JOURNAL 3: Henry
April 13, 2001. It's been an extremely busy, long week at work. And I stupidly stayed up until after 1:00 last night finishing Nora Roberts' new book. So by the time I worked through my lunch hour today, I was operating on automatic pilot. At which vulnerable point a co-worker brought a tiny kitten to my desk. She had taken a walk at lunch, come upon a man about to drown four kittens in the river, lit into him, and ended up back at the office with one of the kitties. (I won't even waste time on the, "How could someone try to drown them? Why didn't he at least take them to the shelter?" questions. It's impossible for me to comprehend.)
The wise kitten curled up on my desk behind my monitor where I had a good view of him, and napped for the rest of the afternoon. Of course my protests that I couldn't afford another cat were history after that. (Godmother Jen, Godmother Tracy, and Godfather Joel then created a trust fund for initial vet bills.) Immediately after work, "No Name" got a clean bill of health at the vet's: no visible fleas, clean ears, negative on the feline leukemia test. The doctor thinks NN's probably about five weeks old. And he weighs one whole pound. Had a scare when we got home from the vet's though. He was a motionless lump in the box! I'd forgotten how very hard young creatures sleep.
The most recent additions to our family have been several months old; more able to fend for themselves. Deciding how to keep the little scrap safe from rambunctious brothers and sister until he's a little bigger is a different situation than I usually deal with when introducing a new animal to the others. He's in a large box for the evening, which I'll close in the bathroom for the night. I'll have the weekend to figure out how to handle things.
What a relief. He eats like a champ, and digs in the litter box like he's trying to tunnel to China.
The hissing, growling, and barking going on this evening is the normal initiation stuff. Just kind of blending into my tired headacheyness.
April 14, 2001. Of course what I've decided is necessary is something I don't own. I have three cat carriers, but no crates. When I can't keep a constant eye on him, with a wire crate Henry could still be with all of us, but be safe. And let's face it. With my history, this won't be the only use it will ever get. So a trip to Walmart's is in order. Greater love hath no woman.
A trip to Walmart at midday on a spring Saturday by a woman who hates shopping even at optimal times was not smart. And initially I thought it was a wasted trip. There were no crates on display. Fortunately a sales clerk found some in boxes on a top shelf. My blood pressure skyrocketed again when I got home, opened the box, and out of the five pieces listed on the contents, didn't see the two positioning rods. Of course, since the instructions also listed one piece as the front/side/bottom and it was actually the front/side/TOP, it shouldn't have surprised me that the positioning rods were already inserted through the loops, and not separate in the carton. This would've been one of the times the male approach of disregarding instructions would've been advantageous. But the crate's all together now; with a Rubbermaid shoebox as a litter box, a little basket for his bed, food and water dishes, a hanging toy, a couple of balls, and rugs folded on top to cover the sides during the night so he won't get chilly. His own little cave. Now that we're all prepared, I get to just enjoy him.
April 15, 2001. Sheesh. I haven't described him yet. An orange tiger with white markings on his face and throat. Like Tucker, Henry's tail is distinctly striped. But unlike Tucker, it isn't a full tail. He has one of those rat-like tails. (He's probably about the size of a healthy rat, too.) He's a little more fluffy than Tuck, but with the same red haze glow to his coat. Until he moves. Then his tiger-striping is a lot more evident over his whole body and his legs. He's a long-legged, long-toed little guy, so I'd imagine he has quite a bit of growing to do before he's finished. Not sure on the eye color yet; he still has his baby blues.
Riley is the most adaptable of my animals. He's already just viewing Henry as a possible opportunity to clean up spilled food. And Henry apparently knows Riley has a good heart. It took him less than 24 hours to stop flinching at the big barks. Phoebe is doing her best bitchy act, but she has a hard time staying away. Henry is willing to make friends with anyone, but Phoebe slapped him today when he got a little too close. Tucker's the one I think will eventually most benefit from having a playmate, but he takes these things so badly. I think Henry's size surprises him, but Tuck's big-eyed, slinking, and has spent most of the day behind the couch. I wish this was easier for him.
I know he was just doing typical kitten things, but watching Henry play today was so entertaining. Turning somersaults. Leaping at anything that catches his fancy. Hurling himself with abandon from anywhere he's climbed. Catching sight of his tail and deciding it looks like a good toy. Losing his balance and falling in a little heap. (His skidding full-tilt after balls like they're a wonderful new invention made me take a fresh look and realize what an awesome object a ball really is, with a shape such that the slightest touch makes it roll!) The pitiful squeaky meow when he's shut back in his crate. Until he falls asleep to sleep as hard as he has played.
