Fiber Follies

Remember this little fellow, who I brought in to hand-raise?

I bottle-fed him KMR, burped him, played with him, trimmed his claws, combed him, vetted him and had him neutered. He pretty much self-weaned, gradually losing interest in the bottle as his taste for meat and tinned foods developed.

I watched him grow, and observed the change in eye colour from blue to browny-yellowy-green.

I looked after him when the rambunctious brown tabby girl came here to be tamed and cared for. I protected him at first, when she was too rough, then let him learn to play and fight back.

He liked to be wherever the tabby girl was.

The little grey boy learned how to play here in my office.

It’s a fun place for kittens. There are plenty of places to hide and to climb. Oh, yes, and lots of toys too.

He enjoyed climbing the kennels like a little monkey, whether inside or out.

Look at the way he grasps the bars with his toes!

The first time I let them play together they cautiously sniffed each other over, sniffed again, then bammo!, they were a ball of wrestling. Most of the time they’d be a rolling thumping pile of fuzz. But I rarely heard one yelp in pain. It was rough, but still fun.

As he grew he became more of an instigator.

My favourite image of him.

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All these weeks I refused to name the little guy. Naming belongs to his permanent family. And he’s gone today, to his forever home. I glanced into the kennel that was his, noting the lack of his favourite box and toys, but the litter pan remains. With one lonely little poo in it.

I’ll miss that little guy watching me work, ramping up the purr if I so much as peeked at him. Little Brown Tabby girl misses him too.

But thank goodness he has a home with a wonderful gentleman who is already smitten. The day will come when I won’t miss him so much. I really do want my office back. But the 8 weeks with Little Grey were a treasure that I hope to keep in my heart. He is, after all, Phoebe’s last baby, and the only survivor of his litter.

Yesterday, I took him outdoors and showed him all his earliest hangouts. First, I showed him the place where he was born, then the places where Phoebe had nested with him and his litter-mates. I told him of the dog attacking his mum, and how I’d brought him and his siblings into my office for 36 hours when she was spayed.  I showed him the place she’d last nested with the babies before they were taken.

She came by for her dinner last night, and I thought I’d take him out to see his mum one last time.

They sniffed each other thoroughly. Then he spat, hissed and growled. One more sniff, then Phoebe hissed at him. I guess they don’t remember, although Phoebe does occasionally stroll the walk, calling for her long-lost babies.  Too much time has passed, they don’t know each other any more. Somehow this made it easier for me to let him go.

I do miss the little silky grey boy. And I am delighted that he’s gone to a great home with a man who loves all creatures and whose heart is big enough for all. Bless the people like that man.

But I miss my little grey boy.