The Kittens Are Thriving

We are two days short of two weeks since the [first] capture of the boy kitten, whom I call Wilbur.

Willow, the dainty girl, arrived about three days after her brother.

[How did they get here?]

The kittens are still shy--still skittering beneath the bed when we enter this room.

They have learned that I bring tinned food [yummy, fishy, smelly!] first thing in the morning, and are able to overcome their suspicions of me as a hulking human.

I stroke their little backs as they eat.

During our house renovations last summer we removed a long mirror from our bedroom door and, for want of a better place, slid it under the guest room bed.

The kittens find the glass a cool place to recline on these sweltering days.

That's Willow gazing at the camera with her brother's feet propped over her side.

[And no, I didn't choose red carpet--it was here when we bought the house and still in decent enough condition that J. didn't replace it when he put down wood floors in the other rooms.  One of these days....]

Wilbur is stouter than his sister.

You can see that the scrape on his nose has healed nicely.

The kittens eat prodigiously [and poop in their litter likewise!]

Both kittens have "filled out" on a diet of Purina Kitten Chow supplemented with a tablespoon of tinned food once or twice per day.  More than that doesn't set well.

Willow has tiny little bones.  When we rescued her, there was not much weight to her.

Both kittens are now sleek and their fur is silky.

I was in here at my desk quite a bit last week which gave the kittens some familiarity with my presence.

Although they still don't come rushing to be petted, there have been overtures--peeking from under the bed, almost wistful looks.  If picked up they purr--but dutifully rather than joyfully.

I've had several sessions at the computer today and was happily surprised to feel a small furry form weaving about my sandaled feet.  I thought it was a fluke at first. 

When a tiny tail curled round my ankle again I picked up Willow and cuddled her.  This time her purr was different. She looked into my face, arched her spine to the gentle stroke of my hand, snuggled against me for a few moments.

Willow came to me again as I was preparing this post.

These last three photos were managed as she lay in my lap

It was dusk and I hadn't opened the shutters to the cooler [slightly cooler!] night air or turned on the light, but you can see what a pretty kitten she is becoming.

Wilbur--who had to be trapped twice in the Hav-a-Hart--is still rather wary--but he knows where-of [or who-of] he is fed.  Progress!

The Cat Yard and the On-Going Saga of the Kittens

Flower Lady asked for more info re our cat yard. The "yard" began in February as an attempt to fence Willis and his cohorts, Sadie and Sally, away from the bird feeders.

J. had a short roll of tall heavy woven wire left from fencing the main garden.

By early March we had expanded the idea to give our indoor cats a breath of "fresh air" and a chance to enjoy the spring sunshine first hand.  The dining area sliding door opens into the yard.  The boundaries were easily worked out with the cement block wall of the basement bulkhead on one side and the heating/cooling unit just inside the other boundary.  Beyond that are hydrangeas.

There is a shrub [burning bush] in the yard which offers summer shade, as do

 the maples just outside the yard.

Chester taking the air.

Willis, outside the fence, keeps an eye on Wilbur/aka Chopper who is inside the yard with his sister, Willow.

The kittens are spending the afternoon outside in the company of Maisie, the amiable but not bright momma cat [now spayed.]

About 10 days ago racoon sampled the sweet corn. It wasn't ripe but they knocked down several stalks, incurring J.'s wrath. He commandered the cat yard fence to wrap around the stand of corn

in the lower garden.

The cats were without a playground for several days.

Mid week J. bought a new roll of wire and metal fencing stakes.

The wire is not as tall as the first fence, but none of the cats have noticed this.

The new yard is squared off more neatly than the hasty original, but essentially the same size.

Willow and Wilbur took turns hanging perilously in the shrub.

Time to sharpen our claws.

I took a chair, a book and lemonade into the yard for a half hour.

Maisie stretches beneath the chair and the kittens have hidden in the cool grassy spot behind the heat pump.

Prior to the move to Wyoming, our cats were always indoor/outdoor cats.  I went to great effort to round them up and have them inside at night.  Over the years there were two or three road casualties.  Almost more distressing were the times that a cat simply went missing--never seen again. As we acquired new young cats in Wyoming I knew that I didn't want that kind of uncertainty for them--too many predators, too many ways to "lose" a pet.  On the few occasions that a cat has dashed outside, recapture has been anything but easy.

