cities to this day thanks to that belief.

Hers were so long she looked like she wore mittens and walked on her hands. She even adjusted her walk to accommodate them, swinging her front paws wide to clear the darned things. She was even learning to actually use them as opposable thumbs, picking up things just like we would.

She’d been found at a rest stop that my stepdaughter said was named after someone named “Minevera”. I think she made a mistake and it was “Minerva”. Minevera was suggested as a name but was rejected. I suggested Minnie. It stuck.

In a few days she got comfortable and her personality started to come out. All kittens are playful, but Minnie was feisty. She would pick fights with my hands. My wife’s feet and hair. Anything that moved. At five weeks she was still no bigger than my hand so that was her preferred sparring partner. She liked to bite. She really liked to bite.

In addition to her thumbs, she was oddly proportioned. She had kind of short legs and a long body. She couldn’t jump worth a damn, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t try. She learned that was not a good idea.

She was quickly working into our hearts, but not so much Lady’s. She really did not like this little puffball bothering her and let her know it. Lady is a very mellow dog that hasn’t barked more than twenty times in three years, but many of those were at Minnie. As Minnie got older and learned the limits things got smoother. The sad thing is that Minnie desperately wanted to be friends with Lady.

 

We had her two weeks when I got the call at work: Minnie was having seizures and they were rushing her to the vet. I met the family there. The assistant was already bringing up euthanasia. They medicated her and she settled down. We left her overnight. It was a long night. We aren’t well-off. A big vet bill for a cat we’ve had for two weeks is starting to look like a bad idea.

My wife was there the next morning when they opened the doors. She was okay. They were giving her medicine but didn’t know the cause. She had no visible injuries. She was very doped-up but reactive and ate and drank a little that day, but they still had no idea what happened. I didn’t get to see her until after work when we all went to visit her. When my wife held her, she reached up and weakly pawed at her hair to play with it.

She still knew us. She hadn’t lost any function. And she wanted to live. It was that moment that I said to myself, “Whatever it costs”.

She stayed another night. We didn’t want to leave her over Sunday with no one there except for a few minutes so we brought her home Saturday. The vet was hesitant but we assured her we’d follow her instructions. Minnie was on two medications twice a day for two weeks. She made a full recovery. We never learned the cause. At six weeks old she was already down two lives.

I’m usually the last to go to bed. She always waited for me near the bottom of the stairs. For her first few weeks she was too small to climb the stairs so I’d carry her up in the palm of one hand. Even after she could do it herself, she still waited for me to carry her.

We wouldn’t let her sleep on the bed with us at first because she was so tiny and had the habit of curling up next to my back. I was afraid I’d roll over on her and kill her without even realizing it. When she got bigger she was allowed to sleep on my wife’s pillow. When I start to wake up I roll onto my back. She would come stretch out on my chest and lay her head on my chin, the top of her head under my nose. We’d stay like that until I had to get up.

She loved us. She would sometimes “ask” to be picked up and when at face level would grab our faces and lick our noses. Other times if she didn’t want to be picked up she’d bite the heck out of you until you put her down. And she still loved to play rough. My wife noticed she seems to run out of breath quickly and sometimes even pant. I knew cats are sprinters and don’t have a lot of endurance. Dogs can play for hard for an hour but full-grown cats are only good for a minute or less before they need a break. Kittens even less. I wasn’t worried.

At 8 months it was time to get her “fixed”. She came home like nothing had happened. Two days later, she started hyperventilating. I took her in and the vet said there was something in her lungs. It wasn’t fluid, not pneumonia. Something was growing. They put her in oxygen and she was more comfortable. I left her there and went home to try to prepare my wife and three stepdaughters for the worst.

At 9 the next morning we got the call. She hadn’t made it.

I had to bring her body home and dig a grave for her. We had a funeral for her. She rests only a few feet from where I sit now. I have no children of my own. But don’t tell me I don’t know what it’s like to loose one.

That was in March. My wife and I both still fight the grief and guilt that maybe if we’d taken her in sooner something could have been done, even though we know she was probably sick almost from birth. There was something lurking in her, a fuse waiting to be lit by some stress or illness. The stress from her operation had done it. We cling to that. We wanted, expected to have that little mutant cat for the next ten or fifteen years, sleeping my chin, kissing our faces. It was months before I could even look at her picture or walk by her grave with choking up. We still both cry.

Minnie, we still love you and miss you.

If her story has touched your heart, please consider making a donation to the ASPCA in her memory.

Also, please consider adopting a pet from a shelter or rescue.  If some wonderful animals like Minnie and Lady find homes because of her story, it will help heal our loss.  If you do, please post here to let me know.

  What happened with Minnie won't stop us from doing it again.  Her life was eight times longer than it would have been if we hadn't saved her, and her short life was extremely happy.  Living involves the risk of pain, but the good stuff is worth it.