Tipsy's Story and Pictures |
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Guestbook Tipsy's StoryThe first sound I heard Tipsy make was a deep growl, as she propped her 12-oz body up against a box of trash and prepared to defend herself at my approach. I just chuckled and scooped her up, marveling at the spunk of a 4-1/2 week kitten born in a alley. Being a full-fledged rescuer of feral cats, I had a carrier handy and put the kitten into it. I noticed her head trembling as she stared out at me with wide, puzzled eyes but didn’t think much of it; she was probably just frightened or was trying to focus through the bars of the carrier. We had ringworm in our household at the time, so I took the kitten to a wildlife rehabber friend for temporary fostering. That’s when I realized something was terribly wrong. The tiny kitten, who should have been able to walk competently, even run for short distances, could not take a single normal step and instead tumbled end-over-end or careened sideways, her front legs and hind legs at complete odds. She was unable to eat or drink from a dish or use the litterpan. Thinking she was convulsing, I rushed the kitten to a nearby emergency veterinary clinic, where a kind young vet brought out a copy of the Cornell book of Cats and showed me the passage on cerebellar hypoplasia. The kitten, born of a feral cat who had survived a distemper epidemic the year before, was affected for life. The rehabber was unwilling to take the kitten back. I took the wee thing home; ringworm was the least of her worried. The next day, my own vet offered to euthanize the kitten, but I saw no need. Given our self-quarantine, my housemate and I were fostering no litters; I had time on my hands. And aside from her profound physical disability, the kitten was healthy, even robust. She was in splendid condition, fat and feisty. I must have stumbled on her the same day she had been abandoned by her feral mother; perhaps her mother was even still tending her, though we could find no other kittens at the site. What’s more, I admired her spirit. If any kitten could survive and face the daily challenge of just meeting her daily needs, this one would. So Tipsy and I made a pact: as long as she enjoyed life and did her part to live it, we were together. And Tipsy did her part. She learned to eat while lying down. She drank, at first, from a nurser or a 12-ounce syringe. Later, she would learn to drink from a well filled bowl, though her approach to the bowl remains her greatest challenge to this day. Litter training was no problem, once she learned to relieve herself while lying down. Her first litterpan was a tray, which she could tumble into and out again. As an adult, some four years later, she uses a restaurant bussing tub, large enough for her to stretch out in and deep enough to contain the essentials. The tub is filled with Crown Bedding, a paper pellet product that is clean and absorbent but does not cling to her fur. Tipsy’s first days were spent in a large dog carrier in my room, where I could keep an eye on her. My housemate, Diana, and the other half of our tiny rescue operation and who got off work earlier than I helped with Tipsy’s care. When we felt she was ready, Tipsy was moved into the nursery, which we padded with wall-to wall carpeting and five –gallon plastic buckets at every corner. It was hard, at first, to watch the tiny kitten struggle, plowing her face into the floor or falling at every attempt at a normal stop. But she was game and determined to make her own way. Our vet insisted that Tipsy would never improve. The damage inflicted by the distemper virus is to the brain, not the nervous system, so rehab is not an option. Yet her walking did improve over time. Provided with carpeting so she could dig in her claws to help balance herself, Tipsy was able to make her way all over the house. She quickly graduated from the nursery. She loved to sleep with me but could save herself from tumbling off the bed or falling down the crack between the bed and the wall. So I put down a single-sized futon on the floor beside the bad and covered it with a rug and stuffed pillows along the wall. Tipsy is now four years old and still going strong. She has broken both eyeteeth in falls but is otherwise fine. She jumps or hauls herself up on the bed to sleep with me every night, settling herself in her chosen corner by my head or snuggled right up against my body. I still carry her to the litterpan, food dish, and water dish three times a day, but she is perfectly capable of tending to her own needs. And she is till full of spunk and vinegar. I have never regretted deciding to keep her and am very glad I was prowling that alleyway the moment a tiny ball of fluff decided to hop out and show herself. That deep growl was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Pictures of TipsyTipsy 1995 Tipsy 1995 Tipsy 12-97 In an off-the-floor condo that she occassionally jumps into on her own Tipsy in her favorite box Tipsy 1-98 Tipsy meeting a daily challenge
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