Going their separate ways

As the day's worn on, I've been feeling more and more melancholy. Rosey and Mini Cat are now in their forever home at my mum's and spent the past two nights chasing each other round my bed whilst I tried to sleep before curling up next to me, a luxury they didn't get the opportunity to enjoy while they were in Toronto with me.

I made my way back home tonight to a cheerless apartment containing Matt and the three remaining cats: Celia, Oscar and Tilly. Elliot went to his new home a couple of nights ago where he's getting used to his new name: Spyro. The sombre feeling here is down to the fact that this whole thing is over now. Tomorrow morning a driver is picking Celia, Oscar and Tilly up and taking them to the vet to have them neutered/spayed. After that they will recover at a Toronto Cat Rescue worker's home before going to their new foster home.

In a few days' time I will inevitably be occupying my mind with plenty of other things during my time away, but right now it feels like I've lost something. It's like I feel sad for everything. I feel sad for Rosey and Mini Cat because I won't see them often, I feel sorry for Elliot because he's having to adjust to a new home, I feel sorry for Oscar because he doesn't even know how much we want to adopt him but can't, I feel sorry for Tilly because it's like we've left her at the bottom of the pile of her litter and I feel sorry for Celia because she's striving to find someone to love her permanently but, realistically, the chances of that happening any time soon aren't great. I also feel sad for TCR for having to move these cats about and for struggling to keep their charity financially afloat and I feel sorry for Matt for having had this little cat family forced on him in the beginning, only to have fallen in love with them and suffer the heartache of never seeing [most of] them again. And yes, I admit it, I feel sad for me too. Sad and guilty, as if I could have done more.

Well, I guess it's the end of this particular journey but I don't feel it's anywhere near time to disconnect from it all. I'll try to stay in touch with as many of the kittens are possible, their new homes permitting, and will of course follow the course of Mini Cat and Rosey growing up at my mum's. I have also offered to do fostering for cats whose foster families go away on vacation at times when I'm back home here, at least until my schedule is a bit freer some time next year. I also want to help TCR raise some money, so I am going to have a good think about ways in which I can do that. I want to paint some paintings for them to sell at events later on in the year, so I guess I might as well start gathering some catty inspiration.

And so with a sigh of resignation tinged with quiet optimism, I'm going to bed. My heavy heart would be lifted if only Celia, Oscar and Tilly could sleep in our room tonight, if it wasn't for the Godforsaken tomato plant that lives there (and, to add insult to injury, hasn't even had the decency to sprout more than two feeble pea-sized fruit over the last two months).

I think I'm going to compile some nice photos to post soon of the past three months.

An actual adoption!

Well, I hope I'm not speaking too soon, but I do have a good feeling about this. Someone replied to our Kijiji ad earlier on this week, expressing interest specifically in Elliot. I know! He'd taken the time to look through all the profiles we made for the kittens on their blog and had obviously decided that a muscleman beast of a cat is the kind of cat for him. I must say Matt and I were apprehensive at first because of this guy's short, snappy e-mail responses (this is entirely irrational, of course) so when we finally set up a time for him to come meet Elliot yesterday, we were almost expecting him not to even turn up.

But turn up he did, and what a surprise. It's not that either of us had any particular expectations, but I suppose we didn't exactly expect to see a young tattooed man at our door with a tall, immaculate, skinny jean-clad friend in tow with better sculpted eyebrows for a man than I've seen on any woman. I instantly liked them both. Don't ask me why, I guess it was "the vibe".

They both plonked themselves on our living room floor (not that we have more than three rooms) and observed the cats for a while before gently engaging in some light play. Fifteen minutes of chatting revealed that this guy knew more about cats than I do, but more importantly, it was clear that he cared for them a hell of a lot and had always adopted rescue animals throughout his growing up. He lives in central Toronto with a couple of people who already own a cat and a dog that are getting on a bit so wouldn't mind the buzz of youth injected into their furry lives.

Unbelievably, he seemed to really warm to Elliot straight away and was totally sure of his decision to adopt him. He filled out the adoption forms and said he'd spend the next few days getting everything together for Elliot and come back with the adoption fee later on next week to pick him up. We were so, so, so happy. It seems Elliot was too, because he's been so loving and grateful-looking ever since. And, as is typical of fate, I now come to regret my negative words about his aesthetics, even though it's mostly tongue-in-cheek, because he really is a beautiful boy, if not a little beefy, as the above picture proves.

Oh, and the reason for Elliot's new daddy's short, snappy e-mail is because he uses a BlackBerry, the same BlackBerry he got his friend to take pictures of him cuddling Elliot with so he can send it to his family and friends.

So, happily, with the money I'm going to save on not having my cables chewed, I went and got my hair highlighted today.

"Take them! Take them all!"

Gosh, I thought none of the kittens would ever find homes but it seems that God has finally been smiling upon this little brood. I had an e-mail from a lovely lady a couple of days ago who was interested in taking Elliot or Oscar.

My first thought was "Why them?", which, yes, is slightly shameful, even though I am like one of those fiercely proud parents who see their kids as being beautiful, even if said kids have seven ears and a tail growing out of their heads. Of course I think all my foster kittens are cute and unique blah blah blah but have you seen the TCR website? Some of the cuteness on there makes me weep (partly in awe, partly in a sense of hopelessness for my own, less attractive kittens) and I even see a lot of those ones gathering dust on the website week after week. Poor little gremlins, I think, all they want is a good home, and as unique and deserving of love as each one may be, if even the cutest ones aren't snapped up, what hope do my lot have? 

