“What happened to that poor kitten’s right eye?” I wondered, as I watched a black one-eyed kitten play with his orange sibling. They were new arrivals at the shelter, and as I soon found out, the black kitten had been plagued with upper respiratory infections at an early age, resulting in the loss of his eye. It didn’t seem to bother him though; he was perfectly happy, playing with his marmalade sister.
Barbie and Ken were the names given to these kitties. I almost think that they were given those names to facilitate their adoption, especially Ken’s. My heart went out to him from the start; after all, he had two strikes against him: he was missing an eye, and he was black. Who would want him? Who, indeed….
I watched Ken over the next several days; because of his plight, he’d immediately become special to me. It wasn’t long before his perfect two-eyed sibling was adopted, leaving him in a smaller cage all alone. That was more than I could bear to see, and at that point I knew that he was going home with me.
I had only been working at the shelter for 2 weeks, so one can imagine the objections that I fielded at home. Yet, this was different, not only because of Ken’s physical limitations, but because I just knew that we were meant to be. So, I made it official and took Ken home. I renamed him Pirate and set him up in a safe room. At that time, he was #6 in my brood.
I kept Pirate separated until he had his last set of vaccinations and was neutered (he was about 5 months old when I adopted him). I would spend time with him every morning before I went to work, just holding him and letting him know that he was loved. During that time we bonded, and after awhile, I couldn’t remember what my life had been like without him.
The first time Pirate mixed with the rest of my cats was by accident: I’d left the door to his room unlatched and he went downstairs to explore. I heard Trouble hissing, and then saw Pirate calmly drinking out of a water dish. “Guess you can hold your own as part of the herd.” I thought to myself, and left him out to mingle from that day on.
Over time, Pirate blended in well, bringing his own unique personality to the group. He’d chase the other cats, compete with Wiggles for a spot on my lap, and sleep on my pillow at night. It took Pirate some time to learn how to jump up onto countertops, because his one eye was crossed, but he adjusted well. I also noticed that he would tap the water with his paw before drinking, because he had limited depth perception. All these things that would normally be perceived as handicaps were part of Pirate’s charm, as far as I was concerned. And none of them seemed to bother or hinder him in the least.
It was almost 2 years later. I had left the shelter to go work for a vet and had to attend a veterinary convention one weekend. Pirate didn’t seem to be eating well, and was losing weight. I also noticed that he’d been spending a lot of time in the basement….“I’ll take him in to work when I get back,” I thought to myself; “perhaps he’s just upset by my getting ready to leave; he’s a young cat-surely it’s something simple.”
If only that were the case.. Unfortunately, when animals are sick, their survival instincts dictate that they mask their illness. Domestication has not altered this, so often we don’t pick up on illnesses until they are pretty far along…
Blood work at the clinic revealed elevated kidney values, but also an elevated globulin level, which was alarming to the vet. She suspected FIP (feline infectious peritonitis), so we sent in a titer test. FIP is a deadly virus that manifests itself in two forms: wet and dry. Once symptoms appear, cats who have the first form don’t live much past a week if that, because their respiratory systems are affected. Cats with the second form (dry) can live longer, but only a couple months, due to organ failure. There is no definitive test, other than a necropsy, so usually a diagnosis is made based on symptoms and lab work. Pirate’s FIP titer came back high, indicating likelihood that he had FIP and that his kidney failure was a result of that. I was devastated. Not only was I faced with the reality of losing my beloved Pirate, but all off my other cats had been exposed. Fortunately, FIP is not as highly contagious as some other viruses, so I chose not to worry about the latter. Instead, I concentrated on treating Pirate for his kidney failure, while attempting to maintain his quality of life in the process, knowing what the end result would be.
A few weeks later, I knew it was time. I took Pirate into the emergency clinic, where I would later end up working.. He passed quietly, in my arms, and I was reminded of when I first saw him after his sister was adopted: quiet, unassuming and testing the waters in the new world he thrust into. Things have a way of coming full circle, and I knew that he was doing the same thing in heaven, but perhaps with both eyes.
Healing takes time and when we lose a companion animal, it is always a difficult decision as to whether or when we are ready to open our hearts to another lost soul (I often think that we are really the ones who are the lost souls). I think that often in times of extreme pain, the decision is taken out of our hands and made for us….
