Death of a Kitty

We have a nursing queen with four kittens that are about 4 weeks old now.

The other day I received a text message asking if I would be willing to take on a 2 week old kitten, in the hopes that MamaP would surrogate. I figured, it was worth a try.
The kitten was abandoned at birth, and left to starve to death. She was found with her brother, who had already died before they were found and her sister who only lasted a day or two before we were contacted.

Little Orphan Kitty, as I have been so fondly calling her, came to us, and she was so weak, she could not move. She was hiding in the corner of a box and didn’t make a move, or a noise. Both the gentleman that brought her and I thought she had died on the way over.

When you picked her up she was stiff as a board and not once when we had her did she relax. Her bones were visible even through her fur and she had an infection that caused her eyes to have so much gunk she could barely open them. I gave her a bath shortly after she arrived, and she was so dirty that the sink water was brown by the time I was done. Throughout the whole ordeal she laid in my arms and did not put up a fight. She had a surprisingly loud meow for her size though, and it is this meow that haunts Husband.

Unfortunately Mama P did not accept her and even went so far as to scatter her own kittens around the house, away from her. Which left me and Husband the task of ensuring she was fed, and warm and loved.

Now, one thing you need to know about my husband is he has more respect for animals than he does for most people, or even society as a whole. He is a logical person, and rarely allows his emotions to guide his actions.

Little Orphan Kitty took to him quite naturally and they slept together on the couch all evening. When it came time for bed, I ran through our options. We could bring her to bed with us, or one of us could be on the couch with her. We felt it was safer to stay on the couch to lessen the risk of rolling over and squishing her. This is a common occurrence with our own kittens, but THEY have the strength to fight, and meow to get us to move.

My husband volunteered to do this task, and I should not have let him. He is a sensitive person, even though he tries to hide it behind his logic.

Needless to say, the outcome was not one that we were hoping for. And now, my husband is stuck dealing with these emotions that are so foreign to him. Logically he knows that it is silly to be mourning the death of a cat that he knew for less than 12 hours.

Unfortunately, emotions don’t listen to logic. Subconsciously he was trying to protect this weak, fragile, little ball of bones and fluff. And, in his eyes, he failed.

As sad as this story is, it does make me very proud of the man that I married. I know that he is a good person because he will devote all his time and attention to a little kitten that should not have survived as long as it should have. I know he has a heart because it is broken as he learns to accept that he did all that he could have. And I feel, in my heart, that this small creature knew just what type of home she had come into. She clung to him in her final moments because he was the only to show her a love so unconditional. The greatest act of love came from the smallest little mouth, and she meowed her final goodbye to the man that saved her soul. She knew love, in her final moments instead of meeting that fate that would have befallen her had Husband not stepped up and loved this little bundle of joy. We were only blessed with her for a few hours, but it is her love for us, and love my husband showed to her that will live in our hearts, and our homes, for years to come.


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