The Beginning

Glenwood
Rescued 10.1.09

Since Riley died on July 10, I've been feeding a cat colony in the driveway of an abandoned house on Glenwood Avenue that I pass on my way to the subway. I'd counted up to 11 cats and kittens. I met another feeder, a Russian woman with a cocker spaniel. We thanked each other every time we happened to meet.

On Tuesday morning they were gone but for one cat. It was chilling. I stayed away; it was upsetting and felt permanent. But on Thursday, a dinner date was postponed and I decided to leave food on my way home just in case. There was the same sense of goneness but for one dark shape. It was so still and the light was fading, but it was a kitten.

Before they disappeared, these cats never meowed, never approached; they hid, ran, held back, then would come eat as I walked away. But this little guy meowed at me and stayed put. Oh no, I thought. I held out my hand and it came to me. Oh no. I realized I had no choice and picked it up; it let me; it weighed nothing. It purred the whole way home, all bones and long black fur, never having been touched.

When I got home I buzzed a friend to help me in. She looked at its face and, teary, said "This is a very sick cat." When I saw the kitten's face in the light, I was horrified. It was so caked with filth we could barely make out its features. I began cleaning it, gently using cotton balls and a toothbrush to loosen the dirt. It let me. Its eyes were infected, its nose running, its breathing wheezy, and it stank like you wouldn't believe. It spent the night in my bathroom and still stunk up my whole apartment. I knew it might not live, but I could give it some comfort, touch, and dignity.

At the vet yesterday, Dr. Ryan looked at it and looked at me and said, "This is going to require a lot of work. But I told you the next cat would find you." (She helped care for Riley.) So.

Glenwood is a she, weighs 1.2 pounds, is about three months old, is emaciated and dehydrated, and has infections in her eyes, nose, and ears. Antibiotics and food are the priorities. On the positive side, her lungs are clear, she tested negative for feline leukemia (so far), we only found a couple of fleas (though a lot of flea poop), and she shows remarkable spunk, playing with her teensy IV line. When she purred, all four of us working on her shouted it out. "She's purring!" When she ate a little on her own, the same. "She's eating!" She's a trooper and I think we all fell in love.

So Glenwood and I came home. In the car, she tore out of her carrybag and insisted on my lap. By the time I parked she was sound asleep. I brought her upstairs and began the next chapter in my cat life. I have a kitten living in my bathroom for the forseeable future.

Timmy, my 20-pound big boy, has been incredible. He knows she's in there and isn't making any fuss. I'm making sure to give him tons of attention. Once she can come out, I think the transition will be smooth.

Wish us well.