The Loss of a Former Charge

One of my kittens from last summer, ("Morticia") died Thursday.

Her adoptive owner had her spayed on Wednesday and did not keep her indoors after her surgery. As a matter of fact, she was forced to live outdoors even before her spay, which bothered me to hear about. I became concerned that Morticia would go into heat (as many cats begin to do in February--as soon as their hypothalmus gets word that the days are growing longer, boing! Time to procreate!)....and face it, an intact cat with outdoor access is a breeding machine. My other worry was that Morticia would end up like so many cats presenting at the clinic: either badly injured, dying, or dead--hit by cars, attacked by dogs, antifreeze toxicity, caught under garage doors, cat vs. radiator fan....the list is too long, and it makes me very sad and rather angry to contemplate. The most horrific injuries I've seen in my decade-plus career, have all been cats--outdoor cats, to be specific.

Morticia was one of two kittens found tied up in a plastic garbage bag, thrown in a dumpster and left to die in the sweltering heat late last summer. Her sister had sustained a terrible laceration which ran from the shoulder to the carpus. The girls were only about three days old when discovered by a passerby who heard their cries emanating from the dumpster.

Remarkably, aside from the arm wound and some mild dehydration, the kittens were strong and appeared very much determined to survive.
This is where I entered the story--I was dropping by some supplies at the Eastside facility when the technicians and doctors swarmed me (as they do every time a kitten--or litter of kittens--too tiny to survive without a surrogate mother--arrives at the clinic). I tried to resist, saying that I already had my hands full (at one point I had 11 fosters of varying ages, and I was headed for burnout). But Shawn, in his most pathetic little voice (speaking for the kittens) said, "help us, Mommy!"

I was a goner.

I named the injured kitten Tabbigail (due to her markings) and the black kitten I called "Vavoom!" after a character from "Felix the Cat"--a little Eskimo with a voice so loud that every time he yelled--what else?--"Vavoom!"-- it set off avalanches, broke glass, and knocked enemies on their asses--a talent which Felix typically exploited to save the day. When Vavoom was adopted by a coworker she was renamed Morticia.

Both kittens had huge appetites and grew quickly. Tabbigail's wound was sutured closed, but it was such a large defect with tissue necrosis around the margins that the repair was simply too tight, and her paw began to swell to monstrous proportions. I had to release sutures, one by one, until the swelling subsided. Ultimately this led to the whole wound being un-stitched. I made special dressings to assist in healing and prevent infection. Sure enough, in true kitten fashion, the injury healed rapidly by "second intention", meaning that granulation tissue quickly developed and bridged the gap created by the laceration. The process was so incredibly quick that within ten days the cut had completely healed over, and fur had begun to grown in, complete with perfect little tabby markings.

Tabbigail developed a cute but somewhat neurotic habit of suckling on a small part of the scar until it had stretched to the size of a small nipple. If I put a bandage over the spot, the nursing ceased, but as soon as the wrapping came off, she went right back to suckling. I finally gave up and let her have her way. She was adopted a week or so after Morticia, and as far as I know, she probably still sucks on that little appendage she created.

I received an email last night informing me that Morticia had been found next to the backyard deck, her little body soaked by the rain. There was no telling what caused her to die, but as I mentioned earlier, animals need to be kept warm and quiet after surgery. She could have had an internal bleed-out, hypothermia, or any other number of problems not even related to the spay.

I feel like crying or throwing something (but I am far too practical to throw things. Maybe I'll go play darts in a little while). There is an actual pain in my chest, near my heart, which could be a sore muscle, or perhaps a "psychic wound" as in the proverbial "broken heart".

I hope her little spirit is free now, to play with the other unfortunates who didn't survive kittenhood.

current mood: sad
current music: Funeral for a Friend--Elton John