Bells On Boots

He'd heard it more than once. The whispering of a tuneless jingle, magnified only by the rhythm of their crunching footfalls on leaf littered grounds. It was odd that he should hear the sound. For, he shouldn't have been able to pick up the ringing of a bell over the careless desecration of forest compost. Wondering where the source of the sound might be, the man looked to the female beside him in a manner most hesitant. Glancing at her hurriedly, and then more observantly once he realized she was paying him no mind, the man spotted a scarf of fabric tied tightly around the woman's boot. Dangling from the fabric, threaded through a tiny notch on the top of the object, was a golden bell.

His curiosity got the best of him. With a raised brow he asked "You wear bells on your boots?"

The woman sharply looked up, creating tension within the secluded forest expanse. She shrugged her shoulders, never once missing a step on their trek through the woods. "Yes."

"Why?"

He was expecting her to ignore him or glare at him for interrupting the silence, but then she smiled so gently his doubt faded. She replied "So that if I ever get lost, I can find myself."

Yeah, I know, elaborate opening there. I'd read a quote that started this and decided to build a little passage for it. I was in the writing mood (And since I don't want to be accused of stealing you can find the quote here, literally, it's just two quotes in the item description http://www.etsy.com/listing/120215049/wandering-sole-boot-scarf-in-stock-ready?ref=sr_gallery_9&ga_search_query=boot+bells&ga_view_type=gallery&ga_ship_to=US&ga_search_type=all). As a bonus that little passage explains my title with more finesse than I could manage here and sets the direction for the rest of this entry.

Because I am hopelessly lost. 

On good days: I'm okay with the illusion of contentment that being lost tends to bring. On every other day: I feel like a cat that's been thrown a ball full of cat nip, but in my excitement has been knocked under the couch just out of reach where my paws can't grasp it.

It's a result that weighs from one's own stupidity, nonetheless it's a result that's going to make the kitty sad.

Let's begin with this: I've recently become a foster.

I was not in any way, shape or form trying to be like the wonderful foster mother, Emily, whom fostered our baby boy Finn and continues to foster dogs. In fact, I never intended to be a foster. It just happened.

The greatly condensed version of this story? It was pouring at work, my brother happened to hear kittens crying outside drowning in a window well and I ran out to save them.

(at home after they dried off and warmed up)

Because the kittens were gushed over and touched by many human hands, I was reluctant to put the kittens back outside under any circumstance (not to mention their safe housing was overrun by water). I'd seen the product of what the lingering smell of a human on a kitten could make a mother cat do and I didn't want to be responsible for knowing that I led to four helpless babies' demise. Still, I'll be honest, I didn't want to keep them for fear of attachment. Plus a friend of mine had gone through taking care of a kitten that hadn't even opened its eyes yet and she relayed to me how difficult of an experience it was. Rewarding? Sure. But that didn't make it any less taxing.

My brother, as caught up in the moment as he was, decided it would be great if "we" took care of the kittens. In hindsight, an alarm bell should've gone off at his usage of the word "we". The moment had apparently also caught me in its filthy grasp and threw my judgement in to the flooded window well with a mother cats lost responsibility because I, at the time, thought that that sounded "okay" as long as he helped. I mean, really, I set myself up on that one. Even the fact that he works two jobs didn't seem to come up in the issue within my mind. 

Well played, brother. Well played.

In the end, I'm stuck with four baby kittens who are estimated to be about three weeks old. They're needy, whiny, helpless and utterly annoying. I'd be lying though if I said they weren't fraking adorable. Yes, fraking.

This alone though, doesn't make up for the countless hours of sleep lost and time spent bottle feeding them, only to end up with the result of having to stimulate each and every last one of them to pee and poop. Oh, did I mention this is done every two hours? Right.

My mother (I love you, you crazeh ole ladeh) has been helping me during the day so that I can take even a semblance of a break or even take a nap.

You'll never see me crankier than when I haven't gotten much sleep.

And while the kittens have seen me at my worst: they don't seem to mind. They still want to play with me, bite me, claw me, whine incessantly at me and frivolously pee on me every now and again. I believe they're cavorting amongst themselves because its never the same kitten twice. It's safe to say my piles of laundry stack up quicker than normal.

