Home for wayward felines

Somehow I became a foster-mother.  My new child is very, very small, orange stripped and the bluest eyes you’ve ever

The scrape on his hand was not from Jojo

seen.

My children named him Jojo.

It’s really My Honey’s fault. My Honey is taking Sassy and The Bandit camping at the lake with Ed and his girl so he’s been spending the weekend working on the camping trailer and our boat.  I had been watching the hockey game and dozing in a chair under the air vent because it was 103 degrees on Sunday. My children were off in the house somewhere, presumably making a mess. I heard meowing, the loudest meow ever, but I didn’t really pay much attention because I assumed it came from a video game or a cartoon. It wasn’t until I was called out to the front porch that I saw the baby.  A tiny little ball of angry, he spit and hissed and tried to sound vicious. 

My Honey found him in the boat. There is a stray momma cat who is like a baby making machine. We’ve tried countless times to catch her and take her to the Human Society but she’s elusive. The biggest problem is the idiot neighbor keeps feeding her. I don’t have a problem with feeding the poor thing, but the idiot neighbor doesn’t take into account that Momma Cat keeps having her kittens in our boat, under our shed and various other places on our property, ruining the carpeting in the boat and generally creating all kinds of trouble over here. We’ll catch a glimpse of a kitten, streaking by, and then never again you know they are just coyote food or getting run over. Clearly, we couldn’t let that happen to Jojo.

With my boy looking slightly crazed

I was all for finding him a new home. I called everyone I could think of. I tried Ava first because she and the girl who lives at her house are dying for a kitten. Ed didn’t see it that way.  I sent her a picture with the following message: Are you my mother?

Ed said No. Unequivocably.

So did all the rest of the people I tried. Who was I kidding. We all know the tiny kitten was going to live at my house. And it’s all My Honey’s fault. Finally, we can blame one of the pesky pets on him. At least a kitten is a lot less maintenance than a puppy.

Jojo started out just shy of feral but one long evening of feeding him from my fingers and cuddling with him on the couch all night long and he’s completely joined the family. The dogs adore him – especially Winnie, who I was most concerned about because she’s really

Winnie and Jojo sitting in a tree...

just a baby herself and kind of a galoot. Jojo fell in love with her instantly, even tried to nurse from her but that freaked Winnie out completely. Wouldn’t it you? He swats at her ears and Winnie gives him baths. I see a long love affair ahead. Roscoe is mildly entertained and let Jojo walk around on top of him for a few minutes until his dignity could tolerate no more. The Old Man cat, Geddy, is in denial, but I’m sure he’ll come around eventually.

So now I have a wee kitten – we downgraded his age from 6 weeks to about four or five. He’s really, really small and quite uncoordinated. Ava and I clipped his razor-sharp claws and bought him some kitten formula. He sleeps a lot, but when he wakes up he’s like a crazed animal. So charming. 

I must say, I’m quite attached to him already. Dammit.