No pictures this post, sorry. Of course I caught a terrible summer cold (another bout of the crud) on my flight to Fargo, so on top of being gone for five days, I came back and was walking around like a disgusting, coughing, sputtering zombie. I am starting to feel better already, thanks to several naps, regular doses of medicine and vitamins and some hot baths. I will post pictures soon of what's been going on here, but I have a little news to share.
The day before I left for Fargo, I took eight kittens to the shelter for kitty-sitting. Bungalow Bill, Prudence and Sergeant Pepper were all ADOPTED! Maiden is still at the shelter...she was a short-term Theresa's House resident. And four little ones were left in Anthony's care in the cat cottage in a cage with everything they needed to get by for a week.
Unfortunately, that entire crew came down with coccidia, a bacterial infection of the guts which causes terrible diarrhea among other things. Poor Shaggy and poor Minus did not survive. They died within several days of my leaving them. Gumbo and Short Stack were also treated. Both are still not 100%, and I do worry a little about Gumbo, because he's still so skinny. But they're both happy and toodling around the house. We hold Gumbo every chance we can get, because that's how he's happiest.
As long as I was picking up a particularly amended set of kittens (dropped off eight...was picking up two), I asked Anthony if there was anyone else who needed saving. He said, "Let's see," and took me to the "E" room (the most unfortunate room at the shelter.) He pointed at a cage to the left and said there was a kitten in there, but she was probably feral. The sign on the cage said something to the effect of: Cannot do exam. Feral. PTS. (PTS means Put To Sleep.) He said she had bitten through the leather handling gloves and no one was able to do anything with her.
"Let me see," I said. I opened the cage and peeled back the layers of newspaper she had burrowed herself into. I saw a beautiful mostly-white calico with olive green eyes and she looked terrified. About ten weeks old -- maybe 2 1/2 pounds or so and very healthy.
I talked to her for a while, then started putting my hand in the cage...slowly. She wasn't happy, but she was all right. So I touched her face a few times, then her shoulder, then her side. I picked her up once, and she swung around wildly, claws slashing and doing her best angry hissing. I set her back down and went back to talking to her, touching her gently, and eventually, I was able to scoop her up and hold her against me. And she started purring.
I named her "Brave," and she is at our house learning to love people. I've been spoon feeding her nice wet food, and she is slowly learning to trust me. She's actually very social with our other cats so far (she wants so badly for them to love her.) I've been able to hold her a few times, and once she fell asleep purring on my lap.
She's got a ways to go yet, but I think she's far from feral. She's just a scared little girl who needs some TLC. And I happen to have a little of that lying around. (wink!)