So Mingo went to the vet today for his 10-days-from-rescue checkup. His weight is now .96 lb, up from .58 lb, which (Mary does Math) is something like a 65% increase. I expect my math is wrong; feel free to correct.
He is negative for feline leukemia, so I don’t have to lean so hard on the quarantine. Unfortunate, despite my and the vet’s best efforts, he still has a few fleas. The vet suggested I comb his little armpits more carefully, because that’s a good spot for fleas to hide. I pointed out that it was taking three people to hold him down while said combing was taking place, but promised I would do my best. (Note to Self: grow more arms) He bit and scratched everybody. “How cute!” they said. However, the vet said he was ready to be weaned so the syringe is a thing of the past. He’s also supposed to be encouraged to use a litter box, so I expect much mess in my future.
I’ve blocked off part of the bathroom floor as a pen for him. I had to put my bathroom scale in the closet: what a shame. I let him out of the carrier and he toddled over to the formula dish and lapped enthusiastically. The litter box was of no interest. Oh, I am really looking forward to the next few days… Assuming I can get rid of the fucking fleas, I can introduce him to the other cat members of the household. I will have to do this carefully, since the last time I brought in a kitten Rainy the Siamese devoted her life to killing it. Rainy does not share. I’m not sure how Squeaky will react since his only model for how to treat a kitten is…Rainy. He did survive, but it was fraught. If they team up Mingo is in trouble. On the other hand, all that biting… But the best news is I can increase the time between feedings and GET MORE SLEEP.
Here’s a picture of Mingo’s first meal on his own. Note the size of the feet. The vet said he will be a beautiful cat. Huh.