These are the kittens before they were trapped, at about 3 or 4 weeks old. I miss them!

During the night I wondered how my little threesome was fairing at the shelter.I actually peeled myself out of bed at around 9:00. Up until then I would have gotten up at 7:00 am or earlier.

This morning I took care of my cats and looked out the back slider to find Sorbet, Princess Blue’s partner, sitting at the edge of my deck waiting for his breakfast. In the rain. Without Princess Blue. Could she have had the new litter? And then what was my choice? Do I have a choice?

When I cared for the kittens I would greet them in the morning and they’d come to the front of the cage as they got older and climb and wave happily. It would take me about two hours from the time I got up to the end of the first shift to almost complete my tasks: cage cleaning, medicating, cage cleaning again, feeding, watering, re-watering at least 10 more times as the dish would spill and wet the newspaper on the bottom or pieces of kitty litter would sail into the water. There were stacks of towels and scraps to be washed from little beds, pairs of rubber gloves I would wear, endless Band-aid changing from my own lesions, vacuuming and more vacuuming. This would repeat several times during the day and by the end of same I could barely stand up: I was exhausted not only physically but emotionally trying to figure out the next step along with the endless search through a fruitless network of shelters and associates who never called me back.

It’s done, it’s over and it will all work out.

The cage is reboxed.

Most of the paraphernalia needed to do the job.

Last night when I got home I tearfully began to put my office to put my office together. We dismantled the cage Trapper David lent me and put it back in the box. I removed all the towels and blankets and washed them–I had been doing endless laundry, it was like having a new baby.This morning I pulled out stacks of newspapers and garbage bags, medications, food, litter dishes, litter pans, toys, treats, vitamins, old shirts I covered myself with, scoops for food and litter, latex gloves, Lysol, litter box deodorant, bleach spray wipes, cleansers, treats, dustpan and brush.

I threw out the plastic liner I kept around them held up by clothespins that they kept gnawing at. Eventually I found my own mess that was present before all this exploded; mail to be answered, cards to write, bills to pay.

Somehow, I miss the cat mess. It was a lot more interesting than mine.