What's In A Name

The pool is open. Here I am. Stuck. In the office. Until 7. Forecast for rain must have been a deep secret to the clouds over my head. I was so looking forward to a good down pour. Not only do we need it for the grounds and the gardens, but it would prevent swimmers from flocking to my pool and I could really use a respite after the holiday weekend.

Holidays are hard work for me. This one has been trying. Even though I failed to rent all my sites even with travelers off the road, it was hectic. I won't enchant you with my bathroom tales today. Really deserves more than just a mention.

You may be wondering about the picture above. It is a rescue story with a happy ending ........ I think.

We have had a trio of cats that we put food out for. We try to feed them sparingly to encourage them to eliminate the never ending mouse population. I had assumed that the solid black female was spayed since I never saw any evidence that would lead me to think otherwise.

A yellow striped tabby was the constant companion of the black cat. I call him Tigger and I call her Pooh. They will approach me and ask for food, but will not allow me to pet them. I was making a little progress with Pooh, but she has been absent for a couple of weeks. He who drives through the park with his eagle eye to detect trouble informed me that he had witnessed Pooh going into the woods with a large kill in her mouth. He thought it was a rabbit. Eagle eye, indeed.

I encountered a gray and black tabby awhile back on the sidewalk leading to the restrooms. I had been cleaning and still had a broom in my hand when he approached me and looked up and meowed loudly before rubbing his body against my legs, as cats will do. I reached down and gave him a good head rub before leading him to the cat food bowl on the front porch. He had quite the appetite.  

During this same time, we noticed that Tigger seemed to favor one leg. Looked like he had not been victorious in some sort of altercation. I wanted to look at his wound, but he was having none of my help. Pooh would come and beg for food and he would stay several steps behind and only eat when she did.

During a site clearing adventure, the front end loader was about the task of scooping up some underbrush and when the bucket raised, this tiny kitten fell to the ground. She was rushed to my office wrapped in a shirt. Her tiny eyes were glassy and she was scared. I took her out of the shirt and went into my house with her. My three canine children noticed her straight-away. Toni Louise leaped up to see what her mommy might be holding so tenderly. She investigated the kitten ALL over and she promptly pooped in my hand .... as kittens will do when stimulated by their mothers.

I headed to the bathroom and gathered my supplies for a cat bath. She was not too happy with her introduction to water and soap, but wisely succumbed. She is a wise kitten. I removed three ticks from her tiny body and by the time we reached the rinse cycle she was grunting with pleasure under a stream of warm water.

Wrapped in a towel (a dog towel), she snuggled down and went to sleep. I thought of my Sweet Emmy Lou as my fingers stroked her soft, sweet smelling head. Emmy was equally soft and it was her shampoo I used, so she now smelled like my Emmy, too.

All day long I tried to find this kitten a home. She was inspected by many little kamper hands. Oohs and aahs filled the air and everyone agreed that she was the cutest kitten ever. No takers, though.

Her tiny blue eyes gazed at me as she meowed pitifully. I trudged off to find the powdered formula that was left from the rabbit fiasco. I mixed it, then drew it into a syringe (wishing I had a bottle with a tiny nipple). I swaddled her tiny paws (claws) and slipped the tip into the side her mouth. I squeezed out a drop and she licked at it and swallowed. Took about 10 minutes to get a teaspoonful of formula into her and she spit and sputtered at times.

I held her close and made a purring sound as I wiped her tiny bottom with my finger and some terry cloth. She rewarded me with her pee and then tucked her little head down and went to sleep.

Her name is Little Martha. Named after one of my favorite kampers. Martha is currently tending to her youngest daughter and her first baby. A beautiful little girl. Both Martha and I were bemoaning the fact that none of our children had named a child after us. Good solid names, Martha and Kathryn!

Not to worry, Martha. I have solved that problem. Your name-sake is a feisty little kitten that survived a great fall. She is worthy of your name!
The man holding her and kissing her sweet little head is Martha's husband, Tom. Or Crazy Tom as we like to call him. He is very entertaining, our Tom. If the kampground were a bar called Cheers, you would hear a chorus of  "Tom" every time he showed up!

I must go and mix more formula. Little Martha is quite adept at slurping down an ounce at a time.