Chester, who is congenitally stupid, spent two 48 hour spans under the front porch--because he was too frightened to emerge after dashing out. Charlie-cat [source of half the stupid genes] has gotten out and then had no idea that the two people trying to round him up are the same whom he sees inside every day.

Litter boxes and an ever renewed layer of cat hair are small prices to pay for knowing the where-abouts of the cats.

That said, to introduce the three [now five] barn kittens as house residents would be madness.

While they were/are kittens they were/are caged each night

As I typed the above, yesterday afternoon, the kittens were resting in the cool grass of the fenced yard.  Tired from their excursions up and down the bush, they flopped in a heap of

stripy tails and white paws--docile, sleepy.

J. and I took turns checking on them every 15 minutes or so.

Then J. hurried in and asked, "When did you bring the kittens inside?"

I hadn't.

Round and round the yard we went, looking for any spot of loose fencing where a kitten

 might have wiggled through.

I found the escape route only after getting down on hands and knees just outside the fence.

Pushing aside the scratchy clutch of hydrangea leaves, I inserted my hand between the wall of the house and the curl of the fencing. It seemed incredible that even a very determined little creature could slink through that small space. But, the kittens were gone.

I felt like a mother who has misplaced her children--irresponsible, somehow, foolish.

An hour later, crossing the yard I spotted the kittens scuttling into their old haunt--the woodshed.

They sat and beamed me innocent big-eyed glances before disappearing between the

stacked chunks of wood.

By sundown the kittens had migrated to the garage;  they scooted behind the welter of J.'s tool chests, bins and machinery as I triumphantly lowered the overhead door.  Moments later I had Willow by her scruff, having lured her with food from a newly opened tin. Boy-kitten was elusive. We shone the flashlight along the garage wall, watched while he slid behind bulky objects.

"Right," I said tiredly. "We'll go with the hav-a-hart trap again!"

The trap was empty when I checked at midnight, and behind a row of shovels and such a small whiskery face blinked up at me, pupils wide in the white glow from my light.

The bowl of kibble in the cage enticed our fellow at some point.

A plaintive squalling greeted me as I entered the garage a bit after six A.M.

The kittens are turned out in the office/spare bedroom.  Mostly they scuttle under the bed when we enter.

But--I don't plan to give up my desk. Sooner or later they have to decide that I'm part of their world.

Maybe it will be sooner--Willow emerged for a moment just now, contemplated me with spiky tail raised in tentative friendship. She declined to come nearer, but if nothing else, I will soon be associated with FOOD!

Future outings in the cat yard are still under consideration.

Kitten Update

In this photo you can see that the kittens have discovered the "loft" area of their cage.

Firstly, a huge "thank-you" for the many supportive comments re the last post!

If I didn't know it before, I can now verify that cat lovers are much the same the world over.

We sigh and groan, but we take in the strays and hope for the best--and hope that the parade of new-comers is over for this round!

Daughter G. has been to visit and crooned and cuddled, but knows that taking on another feline wouldn't be a good thing just now.

One of their dogs--perhaps in response to the uproar of moving--has taken to expressing himself with puddles on the basement floor. He began doing it during their stay here--whenever he felt that they had gone out and left him with us. He doens't need more stress in his life.

The kittens seem resigned to the cage--they don't thrash or claw to get out.

Mostly they eat, sleep, and poop in the litter box which I constantly clean for them.

I''ve found a deeper plastic box for the litter today, but they still manage to fling it into the water bowl.

We had them out this morning with the room door shut--a good thing as they are still very skittish about being caught.  They holed up under the bed and it took both of us peering under and poking gently with a yardstick to flush them out.

Once captured, they both submit to being held.  Nervous purrs, much flexing of tiny paws.

Here J. cuddles the girl kitten--whom I'm calling "Willow" after the cat in a book

which my grandchildren loved. 

We took the kittens out this evening to the fenced cat yard which J. created to "air" the big cats.  I hoped the pair would run about and stretch after the confinement of the cage.  Mostly they huddled in a grassy corner.  Willis positioned himself outside the fence and stared at them fixedly.

