Mozart

I get help.

3 September 2014

"Meeeeeech!"

He was tiny, damp, a bit stinky, and purring when I lifted him out from under the car in Terry C's driveway. The kitten had been hanging around Terry and Gordon's house all day.  Not being a cat person, she tried to ignore him, as she had tried to do for all the others who had been showing up in her neighborhood all summer. When she told me she'd taken the advice of a friend and squirted water at the little fella to deter him, I took objection.  "He could make somebody a great pet!  Call a rescue group!"

We were giving Terry a ride to dinner.  On the way over she said, "Gordon named him Mozart." [We pause from blogging to play wiggle-the-toy-mouse.  'Zart is rammy at the moment.]

Over dinner, conversation kept coming back to the kitten.  We stood outside in the drizzle to figure things out.  Jack and I would take Mozart to our back porch, which is screened in. [He's chasing his tail.  I put him in a sideways paper bag.  That'll keep him going for a bit.]

I set out a litter box, some dry food, and a bowl of water.  I opened a can of Fancy Feast (a.k.a. kitty crack). He wolfed it down in under three minutes.  Jack sat nearby with his cell phone camera.  Snap, snap, snap, Facebook post, snap, snap.

The Boys looked on, jealous.  "Yo.  We never even get a whole can between us, and you're giving this skinny interloper the whole thing?  What gives?"

Onto the dry food, a special diet meant to stop urinary crystals (Burnaby's fault), Mozart ate and ate.  Jack and I pulled him away every now and then.  "Take a break, little guy."

He did, heading over to the door to peer into the giant eyes of giant cats.

I could feel every rib, and his backbone.

To our surprise, and relief, he knew how to use the litter box.  This wasn't apparent until his second or third can of Fancy Feast.  Since then I've been calling him Sir Poopsalot.  [Yowza!  A big, orange tomcat just came 'round to the side door to look at Mozart, and 'Zart didn't even notice. The tom looked at him, then at me, then at him again, and sauntered off.]

While this was going on, Terry texted Jack and asked if she and Gordon could come by the next day to visit. They wanted to take Mozart in.  Sean and Dale asked to visit; they offered too.  Via Facebook, my cousin was smitten.  That's three offers in under 24 hours, and the skinny stinky wasn't even up to fighting weight yet.

When we went in for the night, I watched him pace the porch, crying "Meech!  Meech!  Meech!" Eventually he settled down.

The next morning, before I left to lead my Anti All-Paces ride, I spent some quality time with Mozart.  I was late leaving the house, and when I got to Lambertville, I begged the Slugs for a few extra minutes so that I could buy some kitten food at the CVS.

While we were out getting diesel-smoked and admiring leashed iguanas, Jack was on the back porch.  Kitten smitten, he was taking pictures and videos.  He was posting to Facebook.  He introduced Mozart to Sean and Dale.

What a difference a good night's sleep and three cans of Fancy Feast will do ya.

I got myself some 'Zart time when I got home.  I also made a vet appointment.  We couldn't keep him on the porch forever; but until we knew he was FIV-, feline AIDS-, and whatever else-free, he could do no more than share curious peerings with the Boys inside.

He learned how to pose,

and how to be a goof:

All that cuteness tuckers one out.  I took this picture from inside a closed door after we went in for the night. I didn't want to wake him up and set him to crying again.

That he was sleeping with his belly exposed was a good sign.  It meant that he was comfortable, unafraid.

On Tuesday morning (after I called in late to work), we took him to the Carnegie Cat Clinic (part of Princeton Animal Hospital).  Terry met us there.  She was entirely sure at this point that she'd take Mozart. The vet said that 'Zart was about three months old.  At three pounds, his weight was okay.  "But I can feel his riblets," I said.  She assured me that he'd fill out now that he was being fed.  They did the feline AIDS and FLV tests; ten minutes later, Mozart was given a clean bill of health.  He did have ear mites in his mighty ears, and it was likely that worms were sharing the Fancy Feast in his distended belly.  A mouthful of Ivermectin (Mozart made a yucky face), more Ivermectin in the ears, and a dose of Frontline would be taking care of the parasites.  He had no fleas.  He didn't have signs of any upper respiratory problems either, but, still, we were to keep him separated from The Boys for at least a week.

The vet gave Terry a kitten starter kit and a syringe of the next Ivermectin dose.  She rattled off the vaccination and neutering schedule so quickly that Terry felt dizzy.  "You don't have to do this," I assured her.  When it came time to pay, we split the bill.  

Mozart would come home again with us until Terry and Gordon got their house kitten-safe and laid in the proper supplies.

I went back to work.  Jack went back to taking pictures and videos and posting to Facebook.  I got my kitten time in later.

Inside, The Boys are clearly jealous.  They're all over us.  We make sure to be all over them, too, as long as we wash our hands thoroughly first.

Terry is coming to get Mozart tomorrow morning.  He's a good starter kitty.  I'll be sad to see him go; on the other hand, I need my life back.