One Friday, right about two months ago, I got a text asking if I could take in a couple kittens. I was already fostering four kittens at the time, so I knew it was urgent if they were asking me to take more.
Of course I said yes.
Then it was oh, it's actually a mom and a couple kittens. No big. Then, whoops it's mom and six kittens. Ok. Finally we topped out at mom and eight kittens. That's kind of a lot, but mom and babies were on death row.
Of course I said yes.
To be clear, it was the shelter providing the misinformation, not the rescue. Apparently they didn't feel mom needed to be rescued and possibly felt the same about some of the kittens and were going to keep them on death row. And put them down. It was only when the transporter got there that we started finding out there were more and tried to save those too.
Since nine cats is quite a lot to foster, not to mention it would really be thirteen since I already had some, the litter was split up. The tiniest baby was sent to a dedicated bottle feeder and three kittens went to another foster. Mommy and the four remaining kittens came home with us. We set up a kitty tent in my room with everything they could need inside and got them all settled in. Just another day in my house, really.
Or so I thought.
At four the next morning I was woken up by the cries of Mama and got up to find the tent covered in diarrhea. It was everywhere. I'd had no clue she was sick, but I cleaned it all up and made sure she was ok and had anything she needed. Then I got a couple more hours sleep and when it was a more decent hour, I sent a text to the rescue about it. Turns out they'd already given her medication for it and I didn't need to worry unless it didn't go away. I still worried, but it seemed to go away. What didn't go away was her apparent distaste for using a litter box, so I spent a lot of time cleaning out the tent.
This mommy cat was a lovely but starved Siamese. She was very friendly and initially appeared to be a good mommy to her babies. The babies I had were two Siamese and two calico, all so tiny that they were still nursing. They all got extra food, to try to help them gain back weight - they had a bowl of dry food available at all times and I gave them wet food twice a day, plus kitten milk. At first they ate ravenously, but that tapered off fairly quickly.
On Monday I noticed that Mama seemed to have a cold and I sent a text to the rescue about it. Unbeknownst to me, my contact had left the country for a bit and had no cell service. I never got an answer. The babies all seemed fine.
On Tuesday though, the babies started having diarrhea like their mom had had. I sent another text. No answer. In the meantime I made sure they had plenty of fluids and gave them some pedialyte to help combat dehydration.
On Wednesday I came home to find the little female Siamese had died. Dani was hysterical and I was out of my head. I'd never had one die in my house before and the poor thing was so tiny. What had happened? What else could I have done to save her? This time I didn't bother with texts but straight up called. All I got was voicemail and I was in no mood to be patient. I called another volunteer and that was how I finally learned my contact was gone and not receiving my messages. I got the number for the backup person and called there, but if I was hoping for help there was little to be had.
I buried the lost little one in the backyard.
After that, I tried even harder with the ones that were left, determined not to have another death. I did everything I could think of, but to no avail. On Thursday I came home and one of the calico's was barely hanging on. I held her and tried to get her to drink some milk mixed with pedialyte. She died in my arms. I called and notified the rescue, asking again for help or advice. It was thought the diarrhea might be from coccidia, an intestinal parasite. I had medicine for this and immediately started giving it to mom, which would then pass to the babies through her milk.
I buried this lost one next to her sister.
Friday morning I woke up and found the other calico had died. I don't have enough words to communicate the depth of my despair. I was failing left and right and I didn't know why and I didn't know how to fix it. Again I contacted the rescue, but this time I got different news. My original contact was back and going to set up a vet visit that day for Mama and the last remaining baby. Finally!
I buried this tiny lost kitten next to his sisters.
Friday afternoon I took a long lunch and got mommy and baby to the vets to finally get checked out. Their condition was so bad that they had to remain there for treatment, so I left alone. I felt like the world's worst foster mother and I cried the whole way back to work. The last kitten died the next day. Mommy's still hanging in there, slowly recovering.
While all this was going on, the dog side of the rescue was doing a massive intake and I volunteered to foster an adorable baby hound mix named Tanah. I also agreed to take home three husky mix puppies for a couple days until their foster was back from vacation. One of those husky puppies would win mine and Danica's heart so completely we had to keep him, and I asked to adopt him. I was approved, once he was fixed and ready. When their foster came to get them, she took only the two females; the boy stayed with us since we were keeping him.