April 16, 2001. Henry's motto appears to be: Whatever you do, do it with gusto. He's charming Phoebe and Tucker in no time flat. They still don't want to get too close, but, at different times, they've both sat in the doorway tonight intently watching him play.
Purrs have to be one of the greatest natural wonders of the world. And since kittens purr with the same enthusiasm with which they do everything else, Henry's whole body vibrates with contentment.
Nothing like having to fish out a kitten from the inside of the back of your sweatshirt. This guy's a little monkey. When he's put in his crate he really turns into a monkey. Climbing all over the bars, doing his darnedest to find a way out. He's snoozing in there now, but he did his best to fight sleep. Clambered all over the bars for a while, then finally got in his basket. He was sitting straight, but his eyes gradually closed, his head drooping lower and lower. He's finally lost the battle and is all the way down, head hanging over the edge of the basket.
April 17, 2001. While I was getting ready for work this morning and Henry was attempting to use my legs for a jungle gym, I tried to imagine what a giant I must be to him. Oh and, needless to say, we also had a little discussion about sharp little claws and bare skin. Makes me very glad the vet mentioned they now neuter and declaw at four or five months instead of six.
I know it's only been four days, but it's going very well. I looked around a few minutes ago, and all four animals were here with me in the little room I use as an office. I think Riley already considers Henry just one of the gang. Phoebe is deigning to be almost civil -- partly in hopes that she can taste some of the food he's getting I imagine. And Tucker's eyes are still pretty wide, but he got suckered in when we were playing with one of his favorite toys. He had a real tough time fighting the urge when he found himself on the other end of a cord that Henry was playing with.
April 18, 2001. Nope. Unless Riley's outside, Henry's going to have to be older, bigger, and wiser before he has the run of the house. They're all getting along pretty well -- only a few hisses from Tuck tonight -- so I tried an experiment. Henry isn't quite up to par on playing games with Riley like Tucker does though; I had to prevent him being stepped on. (Actually I shrieked at Riley.) So Henry will have major restrictions for a while.
Restrictions didn't seem to bother him too much though. He raced around the office like a little wild thing. Over the desk, the chairs, his crate, anything in his path. Fell in Phoebe and Tucker's big water dish and came exploding out of there. He did such a good job wearing himself out, he barely complained when I shut him in his crate for the night.
I should carry a camera around for a while. Good photo op: adult orange tiger on top of the crate, trying to see the teeny, tiny, orange tiger in the crate -- without looking like he was interested, of course.
Oh, by the way, a water dish in his crate is ancient history. And this evening I tied his bed in a corner of the crate. Otherwise everything seems to end up in the center, covered with water and kitty litter.
April 19, 2001. He does so well that arched-back prance that kittens do. And since he is somehow invariably directly in front of my feet, I shuffle when he's out and about. If I lift my foot and put it back down, it could be Smooshed Henry.
Tucker and Henry created a game. Tuck lays somewhere too high for Henry to jump and bats at Henry. Henry springs as high as he can, trying to grab Tucker's paw. It seems to have an endless fascination for them.
April 20, 2001. Tucker is definitely being reeled in. If Henry is out of the crate and disappears from Tucker's sight, Tuck darts to where he can keep Henry in view. And he forgot himself so far as to chase Henry in the kitchen this morning -- then looked a little shocked at what he had done.
Phoebe watches, but has no interest in playing. She beat a rat-a-tat-tat on Henry's head when he tried to play with her. He looked taken aback for about three seconds. Then found another way to have fun.
April 21, 2001. I did a lot of O.T. this week, so I'm whupped, but it's a peaceful, fun, animal weekend here. Riley went to be groomed this morning, so he's not only gorgeous now, but worn out. A half day away tends to make him a tired pup nowadays. And on the cat front, such hilarity. Just one week, and Tucker has caved in to Henry's appeal and they chase each other all over the house now. It's hysterical to see. Size doesn't seem to be an issue. It's just as apt to be the little 1-pounder chasing the 10-pounder as the other way around.
They also came up with a variation of their game. In this version, Henry gets in a space too small for Tucker (under an etagere), and they poke at each other. They're having a blast.
I'm so blessed that my new animals always adapt to the others so well. I was about to say adapt so easily, but I guess I actually do a lot of work to make it happen. I spend all spare moments the first couple weeks with all of them; mediating, encouraging them to bond. But it pays off.
April 22, 2001. Rainy day here. Makes me glad Sunday is supposed to be a day of rest. Fortunately it seems to affect the critters in a sleepy way, too.
22 Apr 01
