I heard the plaintive mewing coming from behind the giant barn doors early Thursday morning. It went on all day then finally stopped in the early evening. Phew, I thought, mama had come to rescue its baby.
At midnight the mewing had started again and I just happened to see one of the family members who own the barn while he was out walking his dogs. He got the giant keys to open the giant doors and we searched under the huge wine vats, finally spotting this teeny tiny black thing tucked into a corner surrounded by enormous spider webs.
He wanted nothing to do with it so I gathered it up and brought it home. We made up the cat crate with warm towels and a hot water bottle and left it to sleep. The next morning our vet told us that it is a mere two weeks old, a boy and that our only option if we didn't want to keep it or find it a home is to take it to the local SPCA. Well, I'm not about to leave a two week old kitten at the SPCA. There's no guarantee that he won't be euthanized if he isn't adopted.
So, I bought a can of infant kitten formula and a little baby bottle and brought him home. He eats every 3-4 hours and we have to teach him to use the litter box. So far, so good. He's a smart little guy. (he obviously takes after me)
The intention is to find him a home and we already have friends who are interested. But yesterday my husband decided to name him.
Uh oh.
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