The Kitten

His mother was tiny and half-wild when we moved in.  We tamed her, fed her, and watched with consternation as her gaunt sides ballooned out like a cow's while her back and flanks remained sunken.  She produced two kittens, one black and one pale.  Two more additions to the feral colony that was in place before we moved here in mid-June.  She brought one of them to us on a stormy night, covering the blind, squirming, pale kitten with her body while the thunder crashed.  She looked at us with wide green eyes, looked at her baby, then back at us, mewing and worried.  I knew she had another and told her to go get it.  She stared at me.  You never know.  Sometimes they understand more than you'd think.  My brother-in-law shone a flashlight on the other kitten and she went to get it.  We gave her a box with a towel on the bottom.  After a life on the hard, dry ground, the box and towel were the lap of luxury.  I wondered why she had only bothered with the pale kitten.

The black kitten started off nice and fat, but then got scrawny as time went on.  I briefly considered taking him to a vet, but things are tight for us at the moment.  The cats around here are very inbred and his problems could have been congenital, so I tried supplementing his diet and hoped for the best.  He grew some, but didn't put on weight, and his appetite wasn't very good.  His hearty brother eagerly suckled and practically inhaled the dry cat food, but little guy would wander over with interest, then seem confused or distracted and toddle away.  However, he was a cheerful little guy, and never seemed to be in any pain at all.  He would romp up to the door, learned to climb the steps, and wandered around with his wispy little tail stuck up jauntily in the air.  It seemed possible that he would rally.  Then, a few days ago, I brought him inside for a bit of food and found his eyes crusted shut.  I cleaned them with a paper towel and a gush of pus came out.  He didn't eat much.

He got worse after that.  He started moving slower and slower, still trying to walk around, meow, climb the stairs, and eat, but he faded so very quickly, until yesterday he barely moved at all.  I found him on the steps last night, still alive but very weak and cold.  I took him inside and warmed him up on my lap.  He squirmed a few times, then subsided back into lethargy.  I knew he wasn't going to be with us long, especially since he was unable maintain his body temperature.  He liked having his face washed, so I washed it one more time.  Then I told him I had tried and I was sorry, then placed him in the little den box with his mother and brother.  They curled around him.  My husband came home and found that he had passed sometime before eight o'clock this morning.  He very kindly took care of the pitiful little body, which I was very grateful for.  I've cried a few times about it.  I know he was just a scrawny little fellow, but he was a fighter and kept going as long as he possibly could.  His body just gave out on him.

This was completely preventable.  The hunger, the injuries, the exposure to the elements, the endless fighting, breeding, and raising of kittens that exhaust the body's resources.  I am appalled that the landlord saw this, year after year, and not do something about it.  Friends and family implored them to get the cats fixed, but they ignore this advice.  If the poor wretches had been gathered up and taken to the pound, they would be fed, housed, and given a chance at a home that cared.  Even if they were euthanized, it would be faster and more merciful than a desperate life marked by hunger and ill health.  They wouldn't have bred until the family tree doubled back on itself, and poor, pitiful, tiny kittens wouldn't be struggling to live until their frail bodies collapsed.

People, please spay and neuter your pets.