Meet A

Two weeks ago Nighean Dhonn came home after being gone for only a short time on her evening walk with Poppy The Great.  "Dad", she said, "I found a kitten."

Sigh.  I am a sucker.  I rescue spiders and mosquito hunters in my house.  So out we went to see a small kitten.

There he was, hiding under a bush.

He was obviously far from home; I could count every rib on his ribcage.  We shifted positions and I slowly approached him; he took off down the road and dodged into an side yard.  We followed him down and found him, huddled under a pile of wood.  I grabbed him out; he hissed at me and gave me a bit on my index finger.  We walked back to the house, my hand oozing blood and him trying to bite and claw me, growling at the indignity of being carried.

A quick trip to the store for litter and food later, he was crouched behind the bathroom door, hissing and growling at every opportunity.  The food I brought was devoured when I was safely out of the room; the litter box was used.  He had poop on his back legs and an obviously prolapsed rectum.

This went on over the weekend:  we went in, he hissed and growled, but would let himself be pet.  Nighean Dhonn  went in to read to him to get him used to a human voice.

I checked in with The Ravishing Mrs. TB, who was out of town moving Nighean Gheal into her aparment.  "See if there is a shelter you can take him to" she asked.  I reached out - but thanks to The Plague of 2020, responses were delayed and appointments had to be made to drop animals off.  My fear is that he would be labeled feral and shoved away; the animal shelter said "Keep trying to pet him and get him used to people".

Over the weekend we kept trying - at one point he completely disappeared from bathroom and we tore the house apart looking for him (turns out he climbed under the bottom drawer of our bathroom sinks and drawers where there was a space; we would not have found him but Poppy the Great did).

Finally, on Sunday evening, we found a flea on him.  That was it:  I picked up and dunked him in the sink, hissing and growling, to wash him, his fleas, and his poop.  I pulled him out, wet, put him in a big towel, and started drying him off.

Suddenly, he started purring.

After that, he never growled again.  Only purring, only ever so happy to see anyone - so happy that he won the heart of The Ravishing Mrs TB (who apparently was looking at kittens unbeknownst to me).

A small investment at the vet,  two time medication applications daily, and multiple butt washings later, he has moved his way into our home.  Poppy The Great is almost overwhelming in her eagerness to meet him (mostly she just licks him over and over).  Every time we go into the bathroom, he is always there, purring and ready for a pet (or, more recently, to attack your leg).

I do not really remember actually asking for a cat to rescue.  But now that he is here, I cannot imagine the house without him.