A kitten in a box.
Mewling pathetically to one most certain to ignore it, there lay a kitten in a box. It was not a big box, it was not a natural box, it was a box of red iron. It had a fire hose curled around the central wheel like a rubber python. But in these strange environs, there it was, mewling away, trying to find some warmth in this cold cold world. Drenched in milk left on a saucer by some good hearted samaritan, foolish enough to believe a day old kitten could lap milk in a saucer.
Well, it couldn't. So there it was swimming in this saucer of milk. It had already been there a night. I ignored it thinking it's mother must have gone to hunt or something. By the next day, it's mewling had risen to such levels that it was hard to ignore. Looking in, I saw this pathetic creature, half drowned in this huge saucer that seemed to contain some rancid milk.
The moment I put out my finger in trying to scratch it, it mewled piteously and struggled towards my finger. Probably the only warm living thing to touch it since it was born. So, how could I resist? Unlocked the door, took it in my palm and carried it home. Straight to the bathroom. With warm water and some anti-septic, I cleaned it up. Took an old sock of my brother and dried it up. It stopped shivering then. Out came a carton full of old rags and paper and voila there it was, a kitten in a box. A proper box. A box to keep it warm and cosy.
How to feed it though? For all the wisdom of my years on this earth, I never had to feed a very young kitten yet. What to feed, how to feed, these questions raced in my fertile mind. Going over every nature-documentary, I had ever watched on National Geography and Discovery, my memory banks rolled. I harked back to those insomniac nights spent trying to find succor in the raising of leopards by tough looking women in shorts. Finally an idea came back. Syringe and milk. An advantage of living in a doctor's house is that these kind of kitten raising paraphernalia are easy at hand. Off I rushed to raid my dads dispensary and came back with a small syringe and a glass of warm milk and water to thin it down a little.
Little by little I syringed some milk down it's throat, till it started sneezing milk out. Pretty soon it was coughing and I could see drops of milk exploding off it's nostrils. Mortally afraid of aspirating the poor kitten, I cursed the tough young ladies with leopards. Then I did what I should have done earlier. Called a vet. Pat came a suggestion. A cotton wick dipped in milk.
All this while, my dear sweet mother tried nursing this kitten. She would take it in her lap and coo to it as if it was human and try feeding it with a small plastic spoon. Play scolding it for not drinking enough to grow up to be a large lion. (What's it with moms and them trying to make all small kids big and strong? While they try their best to remain slim and trim? Never could figure this out)
Pretty soon the cotton wick was applied and we could get some nourishment in the poor soul. But, alarmingly the volume of it's mews had come down and it no longer showed much enthusiasm towards the finger. By late afternoon, we were down to force feeding the poor thing. Grasping it's scrawny head between my fingers and pouring the milk down it's throat using cotton, syringe and spoons. Whatever worked. Then rubbing it's belly to make it pee (thanks Wikipedia!!).
Night fell and the hour of all decent men's sleep came about. Having received strict instructions to keep feeding it every couple of hours, I took the box and kept it beside my bed. Looking around for an incubator, could not find one. So, lay it on my belly while I lay reading a book. Pretty soon, I find this small chit asleep peacefully on the rising and falling mountain of human flesh. Tried lifting it out and it awoke instantly mewling furiously. So, I took it in my palm (it was so heartbreakingly tiny) and let it sleep in warmth.
Next day was work day. So off to the office with strict instructions to Ma regards to taking care of the kitty. Worked hard and worked long and returned quick. Saw a worried look on mom's face and thought the worst. She said, its not making any noise at all. Hurried to the box and poked its belly, still warm I thought and there it was struggling to mewl and crawl back into the palm.
Another night of feeding and warming, it was day soon. By now I had gotten used to the musty smell of this lil kid. The small weight in my palm, ensconced comfortably and sleeping. So, trusting the care to my Ma again, I left for work.
A hard day full of meetings and fire fighting at work. I came back home and Mom was distressingly hopping from one foot to another. Naturally, asked her whats up? Looking guilty and sad at the same time, she said, I have let it go. With a sinking feeling, I said let it go?
Apparently all her friends and family told her that the kitten will die if not re-united with her mother. Feeding it every half an hour is not possible and esp. with just milk. So, when one of the cleaners of the building told her that they saw a cat near the terrace, she got the neighbor's son to drop the box off there. I went up and had a look. It was not there anymore.
So, without a fare well.. with out a good bye..
My kitten, gone in the blink of an eye.
May it be alive and happy as a cat can be.
On cold and rainy nights, remember me.
Adios little one. May you live long and feed well.
