Most people that know me know that I am an animal lover. I have always been, and I get to indulge my love for animals with my job at the Humane Soceity. It is a very rewarding job, but also very physically/mentally/emotionally draining at times. Josh and I own two cats, and are fostering a third. I love my cats, and saying bye to them when we leave is one of the few things that I am dreading about being overseas for a year. So, I thought I would dedicate a blog to my little furry family, so when I reference them in upcoming stories/blogs, you will know why I love them so much.
The first kitty addition is Willow, pictured here with Josh:
(Her eyes don't really glow that that. 
)
I adopted Willow the summer before my junior year of college. I had just moved in to an apartment (off campus!!!), and my roommate and I had talked about eventually getting a cat, as we had both grown up with animals and it felt too weird to not have any animals in the house. At that time, I worked at a dry cleaners, and one of my coworkers had a cat that had kittens at the end of the spring. I mentioned to her that I was interested in one of the kittens, and went to her house to pick one out. At first I was drawn to a little gray one, but I asked my coworker which one was the friendliest, and she pointed out Willow. I decided on her, and brought her home that night. I think she was about 3 1/2 or 4 months old. Since I had just moved off campus to an apartment, I had not had the chance to move my furniture from home in (my parents live a few hours away), and just had a mattress on the floor for the time being. Every night, Willow would curl up on my chest, right above my heart, and would go to sleep with me.
Eventually, she grew up, and the time came for her first heat cycle. I knew I needed to get her spayed, but I just put it off because I was not looking forward to spending so much money. In hindsight, I really wish I had gotten her spayed before she went into heat, because it is healthier for them to never sexually mature, and she would probably act a bit different than she does now (read on for an explanation…). I felt TERRIBLE for her while she was in heat, but I had to wait until it was over because if she was spayed while in heat, it was an extra charge at the vet, and a college kid budget is not compatible with extra vet clinic charges.
Willow was a playful kitten, and she LOVED playing with fishing pole toys. Her fishing pole was her favorite toy for awhile, and she would jump crazily high to try to snatch it out of the air. She could probably jump at least four feet straight up, catch the toy in her paws, and land on her feet every time. She also loved the laser pointer, and I have never seen another cat track the laser as fast or as accurately as she does. She will spin as fast as she can in tight circles, with her claws out as far as they will go to help propel her around. Willow also loves other kind of lights. It doesn't matter what kind of light, whether it is a spot of sunlight coming in from the window, a reflection from a mirror or cd, or even the lights that move around a shadow. When she sees a light, she will hone in on it, will not take her eyes off of it, and will make a clicking noise.
She is also very funny about eating. She prefers to scoop one piece of food with her paw on the floor (or sometimes in the water, which makes it cloudy and gross, and then she won't drink it), then bite the piece in half, all the while spilling crumbs all over the floor. As soon as she hears the can opener, she will come running, convinced it is a can of tuna, and will not leave you alone until you let her smell it and realize that it is, alas, only a can of green beans.
Whenever someone sneezes, she always says bless you, which is a series of weak little meows, and is very cute.
Although her name is Willow, Josh and I almost never call her by her name. One day, Josh was talking to Willow in "kitty voice" (don't scoff…we all have an animal voice and a baby voice, lol), and he was rhyming "Kitty". Kitty, Mitty, Gritty, Litty, Zitty…. and Kitty Mitty just kind of stuck. So now sometimes she is called Kitty Mitty, or just Mitty. She is also called Eugene, which goes back to an old church camp joke of Josh's that everyone's middle name is Eugene (Jennifer Eugene, Josh Eugene, Willow Eugene…).
Willow is now 3 1/2 years old, and has settled down for the most part. She spends her days napping in my dresser drawer, clicking at birds that dare to land outside our window, and observing and scoffing at the happenings in the Mendenhall apartment. She is a reserved cat, and has the temperment of what most people think of when thinking of a cat. She likes to do things in her own time, in her own way, and will tell you when she doesn't agree with the way things are going.
Which brings me to Desmond:
(As an 8 week old kitten, the first night I brought him home).
