This, then, is kitten A (now Cat A), of kittens A-E (inclusive) that I rescued last year from the amazing weird old building behind me where the ferals have set up a giant colony. That building's amazing -- it's got five separate vaults and a fallout shelter and a few huge rooms with giant windows in them, all behind a mission revival storefront on Central that makes it look like -- what? I dunno -- maybe a bank or something, but apparently with pretty heavy-duty industrial stuff in the back. It's been a million different things and is on its way to becoming one of the upscale, unaffordable gentrified condominia of new urbanism, but for now it's still a cat factory.
I rescued kitten A twice. The first time was from a drainpipe, which I dug him out of by reaching my arm through the razor wire-topped fence on the edge of the fallout shelter right outside my bathroom and kitchen windows. Fed him expensive formula for a few days then decided to put him back, and finally got him for good on tax day by going out to jump the fence in my bathrobe during a raging hailstorm which he'd found himself stranded outside in. After that, he was *mine*.
Kitten B (now Cat B -- see above) poses -- but when I click her she makes faces at the camera. The cameraphone seems to be OK with her though -- maybe because it isn't flashing in the daylight. Who can say? Her "rescue" was far less dramatic than that of kitten A. She was sitting outside yowling for half an hour at 2 or 3 am and one of the neighbours called the cops because of it. I'm serious. I went out and brought her in; the police cruiser (there's that word again, now sporting a fourth meaning, because three's not enough) saw me grab the kitten and went about its business, then I doused her in water to show her who was in control and dried her off and took her to bed with me. That seems to be the ritual for taking cats into my life. (How like a gay man: first, "hey, you're cute", and then we spend the night together.)
Kitten D died, and I think I wrote about it here when it happened. Gawd that was an ugly cat. Ugliest cat I ever laid eyes on. Way better off dead.
Kittens C and E (now Cats C and E), a male orange cats with two matching "O" marks on each side and a tiny dark mottled female tortoiseshell calico respectively, both live with my parents now and keep them company and make more work for my already busy, busy mother. Both are healthy and happy and well, though Kitten D did break her leg jumping off of a cinderblock wall she had climbed once she moved to El Paso.
These guys keep me sane. Later.
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