But it would be strange for these kittens to be afraid of my sleepless wrath when they're not even afraid of Finn or Artemis. And Artemis has successfully batted a couple in the face for the sake of playing with the strange, tiny, fur balls that move of their own will.

Finn is more scared of them in any circumstance, which, really, it isn't hard to see why. Their high pitched squeaks are so frequent I can swear in complete silence that I hear them; my mind effectively brainwashed with kitten cries. Finn more or less sniffs them, backs away when they reach out a paw, sniffs again and then just watches. If they approach him on their own, he freezes and lets them rub against him, but judging by his tense stance you can tell he wouldn't mind bolting.

I have, for fun or for cruelty, placed kittens atop Finn's back for a ride. He more or less just sits there and tries to turn his head far enough back to see what scheming they're up to.

Artemis is also afraid of them. He approaches them with caution even when they're in their box, only to tentatively sniff them before making a quick retreat. If they're on the floor romping around in his domain, he'll only make a fast approach when a kitten's back is turned to him before he tries to sniff. Occasionally, he acts as though he will attack them, but the worst he has actually mustered up the courage for is a light pawing to a kitten face and back. Regardless of such actions, each of the four kittens have absolutely no problem approaching Artemis, themselves.

In fact, more times than not, they follow him in an attempt to get near him, cuddle up and very likely suckle for milk that's just not there. This freaks Artemis out to no end, causing his mind to make last resort decisions for escape as if he were 007. Alas, my lard lacks finesse to be so cunning and ends up looking like a tromping, clumsy shadow-sheep who tried to jump over the metaphorical fence of sleep and missed the clearing by a mile. The end result: a head-first fall in to the floor before rocketing in to the kitchen to hide his shame.

The kittens on the other hand have successfully beaten my kids in both the bravery and cunning department.

Here's a line-up of the criminals:

First we have Persephone:

I thought naming her after the goddess of "spring growth" was fitting as to the time she was born. If she's a goddess of anything, though, it'd be pooping. She's also the little explorer of the litter. Anything and everything is her playground; no crevasse, crack or under space is too small to be off limits to her. Because of this I've had to squeeze in to tight spaces upon retrieval of said kitten. And while she is a little rascal, she still manages to be very calm at times. Almost sedately. With watchful eyes, she'll simply sit and observe as things happen around her. So far, she's the only kitten to respond so well to her name. 

Next we have Fat Pageant:

(by the way, the first pic is how a mother cat carries her young, giving them a sense of comfort and associating the carrier with "mother". Some people think it's cruel. HOHKAY :P)

That's right. Fat Pageant (or Pam from the TV show: "Archer" as some of my co-workers refer to her as). I keep telling myself "I'll come up with a real name for her eventually", but who knows? I'm quite fond of the name. She earned it with her vigorous showing of hunger to get at the food. Also with her lack of emotional care to bulldozing her way through her brothers and sisters in an attempt to eat first. She has regards for no one except herself and food.

Third comes Nube':

The name means "Cloud" in Spanish (being part Hispanic, I thought it would be cool to relay back to my heritage), but his name is still up in the air as I'm not entirely sold on it like I am the others. And it's important to me for a name to "fit" (so to speak) an animal. This kid is my problem child. The only kitten with an umbilical cord issue, he's like an adorable child with down syndrome that your brain just bombards you with every urge to hug. Also like any amazing DS child, this kitten is simply just a kitten; the only difference is that he learns at a slower pace than his brother's and sister's. He's had quite a few, small, various issues here and there. One being weening. We're still tackling that bridge. 

And last, but not least is Napoleon:

It was obvious after I got over the initial "save kittens" mode, that he was the runt of the family. He was the smallest and the least nourished of all four. But if you were to tell me that all runts end up weak and frail, I would deny the claim. Napoleon has surpassed his second to youngest brother, Nube, in strength, durability and speed, he's already topping Persephone in persistence and it won't be long before he surpasses Fat Pageant in hunger. That, above all the rest, scares me most. 

Currently, they're all litter training and despite my complaints, they're doing fairly well. As frustrations mount though, I become less and less pliable as far as anyone else is concerned. It goes without saying, functioning on little to no sleep has the potential to throw a person's emotional status out of whack (among various other things).

Successfully, it has done so. 

