Amber and I been caring for a cat for the past 20 hours. This cat weighs, I kid you not, just over 3 ounces. That’s slightly more than a ripened Roma tomato. He was born on Friday, abandoned by his mother, and Amber’s mother brought him here from Staunton. He was found lying in a backyard, filthy, covered in insects. So Amber and I spent last night learning how to care for it. It ain’t easy. Feedings every couple of hours, burping it (imagine burping a smallish gerbil and you’ve got the idea), keeping it clean and encouraging it to relieve itself, etc.
This cat is just so incredibly small that it’s tough for me to do anything with it. I can’t get beyond how easily that I could break him. His eyes and ears aren’t opened yet, so he’s not actually aware that we’re not cats. Which is probably for the better. He’s jet-black, though it looks like he might end up with gray socks. This afternoon, I reclined and let him crawl along my torso. He groped blinding up my stomach for a nipple, mewling and clawing at me with his little needle-talons. He’s even learned to purr today, though it doesn’t sound like he’s running on all pistons. Today, he put on .6 ounces, bringing him closer to four ounces. I think he might just do alright.
The best part is that I pretty much get to be the favorite uncle. I’ll leave Amber’s tomorrow morning and return come next weekend; no feedings, burpings, or wipings for me until then. If I could just teach him to say “Uncla Waldo,” why, that’d be just fine.