A couple months after Pirate crossed over the Rainbow Bridge, I went to the shelter to help out with their adopt-a-thon. I saw two brown and white tabby kittens named Sinbad and Pirate. The kitten named Pirate was missing his right eye. My former co-workers told me that they had named this kitten Pirate, in honor of my little guy. They had no idea of what had transpired, and with a heavy heart, I told them.
The shelter staff wanted to keep “Pirate’ and Sinbad together, and I’d actually considered adopting them both. I wasn’t ready for another cat, but for some reason, I felt a connection to the little one-eyed brown and white tabby, who was my beloved friend’s namesake. And if he was going to be a package deal, that was fine with me.
A week or so later, I came back to the shelter, only to find that Sinbad was spoken for by one of the kennel staff. A strong bond and sense of Deja Vue gave me an indication as to the change that was about to take place in my house hold….
After much deliberation on names, I decided to call my new adoptee Uno. I brought him home after he was neutered, and gradually introduced him to the rest of my herd. In many ways, he was like Pirate; bold, instigating, and a lap cat. But unlike Pirate, Uno had no trouble seeing, as his remaining eye was not crossed. He was also going to be much bigger…
I remember wondering what really compelled me to adopt this kitty so soon after Pirate died. I didn’t feel ready, so why did I feel such a strong bond with this kitten? As I looked over Uno’s paperwork, I found my answer: he had been brought the shelter on the same day that Pirate died.
Ellen M. White
January 28, 2007
Sunday, January 28, 2007
Saturday, January 27, 2007
Uncle Tiger
I wasn’t quite ready to get a cat. I’d grown up with animals, but now I was on my own; or so I thought. The interesting thing about animals is that you can plan all you want as far as adoption, but it doesn’t matter; when the time is right, they will adopt you.
He showed up at my doorstep one evening; matted coat, hungry, friendly, and wanting to come in. I actually thought he was the neighbor’s cat; she had an orange tabby named Pumpkin that looked very much like this cat. I even came up with an elaborate theory: someone tried to bathe Pumpkin, and she got away and was looking for solace…..then the orange stray and Pumpkin showed up at the same time, discounting my theory. I did what any animal lover would do; I took the orange kitty in…
It was clear from his condition, that this cat had been around the block, and yet he was familiar with house behavior; at one time he must have had a family. It was obvious to me that I was his family now.
After determining that this kitty was not the neighbor’s cat, I promptly made an appointment with a local vet (whom I’ve found from the phonebook). At this time in my life, I was new to a lot of things concerning animals, so I relied on this vet to guide me in what I knew was a new journey unfolding.
I gave this kitty a name: Tiger. He actually looked the part because of his features. Then I found out that he is a neutered male. The next step was to test him for feline leukemia; the vet explained to me that it is just like a pregnancy test (eeek!!!). Tiger tested negative, so he is vaccinated and I leave him at the vet’s to be cleaned up. The first night I could tell he was so grateful to be safe; and I am grateful that such a wise old soul choose me, for I know that I am about to begin on a journey. Little do I know where this journey will take me and the impact it will have on the rest of my life…
Over the next couple months, we bonded. Once Tiger was feeling more secure in our house, he wanted to go outdoors. I didn’t want to take the chance of having him get hurt or worse, so I compromised and harness trained him. He loved it. I was working from home at the time, so I developed a routine; I’d take Tiger out at lunchtime; he actually go to the door and say: “me out.” It was our routine by day, and at night, he would sleep in bed with me. Tiger also enjoyed many hours on my lap. I look back and realize that perhaps in many ways we needed each other.
Tiger saw many changes in the household over the next few years. Shortly after he adopted me, I was also adopted by a stray kitty that I named Samantha. Samantha was brought home by our neighbor, who basically let her roam free outside. Like any unspayed female, Samantha ended up pregnant, and when I realized her: “delicate condition” I knew that not only was I going to keep her, but her kittens as well. Tiger and Samantha got along well, but Tiger had no idea as to the change he was in for…
After the kittens were born (there were 4), I introduced Tiger gradually to them, so as not to upset Samantha. She was very protective of her brood at this point, and any other cat was viewed as a threat. When I brought Tiger into my makeshift nursery, he seemed indifferent, yet I could sense the wheels turning: “All I wanted was a quiet house! What did I get myself into?!” Little did he know…
As Samantha’s kittens grew, they loved to play with Tiger. I could tell that he’d rather be left alone, and yet he was so tolerant. I gave him the nickname. “Uncle Tiger.”
