Unemployment, Day 4: A Bad Cat Day

I woke up about 10 this morning and came downstairs to find that the litterbox was decidedly aromatic and in need of immediate attention. Around 11, I got dressed and went out to the truck, where I had a bag of cat litter from my last shopping trip.

As I walked toward the car I saw a small black-and-white kitten sitting in the gutter. I expected it to run away, but it just looked at me as I approached, and as I got closer I could see it was in bad shape. It was crouched there, paws wet and muddy, drooling weakly and panting.

My first concern was to get it out of the gutter. The junkies who stop on our block pull up to the curb, get their dope, and drive away; the kitten was lying right in the middle of the traffic pattern, and to make it worse, she was nearly invisible among the leaves and trash. I picked her up by the scruff, placed her on the grass, and ran back to the house. I looked up the nearest vet, called to make sure he was open, and grabbed the car keys and the cat-carrier.

When I got outside, the kitten had moved back to the gutter. When I picked her up to push her into the carrier, she spread her feet and fought me, weakly, but I could feel how thin she was, how dehydrated. I drove her to the vet's office.

The vet's office was a storefront, none-too-impressive, certainly not somewhere I'd take my cats. But at this point, I was most interested in getting this kitty to someone who could help; I didn't think she'd make the ride up to Skokie, to my vet. The vet wasn't optimistic; at first he suggested putting her to sleep, but then offered to give her fluids and warm her up a little. He said he gives her about a 50-50 chance of survival. She perked up a teeny bit once she was under a warm lamp; enough to squirm and cry a little. I scratched her behind the ears and told her it was up to her now, that I'd done everything I could do. (Which included parting with $120 I don't have, but I couldn't very well leave the poor thing to get run over in the street.) If she lives, I guess I've got another cat. She looks to be about Snick's age, maybe; as starved as she is, she could be a little older.

When I left the vet, I went to the store, to Target, spent more money I didn't have on everything I was completely out of--but at least I have food. I didn't realize how much cheaper it is to live without LJ! He called the other night, by the way, and was very mildly sympathetic when I told him about losing my job--of course, his first question was "What did you DO?" I'll admit, I played it up, too--I told him I wasn't sure if I was going to keep the house, that it would be best if when he came back to town, he took all his stuff with him when he left. He seemed just fine with that--maybe he's as tired of me as I am of him, who knows?

Anyway, I came home with the truck loaded with stuff--groceries, toilet paper, etc--and rather than make ten trips in and out of the house with Badcat making a run for it each time, I decided to haul everything to the front porch and then go from there. On the third trip, I noticed that I had observers--the next-door cat and kitten. This is the same pair I've asked my neighbors to keep inside--a gorgeous little baby Siamese and a tabby-striped gray and white mama cat. Mama is friendly; Junior is scared of everything. They were standing next to the porch, watching.

On the fourth trip, they were on the porch, sniffing the bags. I went next-door and asked if Phoebe was around. One of the girls said no, she was shopping. I said "Well, I have a couple of your family members sniffing my groceries." The girl told me Phoebe had put the cats out because they kept scratching the furniture, and she didn't want them anymore. I told her if she saw Phoebe, to have her stop by so I could talk to her.

By the time I got back to the porch, Junior was working on getting one of my pork chops out of the plastic wrap, but wouldn't let me pet him. I got the last of the bags out of the truck, ducked into the house, and penned up BadCat and Snick--Bad in the bathroom, Snick in the Cat Room. Neither of them were pleased. I opened the front door to get the groceries, and to my surprise, Junior followed me right in. (He REALLY wanted that pork chop.)

He wandered the house for a few minutes, then started inhaling a can of Fancy Feast I'd put down for him. But he still wouldn't let me touch him. He'd eat, I'd get one step away, my hand would be an inch from his head, and he'd duck away til I left. I finally grabbed his dish and put it on the porch, and as I expected, he followed it right out the door.

I wanted to keep him SO BADLY. This is seriously one of the most beautiful kittens I've ever seen. But he's been outside so much that I don't know what diseases he's got--at the very least, I'd imagine he's got fleas and worms--and I don't want my boys getting sick by association. If I DID keep him, he'd have to go straight to the vet before anything else. And if my poor little curb-kitten lives, that would be FOUR kitties. That's perilously close to Crazy-Cat-Lady Land.

Then there's Mama Cat; not only is she also in exile, apparently, she's also pregnant again. I couldn't believe it when I felt her ribs and realized how chunky she was. I CAN'T keep her, nor can I keep a herd of kittens. So I made a decision: if I see them tomorrow, I'm going to do what I can to trap them, and the two of them will come to the Humane Society with me. I'll make the decision about Junior when I get there; Mama, though, can't stay. She's a pretty little thing; they'll spay her and put her up for adoption, and kittens are generally adopted quickly.

Can you see here that I'm desperately trying to convince myself that I'd be doing the right thing by taking them to the shelter? I'm not sure it's working. It's not fair that people do this to animals; if I ever leave this neighborhood, it will be because I can't handle the cultural attitude towards animals, particularly cats. Cats are disposable around here, and it just breaks my heart. My neighbors laugh at me for trying to save them all--it's the typical bleeding-heart white-girl attitude toward animals--but I can't help it. These cats didn't ask to be born here. Neither, I guess, did the humans--but I'd save them too, if I could. Humans are just infinitely more expensive to save than cats; and unlike humans, the cats you save generally don't betray you. And cats, again unlike humans, can't always save themselves.

So I am unexpectedly bummed, although for a good reason. We'll see what happens. Meanwhile, send some good thoughts toward these kitties, especially my little girl-cat at the vet.

On the up-side, I did get a call about a job today; I need to call the woman back again tomorrow, but it sounds promising. I'm excited. It would be REALLY great if I could get something right away, then have the severance pay to slap into the bank. That would be ideal. Not sure it's going to happen, but it would be nice!