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.|
"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.|
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.|
"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?"
I give it to them.
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.