Two years after Tiger adopted me, I found him one day in the bathroom, unwilling to eat, or even leave the room for that matter. A visit to the vet confirmed liver disease. I nursed him at home, and ended up having another wonderful year with him. Then one night, I took him to the emergency room for difficulty breathing. X-rays revealed heart failure, and after being hospitalized, Tiger went home on medication. The next few months were a rollercoaster of trying to help him fight, both of knowing that it was a losing battle. Eventually, Tiger got tired of fighting….
I’ll never forget that night. Tiger’s health took a dramatic turn for the worse. I really didn’t expect him to make it through the night. The next morning, he was still with us, but it was clear that he needed release. I made an appointment with my vet and called everyone who had been special to Tiger, so that they could say goodbye to him…..
Tiger crossed over to the rainbow bridge on a beautiful fall day in October. It was exactly the kind of day that Tiger liked to be out in. It seemed fitting somehow, as though heaven was waiting to receive his beautiful, but weary soul….
As I brought him home, I noticed a quietness in the air; almost as the Tiger was trying to tell me that he was finally at peace. I allowed the other cats to view and sniff his body if they wished; I had my closure, and I felt that they all deserved it too. Oddly, most of the other cats stayed far away, as if they knew that what was wrapped in a blanket was but a shell of their beloved friend.
My family and a couple close friends stopped by that night. I held a wake, and then a candlelight ceremony in the back yard, where we laid Tiger to rest. Our backyard was the perfect resting place, as Tiger loved it there, with all of its wonderful sounds and scents. Somehow, I was able to reflect on that and take comfort in knowing that he was finally in a better place, where illness and frailty do not exist.
After wards, we all went inside and talked about the wonderful ways that Tiger had touched all of us. I knew my life would never be the same, not did I want to go back. After everyone left, I remember feeling the same peacefulness and stillness I felt earlier right after Tiger had passed. A chapter in my life had now closed, but a new one was about to begin….
Ellen M. White
Copyright January, 27th, 2007
He showed up at my doorstep one evening; matted coat, hungry, friendly, and wanting to come in. I actually thought he was the neighbor’s cat; she had an orange tabby named Pumpkin that looked very much like this cat. I even came up with an elaborate theory: someone tried to bathe Pumpkin, and she got away and was looking for solace…..then the orange stray and Pumpkin showed up at the same time, discounting my theory. I did what any animal lover would do; I took the orange kitty in…
It was clear from his condition, that this cat had been around the block, and yet he was familiar with house behavior; at one time he must have had a family. It was obvious to me that I was his family now.
After determining that this kitty was not the neighbor’s cat, I promptly made an appointment with a local vet (whom I’ve found from the phonebook). At this time in my life, I was new to a lot of things concerning animals, so I relied on this vet to guide me in what I knew was a new journey unfolding.
I gave this kitty a name: Tiger. He actually looked the part because of his features. Then I found out that he is a neutered male. The next step was to test him for feline leukemia; the vet explained to me that it is just like a pregnancy test (eeek!!!). Tiger tested negative, so he is vaccinated and I leave him at the vet’s to be cleaned up. The first night I could tell he was so grateful to be safe; and I am grateful that such a wise old soul choose me, for I know that I am about to begin on a journey. Little do I know where this journey will take me and the impact it will have on the rest of my life…
Over the next couple months, we bonded. Once Tiger was feeling more secure in our house, he wanted to go outdoors. I didn’t want to take the chance of having him get hurt or worse, so I compromised and harness trained him. He loved it. I was working from home at the time, so I developed a routine; I’d take Tiger out at lunchtime; he actually go to the door and say: “me out.” It was our routine by day, and at night, he would sleep in bed with me. Tiger also enjoyed many hours on my lap. I look back and realize that perhaps in many ways we needed each other.
