All the kittens are still alive. This includes horribly sick little Duck. There is still no diagnosis for them, but Duck officially got smaller today than he was the day I got him, almost a month ago. Maybe 3 weeks – it’s hard to tell when you are so spiritually worn out.
These are all the kittens who crashed or have gotten horribly sick:
This is horribly unfair that sweet little kittens should suffer like this. Michael tells me that Duck is surviving by my sheer force of will. I can make him eat Nutri-Cal (a high-calorie supplement), but he tries not to take the bottle. The only thing that can make him purr is nursing on his surrogate mother, but every time he does that he backslides a bit. I am actually thinking I will return his mother this week since she is nearly dry anyhow. What is a foster mother to do?
I learned long ago to make my peace with the fact that not all of my kittens will survive. I have a stupid, but personally significant habit of not wanting them to die homeless, so I count them amongst my own. If there is an accounting of your deeds when you die, someone is going to ask what kind of cruel person could possibly kill so many kittens that belonged to her. Not that I couldn’t explain, but still.
This part of fostering is by far the hardest. The constant fear that the next visit to the kitten room will produce a dead kitten, the need to administer treatments that seem scary or painful, or at the very least taste bad, the just not knowing what to do. That is what’s difficult. On the other hand, it’s really easy to love the kittens. And I really do.
I am not sure if we are on a death watch or if we are just waiting out a cruel disease, but I will let you know when it is over, either way it happens. Let’s hope for the best outcome.