After almost 3 years with Willow as the only cat, I knew I wanted to get her a buddy. I wanted to adopt a male kitten, because I felt that she would have an easier time adjusting to a little boy invading her home, rather than a female intruder. On New Year's Eve of 2010/2011, a litter of four kittens was abandoned at the shelter. There was a black one, a tortoiseshell calico, an orange one, and a white one. I had been watching this litter, and wishing I could adopt one of them. When they were finally old enough to be adopted, I just happened to find out that our landlord had changed the pet policy, which allowed two pets, as long as a second pet deposit was paid. Josh's birthday is January 28th, and I decided this would be his "birthday present", haha. On the day I decided to adopt one, I had to decide which one to adopt. I called Josh and asked him to come in to help me pick one out, but he was like, "It doesn't matter to me. You just pick one out." Which in husband-speak really means "I know that you will overrule my choice anyway, and I want you to be happy, so go ahead." So, I had to rule the other three out because they had medium or long hair, and as Josh is allergic to cats (he has built up an immunity, so he is fine as long as he makes sure not to pet the cat, then rub his eyes), and that left the white one, or Parsnip, as he was called at the shelter. I decided to name him Desmond, after Desmond Hume, one of my favorite characters from LOST.
It took Willow a good week to get used to him enough that she wouldn't launch herself at him in defense of her home, and her Mommy and Daddy. She was incredibly jealous of all of the attention he was receiving, and we tried to make sure she got enough attention as well.
I first thought Desmond was entirely white, but I didn't realize until we had him for a week or so that his fur was darkening to orange on his nose, ears, and tail. He also has gorgeous blue eyes, which makes him a Flamepoint Siamese. The other few Flamepoints I have met since then have definitely been memorable, and Josh and I have a joke that Flamepoints are the problem children of the cat world.
Here is what he looks like now:
Handsome, isn't he? Sometimes we call him Kit-Ten, or The White One.
He is what you would call a crazy kitty. We had to make a rule that cats are not allowed in our bedroom overnight, because Desmond would burrow under the covers, and play the claw-anything-that-moves-including-bare-feet-and-legs game. His high point of the day is when we are going to bed, in which he will tear around the apartment.
He is also the most vocal cat I have ever met. Of course, when he was a really young kitten, he could only "mew", but as he got older, his vocabulary expanded. He now says "MAHowAH!", "Brrrrr" (sounds like when you roll your tongue), and "Mmmmm" (when he doesn't even open his mouth). He will frequently walk around the apartment, meowing and meowing (his bored meows), and will plop down on the floor, as if he was saying, "There's nothing to DO!"
Desmond loves to play and wrestle. With Willow, who tolerates it for about 30 seconds, then gets angry, bats at his head, and growls and hisses. And I'm convinced Desmond has no idea how to pick up on social cues from other cats, because he completely ignores the angry, crazy sounds coming out of Willow, and will chase her around the apartment until Josh or I intervene and break it up.
He doesn't really know how to pick up on disciplinary cues as well. He KNOWS he is not supposed to get on the table or the counters, but he does it anyway, right in front of you! One time, he looked me straight in the eye from on top of the table, and meowed defiantly, as if to say, "What are you gonna do about it?" Sometimes he will jump down when you stand up and start walking toward the table, but sometimes he doesn't, in which case we will scruff him, tell him no, and toss him (gently, of course) to the floor. He is perfectly capable of landing on his feet, which he does, but then he collapses on his side, and looks up at you like you just threw him unceremoniously on his side, so much so that he was gravely injured. And I just say, "That trick doesn't work on me."
Desmond is what Josh and I lovingly refer to as a "butt-er-in-er". He butts in on EVERYTHING. If you are minding your own business, sitting on the couch watching tv or on the computer, he will launch himself at you, step on your stomach, and pretty much head butt you, all in the name of saying, "Here I am! Pet me!" Any time we give the cats treats, we have to give Desmond his first, so he will be distracted while Willow gets hers, or else he will move everyone out of the way so he can get to the treat if Willow has spent to much time sniffing or batting the treat around. He is also right next to me while I eat my bowl of cereal every morning, and if he sees me move to set the bowl down or hears the clank of the spoon on the bowl, he is ready for the last drops of milk that he is sure are his.
We have to make our entrances and exits through the front door to the apartment quick, or else he will dart out into the hallway. Willow has done this once or twice, but Desmond does it about once or twice a week, at least.
He will also lay right on top of your chest for a long afternoon nap, which I love. Willow is not a cuddly cat in the least, so it is nice to have a cat that acts as if he would sooner die than miss out on a chance for attention and pets. He is also very adventurous, which you can see here when he scaled to the top of the coat rack:
So, now on to our tiny, adorable foster kitten, Moo.
