In these difficult times I've had plenty of encouragement on my side, in many different forms. However, after successfully fostering and adopting out the kittens, I needed to take some time to gather myself from all of the emotional stress.
(On some level, I still miss them)
Two kittens. That's been the final fix. I've been in the mind set to give them up, breaking myself in the process to bring new life in to another families home. I was certain I had this all figured out with last times adoption, as I had given away two kittens at once, when the next guaranteed adopter dropped by.
I knew the family previously and they're an entertaining bunch.
The little boy, AJ, had seen the kittens around the time I first rescued them, his eyes set on the prize of owning one of the babies I held in my hands. He was beyond determined to take one home then, going as far as trying to convince me that he could take one that day and taking care of them would be a breeze. I held my laughter in check and patiently explained and re-explained why he couldn't take any at that particular moment or anytime soon. Needless to say, he never understood quite why and his sincerity had me in stitches.
His first choice had been Fat Pageant. Namely because she was the calmest one when he held them. Seeing from past experiences that kittens grow in to little demon balls of white hot fury as they get older, I wasn't holding any candles to Pageant being final say, but then I also thought that both kittens would have been adopted before AJ got his chance (if his mother and father agreed to this kitten business in the first place).
Lucky for him (and me), he got it.
The morning before the day AJ was set to come pick out his kitten, my brother (yeah remember that kid?) showed up. When he caught wind of what was going on, he quickly asked me if he could keep Pageant. He said it didn't matter what he had to do, he just didn't want her to be adopted out.
And, sorry Keith, but I wasn't going to throw myself in to full throttle on this "plan" when the first one had gotten me set on taking care of four, two week old kittens with no help except for limited (still helpful don't get me wrong!!!) assistance from my mom (which shouldn't have had to happen anyway). I wasn't all for jumping on to another ship that set sail with no captain just because of his wants.
But before he even asked that, I was having conflicted thoughts about releasing her to anyone at all...ever. And I had been questioning myself for a while. The answer always came back to "I want a break. I want things to settle and go back to normal. I want Artemis to be his awesome, calm, dorky self again.". The last reason being the hardest to shake.
Mom saw how devastated I was just thinking about giving the little girl away though and told me it might be best if I did as Keith asked and held on to her, even if we had to wait for him to take her.
So I decided to go with it.
Because of my friend canceling our plans that morning I went ahead and decided it was as good a day as any to have another adoption. Why wait another day when I could rip the band-aid off quicker?
My mother called AJ's mother up (seeing as they're in close contact with each other), inviting them over for the visit.
After seeing both kittens in action I think it was safe to say that Ashley, AJ's mom, was silently thankful that her boy couldn't take Pageant home. Out of the two kittens, she's the craziest.
No matter who it is adopting them though, I still tend to worry. With them, my concerns mostly fell upon the children. For one, kids tend to take it to heart if they get scratched or bitten when an animal is just trying to play. I've seen children harshly reprimand animals for such acts and that worries me. Plus, there just happen to be some children who are rougher and tougher than others by nature. They don't mean to do any harm, but it's not hard to do so. In turn any action likewise could make the cat go on defensive and strike at the kids, causing a dangerous situation for both pet and child.
Easy to say, I had plenty concern (over-concern, I'll admit) on my mind with kids involved.
Still, Ashley had eased my mind a bit by the small things she said or asked about. Nubé always has a place to come back to if things don't work out, but I hope and pray that they do work out. Both for my sake and the owners.
Regardless of making the decision to keep Pageant for Keith, it wasn't any less heart-breaking adopting Nubé out because I was effectively depressed for the rest of that evening and cried myself out in a series of short, random outbursts.
After crying on that one as well, on top of crying for Pageant who hadn't even left yet, I've become fed up with the foreign and undesirable emotions. Before this, I was lucky if I cried once a year, now I seem to be fumbling in the dark, looking for a switch to turn off the broken faucet. Easy to say: I'm tired of sadness. Instead of thinking "at least these kittens are finally going to a good home." I'd started thinking "haven't I done enough raising these babies as if they were my own? Now I have to give them away too?! Why don't you just knock me upside the head with a hammer? I'm sure it's a lot less painful!"
Granted, I'm still happy they're no longer my responsibility, but there's only so much happiness I have left after I've ripped out that lumpy beating organ and donated a piece to each adopter.
Me: Here's your kitten, miss.
Unscripted woman: Aw! Squee! So cute! Thank you! Squee! <3
Me: Oh! I almost forgot something...*puts piece of beating heart in woman's hand with a squish*
Unscripted woman: uhm... I'm sorry, what exactly is this?
Me: A piece of my heart.
Unscripted woman:...
Me: (whisper) You're welcome.
Three kittens. I'm pretty worn out with adoptions. I knew I was never cut-out to be a foster, I never wanted to try it in the first place, now I really never want to do this again. If I or anyone around me finds kittens drowning, you know what I'll do? I will....
...complete that sentence for me will you? What was the first thing that popped in your mind, you filthy animals?
Anyway, I was going to say if I ever find kittens drowning or in dire need of help I will save them and immediately take them to the nearest rehabilitation shelter before their deadly cuteness ray beams can pierce my very soul ("that attack was super effective").
Now that those adoptions are complete, I am left with a crazy child named Fat Pageant (who ironically isn't fat anymore) and various issues revolving around said kitten.
Like the fact that my cat hates every other cat because in his mind any species of his own kind is a threat to his position of (power) love. Finn isn't so much a problem to him anymore because Artemis has developed a superiority complex. And Finn is far beneath his standards of academia. But another cat has the potential of becoming a lethal, wise-cracking, psychologically unsound genius in his covertly operated 5 year old brain. So while he hisses and paws at her much less than he did when all four kittens were in the house, he still does it.