Tiger saw many changes in the household over the next few years. Shortly after he adopted me, I was also adopted by a stray kitty that I named Samantha. Samantha was brought home by our neighbor, who basically let her roam free outside. Like any unspayed female, Samantha ended up pregnant, and when I realized her: “delicate condition” I knew that not only was I going to keep her, but her kittens as well. Tiger and Samantha got along well, but Tiger had no idea as to the change he was in for…
After the kittens were born (there were 4), I introduced Tiger gradually to them, so as not to upset Samantha. She was very protective of her brood at this point, and any other cat was viewed as a threat. When I brought Tiger into my makeshift nursery, he seemed indifferent, yet I could sense the wheels turning: “All I wanted was a quiet house! What did I get myself into?!” Little did he know…
As Samantha’s kittens grew, they loved to play with Tiger. I could tell that he’d rather be left alone, and yet he was so tolerant. I gave him the nickname. “Uncle Tiger.”
Two years after Tiger adopted me, I found him one day in the bathroom, unwilling to eat, or even leave the room for that matter. A visit to the vet confirmed liver disease. I nursed him at home, and ended up having another wonderful year with him. Then one night, I took him to the emergency room for difficulty breathing. X-rays revealed heart failure, and after being hospitalized, Tiger went home on medication. The next few months were a rollercoaster of trying to help him fight, both of knowing that it was a losing battle. Eventually, Tiger got tired of fighting….
I’ll never forget that night. Tiger’s health took a dramatic turn for the worse. I really didn’t expect him to make it through the night. The next morning, he was still with us, but it was clear that he needed release. I made an appointment with my vet and called everyone who had been special to Tiger, so that they could say goodbye to him…..
Tiger crossed over to the rainbow bridge on a beautiful fall day in October. It was exactly the kind of day that Tiger liked to be out in. It seemed fitting somehow, as though heaven was waiting to receive his beautiful, but weary soul….
As I brought him home, I noticed a quietness in the air; almost as the Tiger was trying to tell me that he was finally at peace. I allowed the other cats to view and sniff his body if they wished; I had my closure, and I felt that they all deserved it too. Oddly, most of the other cats stayed far away, as if they knew that what was wrapped in a blanket was but a shell of their beloved friend.
My family and a couple close friends stopped by that night. I held a wake, and then a candlelight ceremony in the back yard, where we laid Tiger to rest. Our backyard was the perfect resting place, as Tiger loved it there, with all of its wonderful sounds and scents. Somehow, I was able to reflect on that and take comfort in knowing that he was finally in a better place, where illness and frailty do not exist.
After wards, we all went inside and talked about the wonderful ways that Tiger had touched all of us. I knew my life would never be the same, not did I want to go back. After everyone left, I remember feeling the same peacefulness and stillness I felt earlier right after Tiger had passed. A chapter in my life had now closed, but a new one was about to begin….
Ellen M. White
Copyright January, 27th, 2007
Sunday, January 21, 2007
Cinderellen
It was another day at the shelter; the end of a long week; animals coming in from cruelty situations, rearranging cages, too few animals being adopted out…
And then a little black kitten with a smidge of white was brought in….
A disabled person had found her, and immediately my heart went out the both the Good Samaritan and the little kitten; here was someone who had their own challenges in life taking time to help a creature less fortunate. If only we’d all take that time out of our busy schedules…
When she came in, her mouth was swollen; she couldn’t close it at all, and there was a wound on her forehead, along with irritation in her ears and left eye. We didn’t know what was wrong, but there was speculation: maybe someone threw boiling water on her, or she had a broken jaw…..there were many theories abound as to what had brought her to us; most of them blaming some cruel person…
In the meantime, we had to check her in, which meant drawing blood for an FeLV test, vaccinating her, getting her started on antibiotics, and putting her on the schedule for the next vet visit…and oh, yes, eventually naming her :)
I still remember how feisty this kitten was when we had to restrain her to draw blood. Here was this poor creature with a jaw/mouth injury, yet still she was fighting us tooth and nail just to be restrained. I couldn’t help but admire her spirit.