Unfortunately, the shelter I work at is not a no-kill shelter. It sucks, but the reality of it is that there are animals that come in every day that are incredibly sick or injured, aggressive and would sooner shred us to ribbons than let us take them out for a walk, or so depressed that they refuse to eat anything. In these cases, we try to make the best decision for the animal, and try to take their comfort and quality of life into consideration. About a month ago, a lady brought in four kittens that were four weeks old, and their mom had been a stray that had just been killed. At that time, just about all of our cats were sick, and upper respiratory infections with the cats were out of control. The most susceptible are younger kittens, and in the case of these kittens, it would be more humane to euthanize them that day, rather than put them in with the other cats, where they would undoubtedly get sick, prolong the inevitable, and make them suffer in the process. When an animal is brought in, and the decision is made for euthanasia, I usually take them back to the vet, and try not to look inside the carrier or look into the eyes of the dog I am leading back. You just have to become callous to it to a certain extent, or else you would literally break down every day.
Just a side note: this is why I feel SO strongly about the importance of spaying and neutering your pets. I couldn't tell you how many animals get put to sleep at our shelter because they were part of an accidental/unwanted litter, were not properly socialized, and as a result are terrified of humans and cannot be taken out on walks because they alligator roll on their leashes, and they have to sit in their waste all day because it is too risky for them and for the staff to interact. People come to the shelter to adopt pets, not animals that will cower in a corner in their house and poop and pee as soon as they are touched. Many people don't want to deal with the problems themselves, and so to pass the problems on to us, and make us be the ones responsible for the ending of the life of an innocent animal is somehow okay with them. Just another example of a broken world in need of a Savior. Moving on…
So, Moo and his littermates were fated to not see the next day, and I happened to look inside the carrier (bad idea). Once I looked at those messy, smelly, matted babies with big bug eyes, my heart broke. I was determined to find someone to foster them, and I asked around, and no one could. I decided that I would take them home, even though if the landlords found out, we'd be in big trouble. I took them home with me that night, the whole way home, thinking, "This is kind of crazy…"
There were four in all: Moo, who was the biggest, most playful, and definitely the strongest. Then there was Creamsicle, who was orange, and the most flea infested (hence the name Creamsicle-Orange and apparently very tasty to fleas). The other two were about half of the size of Moo and Creamsicle, Little Girl (the only girl and who looked like a little Gremlin), and Little Guy. They were fine for a few days, but one night, after their baths, I put them to bed to huddle together while they finished drying like they always did. I went to check on them a few hours later, and Little Guy was laying at the bottom, still wet, and barely breathing. He was so cold, and we spent over an hour cuddling him, warming him gently with the blow dryer, wrapping him in a towel with a homemade handwarmer (a fabric square with rice sown inside, warmed in the microwave), everything we could think of to bring his body temperature up. Despite our efforts, he eventually died in my arms. It was really rough. I had never seen such vulnerability, and been able to do nothing about it. I expect that I will see similar vunerability overseas, and it will be heartbreaking, but will remind us why we are there, and will make us stronger in the process.
The next night, when I got up to check on the remaining three in the middle of the night, I found Little Girl. She had died sometime in the night, and I felt mostly angry about it. I think I was angry that yet another one had died, and that I hadn't been able to be there to comfort her in her last moments.
The next day, I took Moo and Creamsicle to work with me, so I could keep an eye on them during the day. Late in the afternoon, I was walking through on my way to doing something or other, and I heard Creamsicle crying, when I picked him up, he was barely breathing. I took him in to the vet, and they tried to bring him back, but were unsuccessful. He died wrapped in a blanket, held gently by the vet tech.
So then, Moo was alone. I was soooo paranoid for the next few days after that, and was resigned to the fact that none of them would make it. It wasn't a question of if, but when. Each day that passed, and he was still here was a surprise, and a joy. He has grown and blossomed into an adorable, lovable little guy. He loves to wrestle and play with Desmond (which Willow is overjoyed about, because he keeps Desmond's attention directed away from her). He slept the whole night last night in the valley between me and Josh.
Our time together is nearly up, as he is 8 weeks old, tested negative for Feline Leukemia and FIV, and is 5 ounces away from weighing enough to be neutered. I will be sooo happy for him to find a new home, but it will be so terribly difficult to leave him at the shelter for the first time. We fostered a puppy several months ago, and the first time I went home without taking her with me, I cried the whole way home. I am both excited and dreading that day. And even though he is not "my cat", he still will always have a piece of my heart, and I will look back on our time together fondly.
So, if you have made it to the end of this blog, congratulations, haha. You probably think I am a crazy cat lady, but I just really love my kitties. They have an unconditional love for you when you are their Mommy (well, sometimes it is conditional…like whether they feel like you have gone too long without scooping the litter box, or they look at you like, really? This is the best food you can give me? But that is beside the point). They love you because you take care of them, and they trust you completely. I don't really know at this point how I will get along without my cats next year (and I apologize in advance for the many cat stories my teammates will have to endure). But I definitely look forward to their (and my) joy upon our return.
Whew! Long post. Time for a nap. 
