Friday, April 18, 2014

I never learn.

As I was driving into the parking lot at work yesterday, Metallica's "Enter Sandman" came on the radio.  I am fond of this song, and was mildly disappointed that I could not hear the end of it because I am not prone to sitting in a motionless car in a parking lot waiting out songs that I have on my MP3 somewhere.

When I walked through the office door, everyone turned and said my name in a very suspicious fashion.  "Oh good, you're HEEEEERE!"

Oh no, what's wrong?

Wrong.  So very wrong.
Small terrified feral kitten in a blanket in a laundry basket.  Oh dear.  I peered at him, and he spat.

"He wasn't spitting before."

The grounds manager found him in our grassland, being swooped by crows.  His mom bailed when the crows got aggressive.  The coworkers called Animal Control, because we have too many feral cats on the property.  This guy was not destined to be coyote food.

I scruffed him to check if it was, indeed, a him.  He hissed and spat again.

Nice try, Sandman.  You're going in my sweatshirt, you aggressive little freak.  And possibly home with me.  We're gonna cuddle the feral outta you.

He hung out in my jacket in a basket while I taught.  He fell asleep, probably from fear exhaustion and possibly hunger.  
I cannot fight anymore.  Do with me what you will.
Animal Control had come by while I was teaching.  By the officer's estimate, he was about 5 weeks old, and could probably start eating canned kitten food.  Bosslady (who was babysitting the angry fluff beast) got her business card, in case I came to my senses about what I was about to do.

I took him home.  I put his sweatshirt-basket on the guest bed, which is covered in decorative cushions and a very large stuffed octopus.  He hissed, and eventually left the basket for the protective overhang of the octopus's mantle.  He fell asleep.
This is a piss-poor substitute for Mommy, but it will have to suffice.
Mom came over with a kitten bottle.  She manhandled him and we fed him and let him climb around on the cushions.  He had given up the hissing by now, too confused to bother, even when Mom picked him up and planted him on the dog's back.

"What's his name?"  

Sandman, but that's his last name.  His first name is Michael, just like the guy who plucked him from the crow-infested grassland.

"Needs a middle name."  It will be revealed in time.

By bedtime, he was following me around in his wobbly-drunk kitten way.  Not wanting to let him wander loose, I put him in the rat's carrier at the head of my bed.  The dog had an existential crisis.

WANT TO BE CENTER OF UNIVERSE WANT TO BE ONLY BABY- BUT WANT TO SEE BABY WANT TO TOUCH BABY DO NOT WANT BABY TO TOUCH ME.

Sandman demanded to be released from the carrier.  He opted instead to sleep on a blanket next to my head, about a foot from the dog.  He woke at about 3, to pee and eat and attack my head with little needle-feet.  He purred the whole time.  The dog was surprisingly well-behaved.
It's too hard to photograph the black dog on the black bedspread in a dark room.  She was there, though.
I took Sandman to work today, since he was trying to eat the clumping litter and I didn't want to leave him near it unsupervised.  He again protested being confined to the rat carrier.  He meeped all day.

I called my vet, whose whole office knows me all too well.

Yeah, I kind of impulsively accidentally adopted a tiny baby feral kitten yesterday, and he hasn't pooped since then, and I should probably bring him in for the usual new kitten thing.

"Okay, have you been a patient with us before?"

Ohhhh, yes.

"Last name?"

I give it to them.

"Ohhhh, hiiiiiiiii."

At 3:45, Sandman and I are in the vet's exam room.  The vet's pug comes in first, followed by the doc.

"New kitten, huh?"

Yeah, I'm a sucker.  He opens the meeping rat carrier.

"Hi, Leroy!  Is his name Leroy?  His name should be Leroy."  He needed a middle name, and since his whole life with me has been pretty impromptu, I figure it works.

Michael Leroy Sandman, my new little buddy.
He's gonna be handsome as hell, too.  Longhair.  His ears will probably be quite glorious, with black tufts.  White feet, white collar, faint dark tabby everywhere, black tail.  He's already silky, instead of just having that weird cottony kitten fur.  He's got sad eyes, but it's mostly the markings.  His eye color will be a surprise, since they're still baby blue.

What a fool I am.

Don't worry….. tomorrow we shop for vet insurance.  I may not have learned the "no more pets" lesson, but I sure as hell learned the "vets are hella expensive" one.


18 comments:

  1. Can't think of a better new mommy or a better name for that lucky little hissing ball of fluff. Congrats on the new addition to the Fledermaus Family! :)

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    1. Why, fang you. He's turning out to be quite the demon.

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  2. Awwww, hi Sandman! Oh Tante, you're a sucker for a cute face.

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    1. I resisted for so long…. oh well, we get who we're supposed to get!

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  3. Oh gods, you shouldn't have posted this. My partner is needling me about getting a cat in future (having always been a resolute dog person), and that little face is too, too cute.

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  4. Oh my gaaawd what a cutie! What a wonderful post to read on a hung-over-but-still-have-to-work Saturday. I want another kitty, I want another kitty NOW.

    Welcome to the world, Michael Leroy Sandman!

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    1. I had forgotten about the biting. So much biting.

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  5. What a cutie! I teared up reading this. Thank you for giving him a shot at a new life.

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    1. He was destined for greater things than coyote food.

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  6. Daww that's a cute little fellow. Who could resist?

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    1. The cute hides a total lack of fear. I guess he used it all up in his first 12 hours of non-feralhood.

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  7. Awww, I've been all goo-ey over your Instagram pics, nice to know the whole story ♥
    I can't wait until we have a bigger house so we can have more rescues - surely 3 cats aren't enough??? ;)

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    1. The most I ever lived with at a time was four. A dog, a cat, two rats, and two rabbits are enough for me!

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  8. cephalopod pillow = good surrogate mommy. more appropriate number of limbs, if a few extra. E thinks the kitty is nice, but worries about Boris and "Vissness" (because she can't say "Vincent" very well you know)

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    1. Boris and Vissness might forgive me someday. Maybe. They don't seem to understand that they could EAT Sandman.

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  9. Congratulations. He's a cute little fucker.

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    1. He's a demon, too. Bites feet and zips away.

      Where you BEEN, dood? Did the Ice Moles kidnap you?

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