Sweet rescue kitten Cake and I drove across Tallahassee this morning to find her a safe haven. First we headed to the Humane Society where Cake was a big hit and everyone had to come oooh and ahhhh over her.
Because she was feral and so tiny they recommended I take her to Tallahassee Animal Services to be checked over. If they couldn’t keep her there the Humane Society would pick her up this afternoon after the veterinary staff at TAS had a look at her.
My hope is that since TAS doesn’t have many kittens at this time that they’ll keep her in spite of her age. They normally don’t take in lone animals less than six weeks of age, and Cake appears to be between three and four weeks old. If TAS keeps her I can check up on her when I volunteer tomorrow afternoon.
I left Cake with the blanket she’d been swaddled in as well as with a fuzzy toy she had cuddled with through the night. Her bright little eyes watched me with great interest as I kissed her goodbye. I should have called her Heartbreaker instead of Cake. Dammit.
Tiny kitten Cake, who was rescued yesterday from a Tallahassee storm drain, is doing well this morning. Through the night I checked on her and made sure she had been drinking her kitten formula, but at some point the little stinker found the strength to jump out of the box to go exploring her wider surroundings–our garage.
Of course my first thought was that she might’ve climbed into one of the wheel wells of my car, but no Cake. I searched under Studly Doright’s car. No Cake. When Studly joined the search we found her cowering between a set of spare golf clubs and our long unused exercise bike.
She was pretty weak, so I held her and fed her a bit of sugar water from a dropper before giving her the kitten formula. After that Cake perked up and she mewed for the first time before settling into my lap for a purring nap.
I asked Studly before he left for work what we should do if she’s too young for the shelter to take her in. The old softie said, “She might have to come back here until she’s old enough.”
I’ve chronicled my struggle with loneliness in the past, as well as my futile attempts to make friends in the Tallahassee area. It’s not that the people here aren’t welcoming. They are very much so. It’s been more a matter of circumstances and scheduling.
In my quest to stay busy and to keep myself out there I’ve become quite fond of our local Sephora store at Governor’s Square Mall. The young people who work there are so accommodating and friendly. Yes, they want to sell me beauty products, but they go about it so nicely.
Take Eddie, for example. The young man knows his stuff. This afternoon he treated me to a facial and even suggested a lower cost way to achieve the same results as the $66.00 product he used to make my skin glow. End result–I spent money on another product and left knowing I’d return soon for more goodies.
Never underestimate the power of kindness. Or good customer service.
I was out and about enjoying my birthday, shopping and using my birthday coupons–Chico’s, Ulta, Sephora–all the good places, when I came across a young woman looking as though she’d fallen on the sidewalk. I hurried over to see if she needed help. She did, but not the kind I’d imagined.
She was on her stomach peering over the edge of the sidewalk and risking decapitation every time a car sped by because she’d found a tiny kitten venturing into traffic, and subsequently discovered its siblings living in a storm drain.
Alex
Other passerby stopped to help. We rounded up a large box from Bed, Bath, & Beyond and a blanket from my car. I walked over to PetSmart and got some kitten milk and a bowl. The brave little kitten came to us immediately, and we put him in the box, but the other four were cowering as far away as possible.
One member of our group called the animal shelter. They promised to dispatch an animal control officer, but said it might take awhile. I assured everyone that I’d stay until someone came to pick up our little guy, and that if no one showed up I’d take him home for the night.
Reluctantly everyone went their separate ways, having classes or jobs awaiting them, and I was left babysitting the kitten in the box and watching for one of the others to make an appearance.
A number of folks stopped to visit and to coo at the kitten, who by this time I’d dubbed Alex. I figured that would work for either a boy or a girl. But after an hour, no one from the shelter came to our aid.
I was just about to pack Alex into my car when a young woman came down my way and fell in love with Alex. She wanted him/her, but had to get her brother’s approval. After a quick call to him and an ok, she prepared to take Alex home–on the bus! I squelched that pretty quickly and told her I’d give her a ride home. I was relieved that I wouldn’t need to care for a kitten.
However, while we were standing there gathering up Alex and his meager possessions someone (yes, me) kicked the kitten milk over and another of the tiny kittens was lapping it up and inching our way. So intent was this little one on the trail of milk that I scooped him up and had him in the box before he could even mew. Yep, it looked like I was going to have an overnight guest after all.
This one appears to be the runt of the litter. She’s completely black and so hungry. I’ve got her snuggled down in the box with a blanket and kitten milk. I am not keeping her, but since I found her on my birthday, I’m naming her Cake.
Cake
Please wish us success tonight. She is very weak.
Fifty-nine years ago today I was born, and my mom named me Leslie D’Aun. She took my middle name from a friend’s daughter whose first name was D’Aun, but she needed a first name to go along with it. Apparently she didn’t want my name to be identical to that of her friend’s child–even though I never met the kid and I doubt it would have been a big deal.
My grandmother, Nannie Grace, discovered the name Leslie in a novel she was reading at the time. I guess that’s fitting since I’d rather read than anything, so little Leslie D’Aun came to be.
A couple of friends through the years have used my middle name for their own kids–more because they liked the name than that they were naming their child after me. I also have a granddaughter named McKayla D’Aun, but until last week I didn’t know anyone who’d specifically chosen the name Leslie because of me.
My incredibly competent and sweet housekeeper, Rosa, told me on Friday that her sister, who helps her clean from time to time, had given birth to a beautiful baby girl and named her Leslie Marisol.
Rosa said, “My sister thinks you are so good and nice, so she named her daughter Leslie so maybe she will be like you.”
These aren’t calves. They are miniature cows. I’m not sure whether they’re adorably cute or incredibly creepy.
I once had a dream that miniature freshwater dolphins were available for purchase. We had a pool at the time, so in my dream I swam daily with my adorable pet dolphin who I’d named Belle. When I awakened I was devastated that I didn’t have a dolphin of my own.
I know there are miniature Schnauzers, miniature horses, and now, miniature cows. So, can miniature dolphins be that far-fetched? I want one.
Mini Yorki Mini Schnauzer Mini horseMini Me
Peace, people!
hurting hearts may heal,
eventually.
scars will remain, though,
inevitably.
how will you maintain
deniability?
how will you deal with his
vulnerability?
prepare for excursions into
futility
coping with your heart’s
fragility.
Think
then do.
Be sure to
mind your
p’s and q’s
Discard any
faith
in yourself,
and
Make sure
all your
needs
are properly
shelved.
What is gained
from
this control?
Surely not
peace within
your soul.
Praying for Eyebrowz 