Our first ever set of foster kittens were originally named Sasha and Sparkles. We started off our rescue lives by mistaking the gender of our rescue animals. Oopsie! You see, Sasha and Sparkles were actually boys. Dani and I both were absolutely certain we heard the shelter staff say they were female, call them "she" and "her". We must have heard them wrong, obviously. It was a while before we figured that out though.
These two kittens came from our local animal control and that was who we were fostering them for. They were tiny little things, but very sweet. Dani was totally in love, especially with Sasha. (He's the grey and white one.)
At first everything seemed fine, they were healthy and ate well, played with each other and cuddled with us. We thought, hey this fostering thing is easy! Little did we know. We'd had them about a week when Sasha threw up on my bed one day. This was immediately followed by diarrhea, luckily in the litter box this time. I had no idea what to do, no idea what was wrong. I'd been told to call if they showed any sign of ill health, no matter how small a sign, so that's what I did. Then we brought both kittens back to the shelter to get checked out.
When they called us back to the exam room to speak with the vet, I was a wreck. I imagined every terrible animal disease I'd ever heard of, I wondered what I'd do if it was incurable, I desperately tried to figure out how I'd failed at this only my first time out. What had gone wrong? And as it turns out, possibly nothing went wrong. They had tested him and he was negative for everything. There was no disease, no infection. He just wasn't thriving. I was told how common this was, that sometimes they just didn't grow and failed for no reason. Then I was told to take the other kitten home and keep trying with that one. Knowing full well I'd get the third degree from Danica if I left her favorite kitten behind, I asked what would happen to Sasha if I didn't take her. Were they going to treat her? Give her special care?
Well, no. Animal control doesn't do that. They adopt out the ones big enough to be fixed and healthy enough to be adoptable. Everyone else goes to sleep. Danica was way too involved in my phone to catch this conversation, so we were temporarily spared the hysterics. But I was faced with a terrible dilemma. How did I save this little kitten that was dying but wasn't sick? What if I failed and he died in front of Dani, what would that do to her?
In the end, I did the only thing I could do; the only choice I was capable of making. I begged them to let me keep trying, to keep him alive and not give up. It took a while, but eventually the vet agreed to let me try. I got 24 hours to show improvement and at least some weight gain, then I had to bring him back for another exam. Well all right then. Challenge accepted.
There followed one of the longest nights of my life. I had medicine to force in him, nutri-cal to force feed him and a whole array of cat foods and baby foods to tempt him with. If you have never had to force feed a sick animal, let me tell you I don't recommend it. They really don't like it and they have sharp claws. One of the medications they gave me, to help him digest his food, tasted absolutely terrible and he hated it. He was so lethargic he could barely lift his head.... until that medicine got near his face and then he was all tooth and claw and spitting fury. I absolutely failed at getting that stuff in him; luckily for all of us, Danica didn't. I don't know what it was, but he would take it from her. I barely slept that night, I was awake for hours doing everything I could to get fluids and food down this baby's throat. I swore to him that he was gonna make it, he wasn't allowed to die, he had to live. I think it was about this time I started calling him Teeny, because he was just such a little thing and the name stuck.
The next day we went back and had the follow up exam. By now Dani knew what was at stake too, so she was just as worried as I was while we waited. Finally they called us in and gave us the news: he'd gained an ounce! This time they gave us a whole week to show improvement and weight gain, so we weren't quite out of the shadow yet. He was getting there though.
I slept a little more that first week than I did the first night, but not by a whole lot. I just couldn't stand to lose this little guy, I knew he could make it if we tried. My mom wanted to change his name to Willow (we still thought it was a girl) because he had the will to live. Slowly he started to come back to life, eating on his own and becoming a little more active. The next exam went much, much better and there was no longer the threat of death hanging over his head. That was when we finally found out that the little kittens we'd thought were girls were actually boys. Whoops!
Both little kittens stayed with us a little longer, until they were big enough to be fixed and adopted. We renamed Sparkles as Oreo Cookie, because it was funny, but we never could think of another name for Teeny. The name Teeny just stuck with him. By the time he left us he'd developed such an appetite that no food was safe, not even ours. He'd try to get your dinner plate, he'd try to climb me to get the food I was cooking, he even once made it up to the counter and tried to get in my crock pot! Little teeny kitten food thief!
Eventually the day came when both kittens went back to the shelter for good. They were healthy and happy and ready for adoption. Both of them did, in fact, get adopted. So I guess the moral of the story is this: never give up, because you never know who you can save if you just try. Always remember:
Teeny lives.
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