Another day, another rescue, and this one really fucking pisses me off. Heard plaintive meowing coming from an abandoned apartment a few days ago. Luckily the door was open, so I walked in. What I found was a less than one week old kitten, still blind, and showing signs of starvation. The former tenants there left him in the empty apartment with a bowl of milk (Obviously so they wouldn't feel too guilty about it being their fault the kitten was dying - they could say they tried, but the cat was not up to the task of living, so too bad). Of course the kitten could not drink the milk from the bowl. He was still fucking blind! I would love nothing more than to bitch slap the motherfucker who left the kitten there and turn him into the police for cruelty to animals. I did go to the police substation, and filled out an incidence report, but I doubt they will do anything. Karma is still a thing, I hope. I am mad as hell.
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First things first. After doing the rescue I had to name the kitten. That was easy. He is a tuxedo tom with white mittens. I named him Mitt Romney. Yea, I name cats after people and other characters and things. Some names I have given cats in the past were Clawopatra, Aaron Purr, Groucho Manx, Barack Opawma, Pepe le Purr, Major Tom, etc, etc. Carol's favorite was a Siamese we once had, who I named Chairman Meow.
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With the name out of the way, it was time to save the little critter's life. Luckily, here in Sunnyside there is a feed store just down the block from me. I hauled it over there and found canned cat milk. Damn, that shit is expensive. Got two cans of it, and also got a small bottle with several different types of nipples. Tried them all, but the kitten was not taking any of the formula in. I went back with a real skinny but long nipple, cut it down, and tried for hours to get the kitten to drink. Almost at the end of my ropes, the kitten finally figured it out and drank greedily, and began purring like crazy. I have been feeding him 4 times a day. When I went back to the feed store and asked for advice, the lady there told me to give him as much as he wants. At that age, no amount is too much. Mitt's getting plump now.
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It's about a week later. Mitt can see now, and is pretty frisky. At this time I keep him inside a cat carrier with a towel, so he doesn't get into any kind of dangerous trouble, and bring him out for feeding and a little play on my bed before putting him back in the carrier. I put a thick fluffy blanket on my bed for him, and sometimes, he starts making biscuits on the blanket with his paws and looks for a nipple. Yea, he isn't too smart. He thinks the blanket is his mother. I don't know whether to laugh or cry when I see that. My big orange cat, Beastie (Named after the Beastie Boyz), comes in and sniffs him before Mitt attempts play with him, and Beastie leaves the room. Beastie has dignity, 'ya know. LOL.
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I was originally going to put Mitt up for adoption when he was old enough and litter trained, but changed my mind and will be keeping him. Damn, I love that little critter. At the same time, I don't have much love in my heart for shitty people.