Some of you may remember my stories of the kittens we pulled out of a very difficult living situation this fall. There were some 2 month old kittens that weighed only one pound each, a reflection of the scarcity of food and resources they lived with. They got to hang out with me for a few weeks of morning and evening eye drops and antibiotics for their ailments while they ate to their heart’s content and put on weight so we could start their vaccines, and eventually get them into good homes.
The four 2 month olds lived in a big kitty condo full of shelves to play on. They weren’t strong enough to get to them in their first week, but it didn’t take too much food and time before they were jumping up on them and having a blast. They played like little demons when they were awake. They tore the place up – total slobs – and I had to clean up after them several times a day. When they got tired they all curled up in a ball and slept like little angels.
As they recovered they went into foster care with a wonderful local rescue group, and found their ways into good homes. I got news last evening, however, that one of them – Patrick – had to be euthanized. He developed FIP, feline infectious peritonitis – which is almost always fatal. Poor Patrick was probably about six months old, and he spent the first two months of his life in miserable conditions. I’m glad the rest of his days were more comfortable and happy, but mostly I hope that the little guy hasn’t used up his nine lives, and that he gets reincarnated or something into a much better life. He deserved more. If it were in my power to give him a do-over, I’d do it in a flash.
I’m sure the folks who adopted him only a month ago are heartbroken. I know I am. RIP Patrick.