Can't let them loose in the house to be hissed at and bullied by the established residents or

to hide up in the basement.

I'm thinking within a week they should be easier with us and can graduate to the cat yard during the day--with supervision.

I Suppose I've Gone and Done it--Again!

For several weeks when we have stopped at the Amish store there have been 4 or 5 kittens skittering about in the tangle of herbs and flowering shrubs which front the building.

The kittens have been more or  less affectionately chased by the bevy of young Yoders and most recently by the Yoder puppy.

One of the kittens met an untimely end in the road.

Earlier this week when I drove Delilah and her daughters to the Mennonite markets, I saw only two kittens.

I have not cared to learn the fate of the others.

This morning I stopped at the store to buy two more boxes of canning jars.

As the scrawny kittens scurried away to peer warily from behind a flowering nicotiana, the glimmer of an idea began to take root.

I argued with myself. We cannot possibly have more cats in this little house.

I cannot possibly rescue every pitiful unwanted stray which crosses my path.

I have had heart-wrenching experiences with rescued cats in the past.

I have had heart-warming experiences with rescued cats who have become beloved pets.

I mulled these ideas over and over as I peeled and simmered tomatoes and ladled them into the waiting jars.

Delilah phoned [from the "phone booth" behind the rickety shed] to ask if I could convery her to Wal Mart.

Well, why not?  J. is away for the weekend on a canoeing trip.

I had processed such tomatoes as needed doing today.

I really didn't want to mop the floors.

 When I pulled into the Yoder driveway, the 5 children, all a bit grubby, rushed pell-mell to meet me.

The kittens danced away from their rushing feet, the puppy bounced.

"I think I should take these kittens home with me to live in our  hay barn," I announced.

A Yoder child promptly pounced on the nearest kitten and thrust it, squirming, into my arms.

The kitten looked up at me with what I took to be surprised relief and began to purr.

I could feel every bone in her thin body.

Delilah hove into view, wearing her tall black bonnet.

She explained that the kittens didn't belong to them, but to the neighbors, a rather corpulent pair who seem to spend hours sitting on their porch watching the cars that go by.

Delilah added, "I don't think they care much for the kittens.  They're always here and they're always hungry."

At Wal Mart I bought a sack of kitten kibble, then settled to wait an hour while Delilah, with three children in tow, collected items for the little girls to take to school next week.

When Delilah announced that this was a "school shopping" expedition I bit my tongue just before asking if they were buying new socks and shoes or fall clothing.

Amish children attend Amish schools. All they need are paper, pencils, crayons and such.

When I returned the Yoders to their dooryard and helped to unload the purchases the neighbors were, surprisingly, absent from the porch.

Delilah gave a command in German to the girls and in moments they flew to the next house and were back to announce, "You can have the kittens!"

After a hectic scramble among the weeds, again assisted by an assortment of children and the puppy, I had the kittens, two tiny tortoisehell girls.

At home I dumped them in a cat carrier with a pan of kibble while I put together a wire "pen" to keep them safe until they are acclimated.

I trudged back and forth to the hay barn, carrying a  tray of litter, a small bowl of water, an old shirt of J's to make a "bed" on the upper level I had devised in the cage.

The kittens munched kibble, licked chicken "baby food" from a spoon.

They purred, rubbed bony heads against the fingers I poked through the wire of the cage.

Their eyes are bright and clear, there are no signs of intestinal upsets  and no sniffles.

I can't guarantee them safety from things that swoop, prowl or pounce.

I can feed them, have their innoculations, have them spayed in due time.

For however long they can survive in our barn, they will be well fed, petted and welcomed.

I have named them Sadie and Sally.

That's Sadie, taken this morning after each kitten had licked up a spoonfull or two of strained baby food meat. I'm hoping to put flesh on their tiny bones without over-whelming digestive systems which have been deprived.

Here they are--tumbling over the hay bale and purring like little engines.

All the photos I took this morning are blurred.

Busy kittens aren't going to hold still and pose.

I'll keep them in the cage today with visits every few hours and excursions out onto the hay bales stacked in the center aisle of the barn [Pebbles' hay!]

Tomorrow I'll let them out into the big wide world and hope that I have been recognized as the source of food and companionship.