Letting critters have their nature

It’s been a while since I’ve posted – partly because the spring seems to have become the most insane time for me, work-wise, but also because it was, for a few weeks anyway,  weirdly smooth sailing with my fur-babies. After Mocha died, and Little Maude and Ritz were adopted, I was able to just tend the flock of regulars. But of course all peace must eventually get disrupted, and my little kingdom is no exception.

After Pokey suddenly stopped pooping and was vomiting, he was diagnosed with something called mega-colon. I’ll spare my more sensitive readers by not going into detail, but let’s just say Dr. Sue’s treatment was akin to unplugging a kitchen sink. Not pretty at all, and poor guy was so traumatized. I have switched his food and he’s doing great – fingers crossed that this continues.

Around that time I realized I would need to move my bird feeder, after Iggy the Terminator got not one but TWO birds on the back deck. First he managed to grab one through the netting of the zip-up tent I had back there, and I could not save the little yellow finch. I wrapped him a white cloth and laid him in the woods, apologizing for the fact that my carelessness cost him his life. I took away the mesh tent and replaced it with a dog crate. And would you believe he got another bird within a couple of days – a bird that had jumped onto the deck, too close to his sharp claws. This time I managed to get him away from the bird, which was injured but managed to fly away.

I was so angry at Iggy; at the same time, he’s just BEING A CAT. Maybe I was more angry at myself for the failure (and perhaps folly) of my little species-mixing experiment on the back deck. Now there’s a window screen separating the dog crate from the feeding area – a second layer of security against his claws. When he sits in there now he reminds me of Hannibal Lechter from “Silence of the Lambs.”

If it were just Iggy’s occasional attempts at murder, I could handle it. But I am now finding at least one dead songbird every few weeks – the result, I’m told, of so many eating frantically that when they startle, they fly into windows or walls. And my neighbors say they have found dead birds as well. Every time I see one I feel awful that my efforts at being a minor league St. Francis are in fact costing critter lives. So the feeder, I decided, will need to be moved again. But to where? I’m scouting the area, feeling sad that soon I won’t be able to revel in the fluttering sea of yellow outside my kitchen window.

Also around this time, I realized Grace had gone from stout to thin – evidence that she has had more kittens. I was so upset by the development – not because I don’t love kittens (I adore them) but because it means more weeks of worrying about them. Will they survive? Will they get eaten by predators? Will Grace bring them up to the sidewalk as she has done before? The kitten watch has started. And then of course, there’s the challenge of finding them good home(s).

Also, it seems more and more clear that the tortie I inherited from the Odwalla folks has a health problem. Her forehead seems swollen above one eye, and I can’t get close enough to her to be able to really look it. Dr. Sue thinks it might be an infected scratch – or perhaps a tumor.  🙁  And then, just a few days ago, tortie girl was joined by a huge tabby boy (I’m assuming by his size that he’s a boy) who is injured. I’m calling him Mike after my new favorite Giant – the towering beefcake known as Mike Morse. Today, growing closer to me, Mike showed that he can’t put any weight on one of his legs, and it seems to have an open wound.

It crushes me to think any animal is suffering nearby; clearly I need to trap this fellow and get him some medical attention. As I sat quietly today while he ate, Mike’s eyes looked woozy with pain. But good grief – my first real vacation of the year comes up in one month, and already it’s hard to make ends meet. How on earth can I afford treatment for a kitty I’ve just met? At the same time, how can I let him suffer?

Simone talks often of trusting in the universe to help, and I could surely use a little of that help now. St. Francis, I’m happy to take care of your critters, if you can help take care of me.