Wednesday, September 24, 2008


OK, I admit it. I'm a sucker. When a third notice requesting foster care comes around from the local large shelter, I worry. I've never seen more than a third notice, and I don't know what that means. When the notice is for a group of seven orphan kittens estimated to be 7 weeks old but with the runt weighing in at 9 oz, and all sick with URI, I really worry.

No matter that I'm planning to run off on a DC trip the next day. Well, it matters, but it's not a show stopper. I got together with my friend D-, and even though we are both already full with fosters, we plotted a way to get this group cared for. I brought them home to my house, installed them in the hall bathroom, and fed and medicated them until I left. She was cat-sitting for me while I was gone, anyway, so she left them in place until DH was due home, then moved them to a kennel at her house.

When I got home yesterday, I went to her house and kitnapped the three littlest. They were doing much, much better, but we thought they would benefit from getting more frequent meals, so we split the group.

We've had a lot of changes in the house this week. Molly was adopted last weekend, and while everyone was moping around missing her I let the Vanalikalikes out of the office. Nothing like a houseful of strange kittens to stir things up. And they are strange. My bigs look at those little white cat-shaped bodies like they are ghosts.

But the "Boo" in the title actually refers to the black torti in my new littlest group. She has light-colored markings rimming both eyes, giving her a spooky startled look. And it's convenient to have a short name because I've had to call her so often on frequent escapes from the bathroom. As in, "DH, have you seen Boo?". I'm calling the littlest gray runt Skeeter, and the black formerly female/now male kitten Cruiser, as I usually find him cruising around the countertop when I open the door.

To round off the rest of the family, we have Skipper, the biggest gray male, more than twice as big as Skeeter. Frick and Frack are the indistinguishable gray male twins, and we'll call the very pretty, demure, mischievous dilute torti Delilah. And we thought they needed a family name, so of course they must be Johnsons, one of the most common family names around here. Finally, we'll add little Daisy Mae, our previous sick runty orphan rescue, to this group, and we'll have one big happy family, at least when we recombine them to take them back to the shelter in a couple of weeks.

This morning I had the brilliant idea of blocking the hallway outside of the bathroom so I could open the door, give the Johnsons some room to play, and decrease the number of escape episodes. That's Seri watching the fun, with a brief appearance of Puddin Vanalikalike in the corner. The kittens are obviously no longer sick. Never a dull moment in this house.


-d ma said...

pretty darn cute. so how many times have you called frick "frack" and vice versa?

Gottagopractice said...

There's no telling, especially now that the ID collars are off. I have resorted to calling them both "Frickerfrack", and will label their return sheets "Frick or Frack" with an explanation!