About a week after the kittens had passed, I noticed Tanah was being very lethargic. She had previously been a very energetic and playful puppy, but suddenly she would just lay like a lump and didn't want toys or even treats. I immediately told my foster coordinator on the doggy side that something was up. She gave me a couple ideas to try, but nothing seemed to work. I couldn't get her to eat, she was barely drinking water and she had no energy. We got her medication, IV fluids and Nutri-cal but she only got worse. An appointment was made with a vet. This all happened very quickly, from ideas on Monday to fluids on Tuesday to the vet on Wednesday.
Except there was a scheduling mix-up and since my appointment was late, the vet left the office before I got there thinking he had no more appointments. And here's where the story infuriates me. I totally understand making a mistake and not getting an appointment on the calendar. We're all human, we all make mistakes. It happens. But when I showed up and the vet tech, who was still there, realized I really did have an appointment and called the doctor he refused to come back.
He refused to come back. Remember that.
Even though it had only been a couple days since she started acting ill, by this time Tanah looked like she was on death's door. My lovely and loving husky was there too, trying to comfort her as he'd done from the moment she became sick. The vet tech could clearly tell she was in terrible shape and relayed as much to the doctor. There was a whole lot of back and forth and many phone calls, with the rescue trying to get the puppies treated and the vet tech in the unenviable position of being stuck in the middle. Finally she did a fecal check, gave both puppies a shot of antibiotics, and sent me on my way. The rescue, however, had not given up and had me bring the puppies to another foster; a couple with a lot of medical knowledge and already set up to give IV fluids. They have a wonderful history of saving the sick ones.
And so we let our babies go, fully expecting they'd be back with us soon, happy and healthy once more. But you already know how this story goes, don't you?
The next day was the 4th of July. Maybe this is why the doctor was so eager to be gone from his practice and wouldn't return. He wanted to party and have a 4 day weekend.
Tanah died that morning.
They said before the end she seemed to have improved. The last check on her before she died she had seemed happy and like she was getting a little energy back. When they checked again a little bit later, she was dead. My little husky was curled up on her body, as if he was protecting her. But she didn't need protection anymore.
Over the next few days I got reports about my baby boy, who had caught whatever she had but wasn't nearly as far gone as poor Tanah had been. They knew I was adopting him once he'd pulled through whatever this was. I never had a doubt he'd pull through, just like I never had a doubt they'd save him. They really are very good at this and they were doing everything they could for him.
Sunday night Dani and I were cleaning out her room because we'd decided she was too old for a toy box and also about half the toys in it. When the phone rang I went to get it without the slightest fear or premonition of what was coming. Until I saw the caller ID. This time it wasn't the volunteers with an update on my boy, it was my foster coordinator - and there was really only one reason that she'd be calling me. My heart stopped but I answered anyway and after hi I said "You're calling to tell me he didn't make it, aren't you?" I could hear the heartbreak in her voice when she said yes. It took all the strength I had not to burst into tears, but Danica was watching me and I held them back. I listened vaguely to how they really tried everything and everyone was so sorry and they thought it was distemper so I couldn't foster for a while, but really all I could hear was my little baby boy crying to be picked up and all I could see was how he used to look at me with such love and trust. I started to lose the battle with my tears and I think she could tell. The call ended pretty quickly. Danica was sitting there watching me, waiting for me to tell her the reason I was choking back tears. All I could say was I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry over and over again but I didn't really need to say anything else. She knew. I had to watch her heart break. We held each other and cried like babies. For us, for him, for all the ones we couldn't save.
Let me tell you, losing them is horrible. Terrible. It rips your heart out every time. It doesn't matter if it's an animal you love so much you're adopting him or one that's been in your care less than a week. It rips your heart out. Every time. And watching your daughter grieve just piles the pain on. Sometimes I wonder if I've done the right thing. Like with those little kittens. Was the only thing I accomplished prolonging their suffering? Did I "rescue" them just so they'd suffer and die? What good did I accomplish? I don't know. I repeat all the platitudes I'm told to Danica, hoping it helps her, makes her feel better. But I don't really believe them.
I'll tell you what I do know. I know there are always more out there, needing to be saved. Deserving to be saved. I know some of those will live, if they're just given the chance.
I know that if my little husky could talk to me, he would tell me to keep trying. To save them all. He never made it to two months old, but the love that baby gave to every being he encountered was amazing and beautiful and it will stay with me forever.
I know that I can't give up no matter how much it hurts, because I can't stand to say no to a life that might be saved. I know that Danica has that same determination and in fact has told me that we can never stop fostering because they'll die if we do.
I know that it's not really failure, even though it feels like it. Here is the most important thing I know: it's not failure if you lose them.
It's failure when you don't even try.
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