We set the kitten up in our sick room, with orders for antibiotics and A/D gruel (A/D is a soft, high calorie food that we feed to sick animals). I remember setting her up in a bottom cage and giving her the gruel, which she readily lapped up. I was hopeful; if she could eat, then she could live. Yet I was worried; here was a kitten that needed more attention than we could give, and to make matters worse, she was in the sick room. For those of you who have never worked in a shelter, not only are they overcrowded with well animals, but sick animals don’t stand much of a chance because of limited space and poor ventilation. At this point, several scenarios are running through my mind…..
The next morning, I am assigned to clean the sick room. I tend to this kitten first, administering antibiotics and offering her gruel. And I amazed at what I hear: this poor little creature who has been through so much is purring! I immediately go to the kennel manager and tell her that I want to foster this kitten, but if the vet finds injuries beyond our scope of repair, I will support euthanasia….I am trying so hard to be realistic and not get too attached, but I know it is already too late….
Hope springs eternal, and later that morning; my boss comes back with this kitten in tow!!
It seems that her injuries are not serious and not the result of abuse; the vet thinks she bit an electrical chord. She is all mine to foster (/adopt ;) ).
I give this kitten a name: Cinder-short for Cinderellen, after me. I bathe her at the shelter,
and then take her home. I set her up in a safe room, until she has her second set of shots. After that I introduce her to the rest of my herd. She blends in well creating her own niche. I notice that she is losing the hair on one said of her body (a temporary result of her injuries). My husband notices that Cinder is not only settling in, but that I am referring to him as her “daddy,” much to his feigned dismay...
Eventually, I made the adoption official, in spite of my husband’s half-hearted protests. If truth be told, I always knew she was mine from the very beginning. Besides, how could I bring her back to the shelter? She’s already bonded with me and her “siblings” and besides, she’s a black cat, which would decrease her chances for adoption (unfortunately, many people are superstitious about black cats). So it was settled; I had her spayed through the shelter, and filled out the paper work to make it official. She was now #9 in our little family.
Cinder has grown into a lovely cat and has healed from her injuries, with one exception: she has a smooth tongue. Evidently all of the barbs on her tongue were burned off, and have never grown back. The only problem it creates, is that she makes mats when she grooms herself and I eventually have to take her into work to be combed and bathed (she is so bad at home!). Needless to say, all of my colleagues are quite intrigued by a kitty with a smooth tongue.
Cinder has the same spirit she did when I first met her; she is a fighter and that has always inspired me, especially during the times I most want to quit. If we paid more attention to our animal friends, we could learn so many more lessons about Life.
Each of my kitties has a lesson they have taught me. This is but one of many lessons…
Ellen 1/21/07
And then a little black kitten with a smidge of white was brought in….
A disabled person had found her, and immediately my heart went out the both the Good Samaritan and the little kitten; here was someone who had their own challenges in life taking time to help a creature less fortunate. If only we’d all take that time out of our busy schedules…
When she came in, her mouth was swollen; she couldn’t close it at all, and there was a wound on her forehead, along with irritation in her ears and left eye. We didn’t know what was wrong, but there was speculation: maybe someone threw boiling water on her, or she had a broken jaw…..there were many theories abound as to what had brought her to us; most of them blaming some cruel person…
In the meantime, we had to check her in, which meant drawing blood for an FeLV test, vaccinating her, getting her started on antibiotics, and putting her on the schedule for the next vet visit…and oh, yes, eventually naming her :)
I still remember how feisty this kitten was when we had to restrain her to draw blood. Here was this poor creature with a jaw/mouth injury, yet still she was fighting us tooth and nail just to be restrained. I couldn’t help but admire her spirit.
We set the kitten up in our sick room, with orders for antibiotics and A/D gruel (A/D is a soft, high calorie food that we feed to sick animals). I remember setting her up in a bottom cage and giving her the gruel, which she readily lapped up. I was hopeful; if she could eat, then she could live. Yet I was worried; here was a kitten that needed more attention than we could give, and to make matters worse, she was in the sick room. For those of you who have never worked in a shelter, not only are they overcrowded with well animals, but sick animals don’t stand much of a chance because of limited space and poor ventilation. At this point, several scenarios are running through my mind…..
