Zooming, Ambushing, Toes
Privacy (other people’s)
Towards the end of March 2021, I spoke to a despairing couple whose landlord had changed his mind about allowing them to have a kitten, after they’d already adopted one. The kitten shortage in London in the pandemic was so bad that they’d driven three hours to a breeder in another city, who told them that this little fluff was 8 weeks old:
She was very tiny, and as you can see, her eyes were still in the process of changing from baby blue to their adult colour.
My vet and I both thought she was younger than the breeder claimed, which is sadly quite typical — they like to sell them as soon as possible, whether or not the babies are ready to leave their mothers, so they can get on with breeding the next batch of profits.
If I sound angry at this breeder, I am. Not only because of that, but also because Smorky had a large lump on her stomach: an umbilical hernia. He told the buyers (whom he charged £600!) that it was normal and would go away by itself. For that reason, it’s kind of lucky the landlord kicked her out, because poor Smorks was walking around with part of her intestines outside her body, risking severe injury, and her owners wouldn’t have known to get anything done about it.
See the lump?
Poor baby. I was so freaked out every time she played or ran around, thinking she’d cause a catastrophic injury before she was big enough to have the operation to fix it.
For safety reasons, we had to wait until she was over a kilogram before she could be put under for the op, and it felt like forever! Especially because she instantly bonded with Smol Paul, and their rambunctious play sessions scared the heck out of me.
Eventually, she was finally big enough, and as luck would have it, my lovely vets could do Smol Paul’s smol balls (neutering!) at the same time. Which meant they’d both have to take it easy as they recovered, right?
Ha ha, no chance.
Thankfully, the operation went perfectly, and Smorky is now perfectly healthy and indistinguishable from any other (fearless, bonkers) kitten.
The original plan was to rehome her once she was all healed up and healthy, because her mankiness was only temporary and I could take in another kitty with a more permanent issue, like my golden oldies.
However, she’s bonded so closely with Smol Paul that I can’t bear to split them, so it looks like Smorky (named after a sign I saw in Japan that said ‘Smorking Room’) is here to stay.
Smol and Smorks — the trouble twins!
You know, I think she likes it here.