A
Anonymous
Guest
In response to several questions by caring friends, the Oreo Report :
(The pictures don't much suggest how tiny he really was/is). The poor little booger was about at death's door when we got him. His mother was an outside cat, making most of her living by hunting because the lady in the house couldn't afford to feed her & her kittens very much or very often. Then she got killed by a car & her four kittens were orphaned.
Although the lady half-assedly put food out for them, by the time we got him, he was severely malnourished, and so full of roundworms that he looked like his little belly had a tennis ball in it. And infested with fleas. He was so weak that he tottered on his little legs, trying to walk. He was all bones and unhealthy-looking/feeling fur.
The vet got the roundworms taken care of, & Mrs. Yak's 2-3 times daily shampoos with Dawn dish soap (flea kryptonite) & combings with a special fine-toothed comb (pulling out an unbelieveable number of dead fleas, time after time), special kitten chow (which he hated) & lots & lots of chicken, tuna (gotta be careful with that -- they love it but too much is toxic to them), bits of lebanon bologna from my sandwitches, &c. have him roaring back.
While he had the roundworms & was getting rid of them, his poop was like custard, so vile smelling I couldn't believe it. He literally cleared the room when he'd even fart (and how much volume can a little kitten fart be ?), but that's firmed up now & at least he doesn't gag us. (He knows to use the litter box, but he puts his front paws up on the top edge of it for extra leverage. So when he's done his little paw moves that would be trying to cover it if he were horizontal accomplish nothing, which makes getting it covered depend on yours truly).
What's most gratifying is the turnaround he's made. Once he got healthy enough, Stormy the Vigilant Guardian of the household/active alpha male (grandfather Wolfred the huge Norwegian Skaucat is retired from active service) started teaching him the basic cat skills -- boxing, tackling, wrestling, ambushing & general kitty grabassery with endless patience. This, plus the catnip mice that litter the floor have galvanised him from a happy-go-lucky little goof into Hell on Kitty Wheels. This last week or so with him has been Oreo pouncing on everybody and everything, testing the patience and good nature of not only Stormy Lad & Wolfred, but the lady cats as well (two of whom have precious little of it). Which introduces a complication into kitty cuddles and pets -- sometimes he's in snuggle mode ; other times his response is little kitty claws & teeth at play-level intensity.
As I'm typing this, he's watching the Pirates game on television. He parks on the arm of the davenport, a foot from the screen, and watches it intently.
We didn't want seven, but he gave us no choice. And it was good choice 8)
:face:
:cat: :cat: :cat: :cat: :cat: :cat: :cat:
(The pictures don't much suggest how tiny he really was/is). The poor little booger was about at death's door when we got him. His mother was an outside cat, making most of her living by hunting because the lady in the house couldn't afford to feed her & her kittens very much or very often. Then she got killed by a car & her four kittens were orphaned.
Although the lady half-assedly put food out for them, by the time we got him, he was severely malnourished, and so full of roundworms that he looked like his little belly had a tennis ball in it. And infested with fleas. He was so weak that he tottered on his little legs, trying to walk. He was all bones and unhealthy-looking/feeling fur.
The vet got the roundworms taken care of, & Mrs. Yak's 2-3 times daily shampoos with Dawn dish soap (flea kryptonite) & combings with a special fine-toothed comb (pulling out an unbelieveable number of dead fleas, time after time), special kitten chow (which he hated) & lots & lots of chicken, tuna (gotta be careful with that -- they love it but too much is toxic to them), bits of lebanon bologna from my sandwitches, &c. have him roaring back.
While he had the roundworms & was getting rid of them, his poop was like custard, so vile smelling I couldn't believe it. He literally cleared the room when he'd even fart (and how much volume can a little kitten fart be ?), but that's firmed up now & at least he doesn't gag us. (He knows to use the litter box, but he puts his front paws up on the top edge of it for extra leverage. So when he's done his little paw moves that would be trying to cover it if he were horizontal accomplish nothing, which makes getting it covered depend on yours truly).
What's most gratifying is the turnaround he's made. Once he got healthy enough, Stormy the Vigilant Guardian of the household/active alpha male (grandfather Wolfred the huge Norwegian Skaucat is retired from active service) started teaching him the basic cat skills -- boxing, tackling, wrestling, ambushing & general kitty grabassery with endless patience. This, plus the catnip mice that litter the floor have galvanised him from a happy-go-lucky little goof into Hell on Kitty Wheels. This last week or so with him has been Oreo pouncing on everybody and everything, testing the patience and good nature of not only Stormy Lad & Wolfred, but the lady cats as well (two of whom have precious little of it). Which introduces a complication into kitty cuddles and pets -- sometimes he's in snuggle mode ; other times his response is little kitty claws & teeth at play-level intensity.
As I'm typing this, he's watching the Pirates game on television. He parks on the arm of the davenport, a foot from the screen, and watches it intently.
We didn't want seven, but he gave us no choice. And it was good choice 8)
:face:
:cat: :cat: :cat: :cat: :cat: :cat: :cat:
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