On a Wednesday, (the day before payday), my roommate and I bundled Little Willie (Prince William the Conqueror), the lost little kitten who had wriggled his way onto the patio (See Foundling Kitten, and Foundling Kitten II) into a carrier. Brian (my roommate) and William headed for the veterinarian, where Will would undergo corrective surgery for the skin that had been peeled from his under jaw; I headed for work.

Bri reported that they arrived at the vet’s office 30 minutes before opening time; that was my fault. I thought Willie needed to be there by 8:00. The staff let the boys in early, and William inspected the premises. He was particularly interested in the dog food display-and no wonder. His food and water had gone away at 6:00 pm the previous evening in preparation for his surgery. Brian ok’d pre-op blood work and a couple of other necessary procedures, and left the little one. The good news was that during the week he had been with us, he had gained 1 lb. 3 oz., and now weighed a little over 3 lbs.

It was an empty evening-no hurtling orange fluff ball escaping the bathroom. And it was an empty morning-no little Mau walking on the rim of the bath tub, and dashing out to attempt mingling with the rest of the household. Amazing how quickly these little ones become part of our lives. Will had moved in-in more ways than one.

When I came home on Thursday, there was our baby. His face looked much better, in spite of the little tack points of black surgical thread on his chin. But he also looked very comical in a black head cone! Cats and dogs tend to scratch at medical bindings; in order to keep Will from scratching at his repairs and undoing them, it was necessary for him to wear a protective device on his head. But he was so tiny, the veterinarian didn’t have an appliance small enough to fit him, and had improvised a cone of x-ray film padded with a little surgical gauze.

By Friday, we had established that Willie didn’t like bubble gum flavor, but he was relatively good about taking his meds. His appetite was terrific, and we needed more canned cat food. (Everyone else eats kibbles, which are good for the teeth, and a little easier on my budget.) I was beyond tired, so Brian walked over to the local grocery, and picked up some more food for Willie.

When he returned, he looked sad and angry. He had seen a family leaving kittens in the grocery store parking lot. We quietly looked at each other. My household is already bursting at the seams. There are two dogs, and William brought the feline population to number 16. More kittens really wasn’t an option. “If they are there tomorrow, you can bring them home,” I said. “No, no,” he replied. “Animal shelter, they need to go to the animal shelter.” It was a bleak moment. We both knew that, spite of their best efforts, the pet shelters can only house and feed a finite number of unwanted creatures.

The next day, I was at the grocery store getting food for people. (Yes, we do that, too. Not every grocery run is for pet food.) As I was leaving the store, I saw a little yellow and white kitten skitter under a truck. It cried piteously, its baby voice piercing the noise of cars and trucks on the near-by street. I put my groceries into the truck bed, and squatted down on the curb, calling to it. It fled from me, nearly running under the wheels of a car that was pulling into the lot. I let it be, for fear of causing it to be run over.

Back home, William came pelting out of the bathroom when I opened the door. Tonight, as I write this, he has hit my control key twice. Holding his warm little body in my hands, I note that he is healing nicely; he is gaining weight and has more energy than any other being in the whole house. Little Will has found himself a safe haven; but I couldn’t save the three that were dumped in the parking lot. I learned long ago, I can’t save them all. I can’t change the world-not by myself. I can only change a little bit of it at a time.

Kitten Foundling

Foundling Kitten 2