So again, why had this lovely lady picked Oscar and Elliot out of that sea of fur?  I'm told she can only take one of them (who will be a playmate to her existing 2 year old boy cat) and apparently she couldn't tell Oscar and Elliot apart on the TCR website, so I am wondering whether the fact that Elliot can walk on a leash swayed her decision and it is in fact he who she prefers but doesn't know which face belongs to him.  Lucky for her, they can both walk on a leash (I'm only joking: I very much doubt she's that superficial).

So after the initial puzzlement came the glee at the prospect of some interest in the kittens, then the slight sadness about having to split the two grey boys up, then a more intense sadness due to the realisation that they are all going to have to go at some point. I'm torn between screaming "Take them! Take them all!" to her when she comes on Monday and coolly telling her she's got the wrong address (I'd have to put the kittens in the bathroom and sedate them in order for them not to blow my cover). 

Anyway, so she's coming over on Monday night with the intention of taking one of them home with her. Who will she pick? They're so different now. Elliot is a giant, muscly beast (I'm wondering if Matt's secretly obtained a cheeky supply of creatine to enhance his "manly charm" and Elliot's gone and found it) with a face inexplicably not unlike a bull dog's. Forgive me, God, but if Elliot were a human of school age, I suspect he may be bullied for his looks (children can be so evil), but luckily he's a cat and even ugly cats are accepted in our society. Moreover, I know people who specifically enjoy ugly cats (no, not just to make fun of). Of course, his unfortunate oversized face might be to do with the fact that he's currently overcoming yet another bout of Inflamed Eye Syndrome (not its official name, I'm sure), a popular companion of cat flu. Elliot is more interested in running around like a greyhound on steroids (in fact, if not for the fat head, he's not dissimilar to one of those), whilst Oscar is smaller, a lot lighter, much more loving and seems to have stolen Elliot's former beauty, facially speaking. The malleable quality of these kittens' faces really is extraordinary. 

Anyway, so I guess we will wait and see. I'm just hoping she won't make up some colourful excuse come Monday and leave empty handed when she sees these illness-ridden, leg-climbing kittens.

Uh, in my next blog post, I will try to abstain from using unnecessary parentheses.

Uninvited guests

There's no fancying this up: this morning I woke up to several visitors in the litter tray. They were stunningly long and squirmy-looking (or at least looked like they used to be) and I was transfixed for several moments as I pondered how these things could have actually been living inside my furry little babies. 

Anyway, needless to say I was very grateful that Ferne from Toronto Cat Rescue had come over last night to deworm all of the critters, and by golly was it a mission and a half. Honestly, I admire anyone who can put up with and indeed be apparently oblivious to that many sets of needle sharp claws and teeth hacking away at their skin. On a positive note, Ferne confirmed it would be a good idea to clip their claws. Once this was confirmed, an evil laugh unfurled itself within me (inaudible, of course: I had to at least wait until I was alone) at the thought of the kittens trying and failing to mount and consequently draw blood from my bare legs in the mornings.

So they had worms, it transpired. Roundworms, to be exact, although they didn't look particularly round to me. This is all a bit of a mystery, really, for all the cats except Rosey had been dewormed, albeit at different times. Reassuringly, this worm fiasco might explain Celia's repeated vomiting as well as Oscar's weight and appetite loss over the past week. I imagine any fosterer would agree when I say there's nothing worse than a cat or kitten being ill, especially when the cause is mysterious. Unfortunately it happens a lot with shelter kitties, but at least it's all good preparation for when Matt finally gives in to buying me a ridiculously big diamond and we have a bambino of our own.

Anyway, so I'm hoping some good times will ensue now this worm saga's come to an end and that I won't have to be jamming KMR-laden syringes into unhungry mouths much longer.

Let's have some happy pictures to bring the mood back up, eh? Cue jaunty kitten music I composed with Matt last week.

Mini-Cat's more interested in what's not hers, like an envious socialite

Mini-Cat wants to do everything I do but knows secret and destructive key combinations that I don't.

Elliot pretending he's never mounted and consequently drawn blood from a single leg in his life.

Rosey just being... Rosey

Kittens everywhere

The little critters are growing at an alarming rate, particularly Elliott, who seems to be dwarfing the others more and more each day. He's got a crazy appetite and lately it's been hard to fight back the tears of laughter as we watch him desperately scrambling for his dinner. We have to give Celia some pills twice a day in her food, you see, so we give it to her first and watch her to make sure she eats it. No matter how hard we try to keep the kittens away from her bowl during this time, they're somehow always there in a flash, like homing missiles with claws and teeth. It's almost concerning the lengths Elliott goes to to get to Celia's bowl. He literally throws himself at it and if you dare get in his way, you'll be lucky to emerge unscathed.

With this tremendous growth spurt comes the awkward habit of the kittens roaming around the flat at surprising speeds, most often underneath your feet. As a former ballet dancer (6 months worth of lessons at the age of six), I am understandably light on my feet and cautious of everywhere I tread, however the same cannot be said of Matt's limbs, which seem to clamber more blindly through the flat than the kittens themselves. In the past week, he's stepped on two kittens and yesterday sat on Mini-Cat. I have no idea how it didn't turn out horrifying, but I am thankful that it didn't nonetheless. All I remember is seeing his rear end, again, blindly moving towards the sofa when I spotted a black blob directly in his derriere's path. Too late - he'd sat, but nothing happened. No squeal, nothing. I relaxed and realised it must've been the remote control. Moments later, his bum finally picked up the necessary signals and he stood up to reveal poor Mini-Cat looking - get this - not angry or confused, but mildly inconvenienced. She curled back up to sleep and I screamed at and lectured Matthew for several minutes before popping Mini-Cat on the floor to see if she was OK. She was totally fine and was abusing her brothers and sister again only minutes later. Naturally, if this happens again, Matt will be advertising on Craigslist for a roommate.