The next morning, I am assigned to clean the sick room. I tend to this kitten first, administering antibiotics and offering her gruel. And I amazed at what I hear: this poor little creature who has been through so much is purring! I immediately go to the kennel manager and tell her that I want to foster this kitten, but if the vet finds injuries beyond our scope of repair, I will support euthanasia….I am trying so hard to be realistic and not get too attached, but I know it is already too late….
Hope springs eternal, and later that morning; my boss comes back with this kitten in tow!!
It seems that her injuries are not serious and not the result of abuse; the vet thinks she bit an electrical chord. She is all mine to foster (/adopt ;) ).
I give this kitten a name: Cinder-short for Cinderellen, after me. I bathe her at the shelter,
and then take her home. I set her up in a safe room, until she has her second set of shots. After that I introduce her to the rest of my herd. She blends in well creating her own niche. I notice that she is losing the hair on one said of her body (a temporary result of her injuries). My husband notices that Cinder is not only settling in, but that I am referring to him as her “daddy,” much to his feigned dismay...
Eventually, I made the adoption official, in spite of my husband’s half-hearted protests. If truth be told, I always knew she was mine from the very beginning. Besides, how could I bring her back to the shelter? She’s already bonded with me and her “siblings” and besides, she’s a black cat, which would decrease her chances for adoption (unfortunately, many people are superstitious about black cats). So it was settled; I had her spayed through the shelter, and filled out the paper work to make it official. She was now #9 in our little family.
Cinder has grown into a lovely cat and has healed from her injuries, with one exception: she has a smooth tongue. Evidently all of the barbs on her tongue were burned off, and have never grown back. The only problem it creates, is that she makes mats when she grooms herself and I eventually have to take her into work to be combed and bathed (she is so bad at home!). Needless to say, all of my colleagues are quite intrigued by a kitty with a smooth tongue.
Cinder has the same spirit she did when I first met her; she is a fighter and that has always inspired me, especially during the times I most want to quit. If we paid more attention to our animal friends, we could learn so many more lessons about Life.
Each of my kitties has a lesson they have taught me. This is but one of many lessons…
Ellen 1/21/07
Saturday, January 20, 2007
Munchkin
When I first started working in this field, I worked at the Humane Society. Although I saw a lot of pain, I also saw some happy endings as well. Here is one such story:
Munchkin
It was another ordinary day at the shelter, too many animals being admitted, not enough being adopted. In spite of the overcrowding, my heart goes out to these poor lost souls, and as I go about my work, I try and come up with solutions to a seemingly impossible problem…..
My thoughts are interrupted by a tiny gray tabby that catches my eye. He is huddled in his little cage, head buried, body tense; afraid to make eye contact, wanting to disappear. My heart goes out to him; he is new here, and even though this is a better place for him, it is not any less frightening for such a little angel. I find out this kitten’s story from the humane officer: some neighborhood kids were abusing him; a Good Samaritan reported it and this little guy was rescued. At this point, he has been checked in and given a name: Munchkin. He appears to be about 5 weeks old.
I think it goes without saying that animal abuse angers me beyond what I can express. And it’s even worse when children are responsible because 1. They have obviously learned it from an adult, and 2. If they are starting to abuse an animal now, it will worsen as they grow older.
I decide to pay close attention to Munchkin to see if he will come around. Normally when animals are brought into the shelter, they are scared, but as time goes on they adjust with the help of very caring staff members. I was hoping that would hold true for Munchkin, and yet I am worried.
Over the next couple days I noticed little change; poor Munchkin would bury his face between his paws, wanting to hide, and hoping to disappear. I would try to hold him and love him in between my many chores, but couldn’t elicit a response except for a faint glimmer in his eyes….there was hope, but he needed more. I knew what I had to do.
I spoke with the kennel manager about fostering Munchkin, knowing it would be fine. One of the sad facts about shelters is that there are more animals waiting than there is cage space; so they were happy to allow me to take Munchkin home and give the extra cage to another lost soul. And at 5 weeks, Munchkin was too young to be adopted.
I took Munchkin home, determined to make him feel what it is to be truly loved; what it is to be a kitten again. I held him every chance I could; spoke softly to him, gave him kisses and head butts, and told him that he was loved and wanted…over time I think he understood. I also played with him and showed him how kittens are supposed to play. In no time, Munchkin was acting like a normal kitten; happy playful, and healed from the scars of abuse. He also had doting “grandparents” (thanks to my mom and dad).
