Bootleg Kitty

“Can you come up and take a look at this kitty?” As one of the more seasoned technicians at the ER clinic, I was used to hearing that request from the receptionists. They were the liaison between us and the clients, but they were not permitted to give any medical advice. I went up to the front desk to investigate and met a kind woman with a tiny orange and white kitten in a box, not more than 5 weeks old.
She explained to me that she’d found the kitten in her yard, and because he wasn’t moving, she thought he was dead. She had actually started digging a grave for the poor thing, when she heard him mewing, and brought him to our clinic.
I immediately took the kitten back to the treatment area to warm him up. He was responsive, but cold, so I put him in the incubator and checked his temperature periodically. Once he warmed up a bit, I checked his blood glucose, which turned out to be normal. I offered the kitten some food, and immediately he devoured it. After that, he reared up on his hind legs and hissed at the emergency doctor who was passing by. This kitten is a fighter, I told myself.
Amidst all the joy at having a baby kitten in the ER, there remained a looming, unanswered question: what are we going to do with the little guy, or more importantly, what will his fate be? At that time, the clinic did not have a relationship with the Humane Society. We were forbidden to take home strays ourselves, and if we accepted strays in the clinic, we would try to find local rescue groups to take them. The very young ones, however, were usually euthanized, due to age. I was beginning to worry about this kitten’s future……
I’d considered taking him home, but initially wasn’t sure if I should. The “conditions” were right: no managers working, a good Samaritan who signed him over to us, a way to make the paperwork disappear….but I had to consider my brood at home; how would they take to a new little brother? And what was I getting myself into?
As the night wore on I became closer to the realization that this kitten was indeed going home with me, especially when the ER doc asked me about it. I remember joking with my co-workers about the little guy being a “bootleg kitty,” since I was basically sneaking him out of the clinic. I literally could have fit him in my pocket. As I was nearing the end of my shift, I gathered up some food, towels, and box, made the paperwork disappear, and took my new charge home.
As I was driving home, I watched the kitten crawling around in his box, tiny, helpless and trusting. I remembered how some of mine were at that age and was grateful for the opportunity to give this little guy a new chance at life.
Once I brought my kitten home, I had to decide on a name. After much deliberation, I chose Schniklefritz (Fritz for short), for several reasons. My brother’s nickname is Fritz (after one of the Katzenjammer Kids), and I’d not named any of my kitties after him. Also, according to the German side of my family, the word “Schniklefritz” is a colloquial term meaning “mischievous child.” I couldn’t have picked a better name.
Fritz has grown into a handsome orange and white tabby with beautiful orange eyes that match his fur. At 8 years, he is currently my youngest cat. He is just as mischievous as ever, and I often refer to him as my “red-haired, freckle-faced boy.” I’ve also given him some other nicknames, but regardless of what I call him, he will always be my “bootleg kitty.”

Ellen 2/11/07