Scott’s garden was doing absolutely nothing, not even after I watered it. But the day after we had a light sprinkling of rain, there was action! It doesn’t have to be much rain, but that’s what it takes.
On Monday I got the yard mowed for the second time. Lordy Be but that’s a satisfying sight when it’s done. On Tuesday my trusty horseshoe (stirrup) hoe was meant to get out to the vegetable garden and fix the weeds that popped up after the rain. Never made it though. Instead I was busy doctoring a sick kitten that seemed to be at death’s door. On Wednesday morning when I awoke shortly after six (I’ve always wanted to be an early riser, and now I am!), it was thundering and raining. The kitten was still alive but not much improved and I determined that a vet visit was required. My ministrations (swabbing its gummed-shut eyes with a wet cotton ball, cleaning its nostrils so it could breathe easier, feeding it warm milk via a syringe, cuddling and talking to it, keeping it in a box with a hot water bottle overnight) were clearly not doing the trick. It had rallied a little but what now?
I’d had it in the house for a few minutes for three days in a row, swabbing its eyes till they’d open. On Tuesday when I went to the barn, its eyes were open and I thought we’d turned a corner, but no. The kitten was wandering in the middle of the barn and was wobbly and shivering.
I’d noticed it was bony but only Tuesday did it occur to me that it may have been starving. Its three siblings seem fat and healthy; maybe this one couldn’t suckle well when it was unable to breathe through its nose?
Lest ye think I’m a hero, you’re wrong. I hate this shit. I’m squeamish. If Everett the Cat Whisperer were here, it would be his job to take care of this little “bit.” As it was, the responsibility fell to me.