A little while ago, I wrote about Tristan, my cat who was taken by cancer.
At that time, I also mentioned that we'd taken on a special needs kitten - a little Persian girl, who was born with a deformity (an "open fontanelle", meaning the plates of her skull had not properly closed). She probably had some brain damage, at two weeks old she had been rejected by her mother, and then dropped on her head by her owner. Said owner brought the kitten into the vet clinic in which my wife was working that day, but had no money to treat the kitten.
So, now we had a kitten.
We nursed this kitten. She got over her immediate problems, began to grow, romp, maybe even thrive. She got a name ("Moxie"). She wasn't bright, didn't know quite what to do with our other cat, and had problems learning what a litterbox was for.
Now, my wife's a veterinarian. She's got a lot of tricks up her sleeve, and she can call to talk with behavioral specialists. After trying the mundane and easy things we could try at home had failed, the best idea we came upon was a simple and obvious one - get our kitten in with a bunch of other kittens. She'd get some socialization, get to see other cats her age using the litterbox, and maybe pick up the habit herself. And, one of the technicians in a clinic my wife worked at had a litter she was fostering of about the right age! An excellent option!
What we didn't know is that this technician - a professional in animal care - when given a kitten to watch over... wouldn't actually, you know, watch.
I'd called a few days in to the care, and been told everything was fine. I called a few days later to check in, didn't get the technician on the phone, and left a message that wasn't returned. Today, my wife returned to the same clinic, and the technician (who wasn't working that day) reportedly stopped in, dropped off the kitten, and quickly left without seeing or talking to my wife.
We gave her a kitten that weighed two pounds, and could dash around the house for nearly an hour without slowing down. We have gotten back a kitten that is one pound, three ounces, and barely has energy to stand. Our best guess is that the technician didn't bother to see if she was actually eating the food presented to her, and she's been slowly starving for a week and a half.
We're going to try to nurse her back to health again, but we don't know if Moxie's going to make it.
A kitten. A special-needs kitten. Perhaps the most helpless thing you're apt to run into in your life. Hungry. Listless. Wasting away because the person responsible for her couldn't be bothered to note her condition and call us.
I am a patient man. I am a calm man, not prone to fits of temper. But I am glad that I never need to see this technician again, or I would do or say something that would have ugly repercussions for my wife's professional relations in the area. So long as I am never in that person's presence, I can control my anger. Because that anger won't help Moxie. Moxie needs me to be smart and attentive, now.
But I expect my dreams tonight will be dark ones indeed.
At that time, I also mentioned that we'd taken on a special needs kitten - a little Persian girl, who was born with a deformity (an "open fontanelle", meaning the plates of her skull had not properly closed). She probably had some brain damage, at two weeks old she had been rejected by her mother, and then dropped on her head by her owner. Said owner brought the kitten into the vet clinic in which my wife was working that day, but had no money to treat the kitten.
So, now we had a kitten.
We nursed this kitten. She got over her immediate problems, began to grow, romp, maybe even thrive. She got a name ("Moxie"). She wasn't bright, didn't know quite what to do with our other cat, and had problems learning what a litterbox was for.
Now, my wife's a veterinarian. She's got a lot of tricks up her sleeve, and she can call to talk with behavioral specialists. After trying the mundane and easy things we could try at home had failed, the best idea we came upon was a simple and obvious one - get our kitten in with a bunch of other kittens. She'd get some socialization, get to see other cats her age using the litterbox, and maybe pick up the habit herself. And, one of the technicians in a clinic my wife worked at had a litter she was fostering of about the right age! An excellent option!
What we didn't know is that this technician - a professional in animal care - when given a kitten to watch over... wouldn't actually, you know, watch.
I'd called a few days in to the care, and been told everything was fine. I called a few days later to check in, didn't get the technician on the phone, and left a message that wasn't returned. Today, my wife returned to the same clinic, and the technician (who wasn't working that day) reportedly stopped in, dropped off the kitten, and quickly left without seeing or talking to my wife.
We gave her a kitten that weighed two pounds, and could dash around the house for nearly an hour without slowing down. We have gotten back a kitten that is one pound, three ounces, and barely has energy to stand. Our best guess is that the technician didn't bother to see if she was actually eating the food presented to her, and she's been slowly starving for a week and a half.
We're going to try to nurse her back to health again, but we don't know if Moxie's going to make it.
A kitten. A special-needs kitten. Perhaps the most helpless thing you're apt to run into in your life. Hungry. Listless. Wasting away because the person responsible for her couldn't be bothered to note her condition and call us.
I am a patient man. I am a calm man, not prone to fits of temper. But I am glad that I never need to see this technician again, or I would do or say something that would have ugly repercussions for my wife's professional relations in the area. So long as I am never in that person's presence, I can control my anger. Because that anger won't help Moxie. Moxie needs me to be smart and attentive, now.
But I expect my dreams tonight will be dark ones indeed.