Copyright 2009-2013 Liz Sweibel

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

October 2, 2009

With Glenwood assimilating (the kitty-box merger is complete!), I've been thinking back...

I rescued her October 1 and took her to the vet the next day. To travel, I put her in a shoebox and put the shoebox in a paper grocery bag. I used a makeshift carrier because I feared I'd leave the vet without the kitten. Leaving with Riley's empty carrier July 10 was so hard, and is vivid.

As I walked from the car to the vet, Glenwood panicked. This tiny, dying, smelly kitten started pushing her way out. I put the bag down and pushed her back in; she fought. By the time we got to the vet I must've looked like a lunatic. My arms were wrapped around this violent package and I practically shouted "Can someone help me?" as soon as I got in the door. I could barely hold my own with what turned out to be 1.2 pounds of kitten. I'm astounded at the strength of body and spirit she found that day, when she was just bones and fur and sickness. Her instinct for self-preservation is mind-boggling.

To get her home, she went back into the shoebox and bag. I held the bag tight, got to the car, and put it on the floor in front. Once underway, she started pushing out again. I tried to stop her but couldn't while driving, and was so strained by it all that I let her, figuring I'd deal with her at the other end. So what did she do? Burst through the bag and climbed into my lap. I managed to get a towel under her, tucked her in to keep her warm, and drove home with her fast asleep. She wanted to be with me, and I was just overcome.

So few Glenwoods get a chance, which makes this Glenwood's story more joyful and more poignant. Yet she doesn't give it a thought, isn't astounded that she is alive and warm and fed and scritched. She just goes about her business: hurling herself at Timmy, making anything into a toy (especially Timmy), dashing around, exploring everywhere, occasionally napping. Now in full adolescent bloom and free from the bathroom, my lap is less compelling. I feel like a parent with a teenager, standing by and hoping she'll come back in time.

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