And with my fried emotional circuits at the time, every attack or hiss was another reason to feel guilty about keeping the kitten. I began thinking each step I took was another step backwards. Demoralizing the issue further, I couldn't stop thinking about the funds and where they would come from to pay for another animal. Sure, I've been able to save a bit of emergency money, but (let's not kid ourselves) it's not a lot.
And seeing as I haven't really been looking all that hard for a job, the money issue is a problem brought on by my own voluntarily stunted search. I was also advised to wait until after vacation, so in the meantime I will kill myself wanting a job and not getting one (although once I do, who's to say I won't be singing a different tune, eh? Better enjoy this while I can).
Lastly, I've also been concerned if I really have the time for another animal? With Finn requiring a lot of my time and attention it's difficult to divide, well, me, between (basically) three children.
Of course through all of this "isn't this Keith's problem?" Yes. And no. Not really. Because I want Pageant. Very badly.
After the first night with Nubé gone, my little girl was lost. It really struck home when she went in the crate for the first time that night and Nubé never once joined her. When she came out, she ran to a corner in the living room, crying desperately for him. It took a while to calm her and get her mind on to playing as she would continuously go back to the corner to cry. Eventually she curled up on me, falling asleep almost instantaneously.
The next day she slept on me again and cried in the kitchen. She also experienced a mild case of separation anxiety because when I went to the bathroom for a few minutes, she cried her head off and tried jumping on the door to push it in.
Because of all that, I wasn't very fond of the idea of giving her away. Even if that person is only Keith.
After giving myself the time to heal properly, the dust has settled. Would I change my mind now that I'm thinking clearer? Nah.
Pageant's a royal pain in the rump with how mischievous, devious and energetic she is. Still, she's as precious as ever and while my dad won't openly admit it, he's fallen for her too. Oddly enough, I believe her evil ways was actually the clincher for him.
I'm still concerned money-wise. Especially considering I took her to the vet for her first shots and Artemis for one of his routinely shots, confident I had taken out more than enough money to cover the bill. I ended up twelve bucks and a few cents short. Luckily, my mother had the difference. That didn't make it any less of an eye-opener to get me worried though.
My mother's always offering her services and help too (she's seriously the best), but I never feel good about using her or her money. I'm here to take care of her, not the other way around. I thought once I had gotten a job, things like supporting my parents would be easy. Boy, was I wrong.
I've only ever had one job though so I can't complain too greatly. Well...I could. For the readers sake: I'll refrain.
Pushing my insignificant issues aside, I've heard from the adopters about their kittens.
Napoleon and Persephone are apparently flourishing in their new home. I've heard nothing except positives from one of the owners. She even posts pictures of them every so often (which I promptly explode with contained excitement upon seeing).
Nubé has proven that I've been worried about a whole lot of nothing. I've been told the kids absolutely love him and so does the husband. Ashley said that he's so lazy now, sending me photos of him lying down in one form or another. She's also invited my company in case I ever want to see her, the kids (as we've had coffee at her house with them before) and, of course, Nubé now. I'm tempted to take her up on that offer. Not because I miss him as greatly as I once did (Pageant's made that easier), mostly just because I enjoy Ashley and her kids company (and because I'm a coffee addict and we always have coffee. Coffee is a valuable commodity. Like blood is to the human body. Coffee).
As for the Finn-boy, lost somewhere in the background of my recent blog updates, he is still undeniably the Finn-boy. Amidst the messy horde of kittens, he has begun warming up more and more to my dad. Somewhere along the line, he stopped vomiting at every emotional turbulence (which for him could have been as small as a fly landing on his nose the wrong way). He listens to my dad (even if he doesn't follow through with any action to commands from him) and when my dad is giving him affection, he stares straight in to his eyes, instead of averting his gaze in constant flickering denial of the looming beast.
With all these steps forward, it was only a matter of time before we caught wind of a setback.
During the adoption for Nubé, Finn hid in his crate. He hasn't exactly had much exposure to people since I've been cooped up with kittens and it shows a great deal in his actions. I, not wanting to allow him to think hiding while strangers were present was acceptable (or encouraged), cooed him out of the crate and had to carry him to the living room where the action was at.
With children present, I decided to hold him in my lap, as children isn't in his field of expertise (not that anyone is). Katie, as crazy as she is, called him a kitty at first (I was mischievously tempted to agree) and seemed weary of petting him. I allowed her to as I was cradling him and she demanded I put him down, but I rarely follow the orders of my parents and I wasn't going to obey a child's demands any time soon (plus, I know her, she's a bossy little tyke, but it's more amusing to me than anything else).
She continued petting him in spurts, but would go for periods of time ignoring him in favor of watching the kittens. At one of those points when she turned away, he decided to pee.
There were children present. I suppose he was trying to be classy. Save the children from actually watching him pee in my lap while he worked such a function. They were only able to bare witness to the urine dripping down my leg and the chair.
It was like sitting in a jacuzzi tub of hot, fresh urine, except the fill line only reached barely passed my thighs and curiously got a portion of my beautimous derriere, skipping my feet entirely. But who's to say jacuzzi tubs aren't full of such fluids anyway? People might discredit me. Those that do, obviously never had a nine year old approach them, giggling "I peed in the hot tub." Those people were probably the victim of such a joke.
If he was scared enough to lose control of bodily fluids, then it's obvious he needs the exposure. I've set him back quite a bit by not being able to leave the house for...three months, give or take a few days.
Somewhere along the way, I'll find balance within the chaos. For now, I'll battle the ominous tides of dog urine and cat behavior until that day dawns.
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