Okay, before I get raked over the coals for breaking the Pictures Required In Kitten Threads rule, I’m trying! I took a picture of the little fellow with my camera phone and uploaded it to Verizon. Now if I can just figure out how to share it here and not in an email invite thingy…
So, anyway, yesterday as I was entering the campus of the school where I teach, I noticed a little white and black kitten getting some early-student-arrival attention. One boy had been petting him, but quickly admitted it wasn’t his kitten and scooted off. The kitten then ran up to me-- the little furball could smell the “sucker” all over me–and rubbed on my legs. I picked him up; the thin little fellow was maybe 6-8 weeks old and ribby, so it was easy to hold him one handed. He purred at high volume as I carried him into the office. On the way there, I noticed he was quite beat up. One ear was torn, like he’d been bitten, and there was a massive swelling on it–it looked like maybe an abcess, large and balloon-like. Poor guy.
Wandering pets are no stranger to a school campus, and they create all kinds of havoc, detrimental to both human and animal. Usually it’s a dog; this was my first wandering kitten in 10 years of teaching. The little fellow would soon be mobbed by 800 middle schoolers had he been left on campus, and that just would not do. I showed him to the office, who helped me find a large box to contain him. When I checked up on him at brunch, I gave him some water and a stuffed animal lion to curl up with–the poor thing was so frightened and pathetic looking in that tall box, mewing in the most pitious plea for company and comfort.
I gave up my prep period to call animal rescues in the area. It took a long while, but I finally got a hold of the local animal shelter. They’d be by to pick him later in the day, they said.
They didn’t. He was still in his box this morning. 
I ran over to the staff lunch room and spooned out some of my spaghetti. Not exactly Purina Kitten Chow, but the poor thing hadn’t eaten in 24 hours. I was relieved to see he’d been given a warm towel and some milk by the cafeteria staff, and inbetween his whimpering mews he gobbled up my homemade pasta. Poor little guy.
Take him home, the office staff, vice principal, nurse, coworkers said. I’m known as the resident Dr. Doolittle (a few years ago, a stray parakeet of all things flew into my classroom; we nursed him back to health and adopted him out, just in time for a SECOND parakeet to appear in my room), and I said firmly, “NO!” “Why not?” “Because I already have two cats, a dog, two horses, two snakes, a 45 gallon aquarium, and a five-month-old son to top it off. There is no room at this inn!” I just can’t. We just can’t.
They finally picked him up this morning and said he was going straight to the vet. Good, I breathed, he’ll get some medical care for that ear and not just be tossed in a cage for an adoption that might never come.
I hate to leave it off here, but my son demands my attention away from the computer. There’s more, much more, to this story, but it’ll need to wait until RuffLlama is in bed.
