George is on night duty. I'm going to sleep. The little kitty Venture finally chose what he would eat: the soft center part of Texas Toast (untoasted) soaked with KLM (or KML--i forget--it's late) milk replacement fed from my gloved hand through the slats in the hamper. That's after multiple bottle failure, wet canned food failure, syringe failure, every other kind of failure, and a whole lot of hissing and striking.
This little wilding now officially likes milk-soaked-white-toast mush off the tip of the fingers of a old worn work glove, where he can pretend he's nursing, but since he's got some tiny teeth already, he seems to be learning how to lick and grab once in a blue moon too. He misses his mama big time. But he's bonding with the glove, which is lying against the hamper now. He's asleep.
I've emailed two no-kill shelters (thanks everyone for alerting me to them). Cross fingers. Toes. This is not the time, place or decade for us to have the responsibility of this kitten. I'm sure there are cat people everywhere without inquisitive five year olds who would love this little guy/gal.
Screw the folks at Pet Smart, who after I took the time to explain this story and asked could they cut me a deal on the kitty milk and bottle, said no. Screw the same Pet Smart veterinary (Banfield) who when I called and said I had an abandoned wild kitten as big as my hand who needed help said no discounts on the office visit, no discount on the feline lukemia/aids test. And no appointments today. Screw my old vet, Bells Ferry Veterinary for telling me sorry, we can't help, we get this all the time, no spreading out payments, no discount on an office visit, and no time today. Then I see this on their website. Thanks for nothing.
And bless the webloggers.
Does this make me a cat blogger? Oh jeez. Say it isn't so.
Gotta get some sleep. Take it away Daddy.
