The Rule of Six

Play is not cute, it's dead serious, lady.

I promised you nicknames, so I'll lead with that. Dill, I have taken to calling Dumbo occasionally as she is always playing with something dangerous or inappropriate. What's that? Someone chewing on wires? It's Dill. Trying to pull the iron down by the cord? It's Dill. Tearing off and moving to eat packing tape? It's Dill, our little Dumbo. Scout, for his courageous and fearless exploring, is known as Scoutus Maximus. Jem is known as Fatty Arbuckle for his relentless appetite and attempts to snake any food I try to leave out for the others. Calpurnia is Cray, because of the wild way she gets involved in a game. As in, that kitten is cray....Boo Radley is Boo. Obviously. It works especially well given how scaredy-cat he is. Geddit? Geddit? Atticus is the only one who doesn't need a nickname, I think. The gravitas of Atticus prohibits it, really. 

Dill, measuring the sofa

Anyway, besides nicknames, I've learned a lot this past week. I've learned that sick kittens are no fun. In fact, they're pretty distressing. You don't know whether to cuddle them or cry with them. I've learned that London is a VERY LOUD place. I've learned that everyone wants to know what you've got inside your pet carrier, from the smallest child to the man who stands at the barrier checking train tickets (the very man who has no interest in any aspect of the train station or life in general). And I've learned that cats get sweaty palms when nervous or scared. They also tremble and shed tears.

We're finally coming out on the other side, I think, but believe me when I say, BLERGH and SOB. Needless to say it's been an emotional roller-coaster at Casa Findingmoxie. There's been nausea, loss of appetite and disturbed sleep--and that's just been me! 

First, it was Atticus. Atticus didn't have her breakfast one morning. Breakfast is usually the one meal where they turn on me if I take too long walking their bowls to their pen. Sure, it's just one meal, but when  you're the smallest and lightest, a meal can seriously set you back. Oh, and yes, I've begun weighing them on the kitchen scale. Don't tell Mr Findingmoxie. I wipe it down to make it nice and safe before and afterwards, but he's particular that way. Anyway, besides skipping a meal, Atticus listlessly lay on her bed all morning--not playing or even watching the others play. And the others avoided her. No one slept next to her or gave her a second glance. They seemed to be studiously avoiding her, which freaked me out. I used to share cats in university with my roommates and when Oregon got fatally ill, his brother Dakota just walked away from him as if he could smell it. 

Atticus settling down for cuddles

Nap Corner--well worth giving up a library shelf

So, away we went to the vet. I packed Atticus in the carrier, which dwarfed him as it's meant to carry six and which weighed a serious ton after half a mile's walk. I got to the train station--oh yes, no car for me, so I had to haul a sick kitten onto a train and a bus to get to the vet--and Atticus was shaking with absolute terror. I opened the cage and just stroked her until gradually she stopped visibly trembling. I was surprised at how shaken I felt! From that moment, I looked at London through tiny eyes. Everything was so big, trains were roaring past, people rolling suitcases by that sounded like thunder, the loudspeakers were crackling and blaring with announcements and the door between train coaches slammed like an explosion every time someone walked through cars. I was jumping at every little sound and I could only imagine what Atticus thought. At the vet, I was suddenly the lesser evil and she kept trying to crawl into my arms and just hide. Luckily, she was just dehydrated and got two shots from a very large needle. Time to haul her home. By the time we got home, my arms were like noodles and I felt dehydrated. It was all worth it, though, to see her cavort with her buddies just a few hours later. Crisis averted. 

Jem, lapping it up, GEDDIT?

Until the next crisis, that is. Boo Radley decided to try his hand at sick. He's the shyest cat still and as he has always been a bit of a loner, it took me some time to notice his symptoms. While the other cats curl up to me or nosily check in with what I'm doing, Boo keeps to himself and usually sleeps in our files drawer. He loves to play though and I noticed that he carried on sleeping while I dangled his favorite toy with the other kittens. After the next meal, when Jem was curled up in my lap purring away, Boo Radley looked at us and lo and behold, crept closer. And closer. And then stepped onto my lap and slept on Jem. My first reaction was triumph--I did it! Boo Radley loves me!! HUZZAH. 

But as much as I wanted to believe that, the less sentimentally motivated part of my brain zinged and alarms starting going off. You don't go from still shying away from stroking to lap time. You just don't. This was a seriously sick kitty who obviously felt so rundown that any comfort would be welcome, even my body heat. I began to panic, but imagine if I called the vet to say that I knew the kitten was ill because he came to sit on my lap. I'm fairly certain that there'd soon be a note next to my name (like there is on my NHS file) that findingmoxie is a bit of a hypochondriac and jumps at shadows. What sealed the deal was Boo Radley's urge to use the litter tray with no result. I was told to rush him down to the vet. Because he was the most nervous, I decided to endure the weight and take another kitty along as moral support. Scout, being the most well adjusted, was the kitten for the job. Talk about short sticks. 

Boo Radley, Sun Worshipper and Big Reader

Leaving sweaty paw prints on the vet's table, Boo Radley struggled to disappear into my arms. I joked with the vet that I should have brought all the kittens in before--we could have gotten them to trust me sooner. I would have been the lesser evil. She laughed and agreed. Poor Boo was so tense, his whole body felt like a stretched rubber band. He would dash away from the vet and I'd pick him up and he'd just curl into me, no claws and no fleeing. It would have been lovely if I hadn't been so upset on his behalf. 

At this stage, Scout was just trying to act invisible in the carrier. He had buried his face in his paws, hoping we'd forget about him. We got Boo's temperature taken--although, according to the vet, this was easier said than done as he was clenching so. Oh, my poor Boo Radley. Turns out, Boo had a very high fever and antibiotics were in order. 

Hilarity ensued as the vet tried to give Boo a tablet. She had assumed he was an average kitty, but she didn't realise who she was dealing with. This is the kitten, who, no matter how I stuffed books and boxes under the sofa, would still outsmart me and dig a path to the back of the sofa--making my efforts to keep him out from underneath the sofa a critical loss since I'd only created an impregnable fortress for him to hide behind. Boo spat that pink tablet out 4 times and by the time she got it down him, it was white and his white chest had gone pink--a badge of honour, I'm sure Boo would consider. 

Scout is cuckoo for polka dots.

In the end, both Boo and Scout were no worse for their trip. On the train home, Scout pressed his face against the door of the carrier and touched my leg with his paw. I looked up from my book and saw that he had enormous tears in his eyes. No joke, I almost cried myself. I reached in and stroked him and soon enough he fell asleep, somewhat comforted. Once home, he was his usual unflappable self, thank goodness. Boo was jumpy, but still takes food from my hand. But lap time is over. Oh well, it was nice while it lasted.

Sun-kissed Dill

Anyway, because the rule of six ensures that not all six kittens will be healthy, happy and wise at the same time, nor will they be sick and poorly at the same time, I will probably have more trips to the vet. Especially as Boo will need a check up after his course of antibiotics (yes, Mr Findingmoxie and I are swaddling him nightly and forcing a tablet down. Only 3 more nights. God help us.) and I have to take poo samples in for testing. Yes, it's come to that. I would, however, like to stress that they're even more adorable and fun to make up for these issues. See photos for evidentiary support. Also, silver lining: how absolutely cut my arms are from all this hauling. I'm sure I'll be giving tickets away to the gun show soon. Watch this space. 

Getting Down to Business