Kai
Member
I have two cats at home, Jock (~ 4 years old) and Goblin (~2 years old), both males and both are neutered. I actually, don't remember a time when I didn't have at least one cat at home.
This morning, Jock came home with... not a rat nor bird in his mouth. Instead, he unceremoniously dropped before me a bedraggled, plaintively mewling, orange kitten and without any further ado, turned his back on me and left. My mother thinks that the kitten's incessant crying probably drove all the prey away, hence my cat's brilliant idea to get rid of the noise by dropping it at my feet. At least he didn't kill poor thing.
When Jock came back after terrorizing the birds in the garden, I asked him, "Why did you bring me a kitten? Do you feel any maternal instincts? Did you want to celebrate Father's Day by adopting your own whelp?"
Silence.
"What's his name?"
Silence.
"Okay, fine. His name is Bingo." (Spur of the moment. Reminded me of Nissin's orange flavored Bingo sandwich cookies)
Bingo wails some more and Jock abandons me again.
After cleaning him up with a warm wet cloth and bundling him up in towels (in Goblin's cage, to which the original owner protested... very loudly) I found out it was a "he" and he has open blue eyes, deciduous canines, a curious but slightly shaky gait. I guage his age at about 3 weeks. He can barely lap up water from a shallow dish and he tried a few hesitant bites of fish. The last time I hand reared kittens was, well, a long while ago when I was a kid and didn't have anything else to do but feed 2 tiny kittens evaporated milk with a tuberculin syringe every 2 hours for 3 weeks.
I left him in Goblin's cage, walked out to the closest pet store and bought some kitten formula along with a nursing bottle. Ironically, he hates the nursing bottle but laps up from a syringe. He can't poop or pee by himself just yet. So here I am being a cat mom again. But, you know, with a face like that... it all seems worth while.
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This morning, Jock came home with... not a rat nor bird in his mouth. Instead, he unceremoniously dropped before me a bedraggled, plaintively mewling, orange kitten and without any further ado, turned his back on me and left. My mother thinks that the kitten's incessant crying probably drove all the prey away, hence my cat's brilliant idea to get rid of the noise by dropping it at my feet. At least he didn't kill poor thing.
When Jock came back after terrorizing the birds in the garden, I asked him, "Why did you bring me a kitten? Do you feel any maternal instincts? Did you want to celebrate Father's Day by adopting your own whelp?"
Silence.
"What's his name?"
Silence.
"Okay, fine. His name is Bingo." (Spur of the moment. Reminded me of Nissin's orange flavored Bingo sandwich cookies)
Bingo wails some more and Jock abandons me again.
After cleaning him up with a warm wet cloth and bundling him up in towels (in Goblin's cage, to which the original owner protested... very loudly) I found out it was a "he" and he has open blue eyes, deciduous canines, a curious but slightly shaky gait. I guage his age at about 3 weeks. He can barely lap up water from a shallow dish and he tried a few hesitant bites of fish. The last time I hand reared kittens was, well, a long while ago when I was a kid and didn't have anything else to do but feed 2 tiny kittens evaporated milk with a tuberculin syringe every 2 hours for 3 weeks.
I left him in Goblin's cage, walked out to the closest pet store and bought some kitten formula along with a nursing bottle. Ironically, he hates the nursing bottle but laps up from a syringe. He can't poop or pee by himself just yet. So here I am being a cat mom again. But, you know, with a face like that... it all seems worth while.
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