Our utterly brilliant and completely devoid of maternal instinct momma cat, Mamacita, recently moved her five kittens from their safe little nest in a stack of tires to....
the hull of our boat.
Paul didn't realize it until he started cleaning it the other day and heard his boat meowing at him. He has found a tractor that he wants and the tractor owner is willing to trade for the boat. I'm pretty sure the guy just wants the boat, not a litter of kittens.
Now, please don't sic the ASPCA on us, but stuck the garden hose in a vent and um....we tried to float the kittens out. It worked. Sort of. Two floated out, but the other three remained encased in fiberglass. Paul put the kittens on the carport, hoping Mamacita would take them all and re-hide them.
Oh, but no.....she just took the two back and stuck 'em back in the boat. So last night, we attempted to float them out again. What we ended up with was one wet, scared kitten, a boat that still meows.....
And a momma cat that refuses to take her little refugee. And now......well, now I have listened to her squall for the last 24 hours. Thanks to the wonder of YouTube, you, too, can hear hear squall for a little over one minute.
I have called neighbors all day, trying to find someone with a litter of kittens about the same age and hopefully a momma that will take our little Flicka. No luck so far . The vet said we could try to feed her catfood mush, but given her age he didn't think she'd eat it. She didn't. So Tater is coming over after work with some kitten milk replacer and a teeny tiny bottle. This kitten has all but molested me today, trying to suck on my earlobes, chin and the crook of my elbow.
I feel so sorry for her, but am I really sure I want to bottle feed a kitten every two hours for the next three weeks? That's like breastfeeding all over again. Well, minus the breasts. I didn't do that whole getting up every two hours very well with my human children and I'm pretty sure I'd have animosity toward that furry, squalling kitten who will never give me grandchildren.
If the remaining kittens die in that hull, we'll have a heck of a time selling a boat that smells of dead kitten. And I'm pretty sure we'll go to hell for this whole mess.
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2 comments:
Diva, please feed the kitty. Please. If I were closer, I would. But I'm not, so please bottle feed that cat, and you can cuss me every time you do it.
Thank the Gummi Mary that I have class, because if I didn't, I might wonder why you felt it was OK to tell the world that your husband used a garden hose to wash out your...umm...kitty. ;)
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