Finally the time came to take Munchkin back to the shelter so that he could be put up for adoption. I held him and gave him a kiss, as I put him in a large cage with several other kittens. He looked at me intently for a moment, as if to say thank you, the scampered off to meet his new friends. Clearly this was not the same kitten I’d taken home several weeks earlier. And I knew at that moment that this why I am called to work with animals; while I may not always be able to heal their bodies, I can on some level, heal their souls.
Munchkin was adopted a few weeks later, along with one of his cage mates, to a very loving family with 2 nice boys. I didn’t facilitate the adoption, but I was working that day, so I was able to say goodbye, as well as meet Munchkin’s new family. And I knew that Munchkin would not only have a good life, but would enrich the lives of his new family, especially those 2 boys, who already had compassion for animals.
And as I watched them leave, I remembered how far Munchkin had come. And I thought to myself: out of darkness comes light; out of despair, comes hope. And it is possible be healed and live life fully again.
Ellen M. White
Copyright January 20, 2007
Munchkin
It was another ordinary day at the shelter, too many animals being admitted, not enough being adopted. In spite of the overcrowding, my heart goes out to these poor lost souls, and as I go about my work, I try and come up with solutions to a seemingly impossible problem…..
My thoughts are interrupted by a tiny gray tabby that catches my eye. He is huddled in his little cage, head buried, body tense; afraid to make eye contact, wanting to disappear. My heart goes out to him; he is new here, and even though this is a better place for him, it is not any less frightening for such a little angel. I find out this kitten’s story from the humane officer: some neighborhood kids were abusing him; a Good Samaritan reported it and this little guy was rescued. At this point, he has been checked in and given a name: Munchkin. He appears to be about 5 weeks old.
I think it goes without saying that animal abuse angers me beyond what I can express. And it’s even worse when children are responsible because 1. They have obviously learned it from an adult, and 2. If they are starting to abuse an animal now, it will worsen as they grow older.
I decide to pay close attention to Munchkin to see if he will come around. Normally when animals are brought into the shelter, they are scared, but as time goes on they adjust with the help of very caring staff members. I was hoping that would hold true for Munchkin, and yet I am worried.
Over the next couple days I noticed little change; poor Munchkin would bury his face between his paws, wanting to hide, and hoping to disappear. I would try to hold him and love him in between my many chores, but couldn’t elicit a response except for a faint glimmer in his eyes….there was hope, but he needed more. I knew what I had to do.
I spoke with the kennel manager about fostering Munchkin, knowing it would be fine. One of the sad facts about shelters is that there are more animals waiting than there is cage space; so they were happy to allow me to take Munchkin home and give the extra cage to another lost soul. And at 5 weeks, Munchkin was too young to be adopted.
I took Munchkin home, determined to make him feel what it is to be truly loved; what it is to be a kitten again. I held him every chance I could; spoke softly to him, gave him kisses and head butts, and told him that he was loved and wanted…over time I think he understood. I also played with him and showed him how kittens are supposed to play. In no time, Munchkin was acting like a normal kitten; happy playful, and healed from the scars of abuse. He also had doting “grandparents” (thanks to my mom and dad).
Finally the time came to take Munchkin back to the shelter so that he could be put up for adoption. I held him and gave him a kiss, as I put him in a large cage with several other kittens. He looked at me intently for a moment, as if to say thank you, the scampered off to meet his new friends. Clearly this was not the same kitten I’d taken home several weeks earlier. And I knew at that moment that this why I am called to work with animals; while I may not always be able to heal their bodies, I can on some level, heal their souls.
Munchkin was adopted a few weeks later, along with one of his cage mates, to a very loving family with 2 nice boys. I didn’t facilitate the adoption, but I was working that day, so I was able to say goodbye, as well as meet Munchkin’s new family. And I knew that Munchkin would not only have a good life, but would enrich the lives of his new family, especially those 2 boys, who already had compassion for animals.
And as I watched them leave, I remembered how far Munchkin had come. And I thought to myself: out of darkness comes light; out of despair, comes hope. And it is possible be healed and live life fully again.
Ellen M. White
Copyright January 20, 2007
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