Every once in a while, I'll feel like I've been careened in to a whirlpool of irreverent negativity in the vast sea of life. Usually, this is brought on by my own bout of redundancy. But because of my lack of sleep recently "every once in a while" has pretty effectively morphed in to "everyday".

You see, I'm the type of person who hopes for a better outcome even if I know that the end results will be less than satisfactory. Regardless of a situation I hope for the best, knowing the worst, and am still naively disappointed when events don't go the way I intended.

In short: I'm a retarded ticking time-bomb that keeps resetting itself for detonation.

And we all know that when life tosses you a couple of lemons, it soon begins pelting you with more (turning your best efforts of a lemonade stand into a war-zone of cramped coverage from lemon-bullets).

Recently, these ruthless efforts have become much more obvious and frustrating since the kittens arrival. What I normally have problems with (that are easily ignored) are now ten times worse than normal. The gist of it is: if I have a problem, I need to remove the problem or remove myself from the problem.

My current situation in life (just the entirety of making no progress, otherwise I love where I'm at): problem. My job (another thing of progress and happiness): problem. The fact that I can't drive nor do I want to (a fear): problem.

In every aspect, I'm allowing all these small things to stump me. And the only reason I feel stuck, is because I make myself feel that way. No one else is doing it to me. Physically: I'm not impaired. I would say I'm not mentally impaired, but my ramblings (and other voices in my head) would care to argue.

My "lost" feeling derives from seeing and hearing about people around my age (and younger, no less) making progress toward their own brand of "success" in life, while I just generally sit in the same, stale pattern of hindered improvement.

And trust me, I'm easy to please. I'm like a dog: throw me a bone every once in a while and you have yourself a loyal hound. But if I'm denied that bone after years of loyal service, then the best I can promise is a bite in the hiney where it isn't so shiny.

Needless to say, my snarl is out and my biting teeth are on standby.

Still, I continue to hold strong to the hope that my big break will come without the usage of biting. Because, again, in reality, I'm a simple girl: I just want to be appreciated for what I do and be treated with as much respect as I give.

I might wear the 'welcome' like a door-mat, but, last time I checked, I was still a person. And, like any other person, I tire of being stepped on.

On the upside, as far as the kittens go, I have two girls ready and willing to adopt two babies when they are eight weeks of age (when the kittens are old enough to adopt out). Best part is...they're sisters! So neither Napoleon or Persephone will ever be separated, which I love. As for Nube' and Fat Pageant, I have potential adopters lining up at just the mention of kittens. Everyone around me wants to suggest the kittens to their friends as well. And, to some extent, I appreciate it, but I have so many individuals asking for kittens that I can't please everyone. If they keep asking people they know and I don't, I can already see there's going to be a lot of disappointments. To these people I say: SPCA! They have plenty of kittens and beautimous cats that no one bothers looking at or trying to adopt. They need homes too! 

Besides, I only have two babies left. One of which I'm still unsure I want to keep or simply send away with the rest. In that sense, I guess I could be considered a failed foster at my birth of being one, but I haven't been able to decide yet. It's a lot taking a two week old kitten and raising it for six weeks (make it four kittens and it's that much harder). 

This, alone, makes me want to keep at the very least one kitten, but at the same time I have two wonderful animals that I am more than happy with. For example: Finn who is a handful by himself (albeit a sweet one). Since the kitten's arrival, I haven't been able to spend as much one on one time with him. His pent-up energy is beginning to over flow. My lovely cat Artemis, on the other end of the spectrum, is inexorably, inexplicably jealous of each tiny fluff of squeaking fur since they entered the home. While he has gotten better at handling them approaching him, he isn't anywhere near sold on the entire "kitten" ideal and I'll be willing to bet he'll be even less sold on a "keep-one-kitten" ideal.

I am willing to admit to attachment, but I figured that was a given once I sealed my fate by accepting responsibility. The worry of that has long since passed and I've since no longer cared (especially since kitten cuteness has also worn on me and what I see now are four pooping, peeing, crying and always hungry little machines that won't go to bed as easily as they did when I first brought them home).

I know it'll be a double-edged sword of emotions when they leave, yet perhaps when the time comes to give them away, I'll be ready for a well-deserved break.

Besides, I always have my kids to cuddle up to when I'm feeling lonely. Even if they more than mind it at times.