Saving My Kittens 2

It turns out they’re not so quiet after all, but one of the good things about having two cats is that they have each other as company. When I got the cats home, they’re roughly ten weeks old, I set up the spare room with their toys, food, toilet, water etc and slowly introduced them to the flat to not overwhelm them. They were both shy at first, but gradually began to explore their new environment. Toothless, a little more timid than his sister Isis, started showing signs of his bubbly, energetic, happy go lucky, but gluttonous personality. Isis was brave, curious and lively and was always the stronger willed out of the two. She was the badass leader of a group of two and toothless was the always willing follower. They fell down a lot getting used to the carpet, chased each other, fought and when I’d fall asleep in their room they would creep their way and fall asleep on my back. The characters that exude from the two small balls of fluff bobbing up and down throughout the house were wholesome and entertaining, messy, no meows, but I felt love, most definitely love .It’s a commitment, but a worthwhile one, because now there was two super curious souls secretly surveying my ground floor two bed flat at night, and then sleeping off their adventures during the day.

After a few weeks, I googled how to get feral cats to like you, because it seemed like they were still unsure about me, and google had become what encyclopaedias never had the balls to…..Everything and more! I started playing with the cats more and rewarding them with treats but they never allowed me to stroke them. After a couple of weeks of trying I decided to give up and try a new approach. One night before bed, I walked to the bathroom, passing the kittens bedroom, and I was stalked by Toothless. As I stood over the urinal ready to relieve myself I felt his penetrating emerald eyes on my back so I turned around, kneeled down and talked to him, asking him if he was ok and if he wanted to come to me. Finally he did, slowly walking forwards and then stopping at a ninety degree angle towards me, slightly arch back, tail in the air, expecting love, so I gave, and he hasn’t stopped asking for it since. It was becoming a joy to have them, and so much smoother than I thought it would be. Sometimes excited, sometimes shy, sometimes secluded, but always fun……… & then the bomb went off.

 

Literally as well as in the metaphorical sense. The Islamic State, also known as ISIS also known as ISIL begins to make waves in the Western World as Obama announces their name on TV. The kittens are roughly fifteen weeks old now and getting used to their names, so I have a decision to make. to either change Isis’s name or keep it. I never knew the horrific extent of the atrocities that was about to take place over the next few years but I decided to keep the name. She was used to it by then and I didn’t want some brainless psychotic fundamentalists having an effect on my decision making. The metaphorical bomb came in a medical sense and the victim was one of the kittens. After a few weeks Isis started to skip meals, and was extremely low on energy.

I switched brands, tried dry food, switched brands again and even tried human food. Nothing worked. She would eat half a bowl of food a day and rapidly started losing weight.  Previously I had taken her to the vets to get her registered and vaccinated so I scheduled an appointment to get her checked. I was told by the vet to give her more water, switch brands and maybe try dry food.  She got worse, lost more weight, started dribbling, wouldn’t move for half a day and when she did it was like she was in severe pain. She was spending all of her time by herself, wouldn’t interact with me or toothless, became anxious and depressed.

I brought her back to the vets on a few of occasions but they couldn’t figure out what was wrong with her which was frustrating. She would painfully rise from her hiding place, walk towards me and sit about a meter away. Then she would rock back and forth, mouth drooling and squinting her eyes directly at me for fifteen minutes at a time. If I got close, she scampered, but I began to feel like she was telling me she was in pain, and with each squint my heart would sink a little further. One afternoon I was sitting in the living room on the floor with Isis in a light blue igloo right next to me. She had been there for hours and then gradually she got to her feet and walked out of her cave and stretched. She sat squinting her crimson eyes at me for about five minutes, heavily swaying & weak, she turned in slow motion, walked towards the living room door and then collapsed on the floor.  Her whole body went stiff and she started convulsing. This lasted for around half a minute and then she stopped.

She came to, but looked terrified, sad and confused. I could see in her eyes she wanted to runaway and hide but she no longer had the energy for it. I tried to comfort her and called the vets to book her in for an emergency. I felt like I was going to throw up. When the world forces you to witness an innocent soul suffering you feel the compassionate element of your consciousness being ripped apart by despair, anger and complete despondency. Torture had taken control, and my 4 month old kitten was its chosen victim, and it didn’t stop there because the beast  had not been fed enough. The greedy bastard yearns for pain, relishes hardship and thrives of distress, which is everything my kitten was going through, and all of this was intensifying by the minute.

The second seizure hit. Hard. This seizure was even worse than the last because her body couldn’t take the pressure no more, she was drooling, convulsing and for the first time ever she cried out…. in agony…..I was devastated. It was happening before my own eyes and I was helpless. An innocent Life diminishing and I couldn’t do anything about it. Stuck. Shocked. Scared shitless. It was my fault. I did this. I needed to take better care of the kittens. Spend more time looking after them. I needed to spend more money on them and learn how to take care of them properly. That’s what a true pet owner does. How stupid could I get? Use fucking google! It’s all there! And now she’s suffering because of me. I don’t deserve the kittens. I’m fucking useless. I had all of this time to prepare but I focused on other shit. I’m a joke. I fucked up and now my super cute black and white, golden eyed 4 month old kitten with a badass attitude is literally dying in my arms.