Saga of the Weeping Baby Kitten

Early Thursday morning:

Can't sleep.

There's a crying baby kitten under my living room closet. Under. Like under the building. I've walked around the building but can't find any way under there. The living room closet is just about dead center in the middle of the building. Way deep. It sounds like just one kitten, but sounds too young to have gotten all the way under there by itself, so I guess its mama put it there. Or maybe it crawled away from a litter and the mama can't get it out. I don't know. I just know I can't get it out and it's been crying for several days and keeping me even more awake than usual. Tonight, its crying is especially hysterical and persistent, a piteous sound that tugs the heartstrings. And I don't think there's anything I can do about it.

It's 5am and a weeping baby kitten is impossible to ignore. It strikes a nerve deep in the paternal instinct. Now I'm afraid I'll have to listen to it slowly die.

Haven't slept yet.

Guess I'll drink some beer and listen to Tom Waits.

Late Thursday night:

Slept for an hour, after baby-kitten-under-the-floor got tired of crying. Spent the day in an important meeting at work, straining to keep my eyes open and form coherent sentences. When I got home, I knelt inside my hall closet and knocked on the floor. Silence. My heart skipped a beat. I put my mouth to the floor and called out "baby kitten, wake up!" A faint cry. "Come on, baby kitten, don't die yet!" Louder crying now, with gusto but still I could hear weakness in its tiny voice.

I walk outside determined to scour the back of the apartment complex looking for a way under. Immediately I see two maintenance guys in the parking lot, packing up their tools and preparing to leave for the day. "Hey, do you know a way under the building?" I ask them. "There's a baby kitten stuck under there." One of them, the one whose face I immediately dislike, stares blankly at me. The other, whose face I don't dislike, says "there's a trapdoor in the back".

He walks me to the back of the apartment and points to a small door under the far side of my neighbor's apartment, just big enough to crawl through. I stick the upper half of my body in and wait for my eyes to adjust. He he goes back to his van, returns with a flashlight. I crawl in and take a look around.

It's cramped and dirty. Smells foul. Feces and spiderwebs everyhere. I call out and Baby Kitten starts crying with vigor. Deep in. There's a space along the right side the building just big enough for me to belly crawl through the dirt under the planks of wood that make up my neighbor's floor (I can hear him washing his dishes).

I hesitate. I'm sure there are black widows down here. And dead things. And who knows what else. The maintenance guy behind me says "go for it, dude. I'll come in and pull you out if you get stuck."

I crawl forward, flashlight in hand, trying not to think about claustrophobia and spiders and horror movies. I'm trying not to bump my head on the planks, but a rusty nail catches me, scratches my scalp. My elbows are scraping in the dirt. The flashlight's beams strobing over planks and concrete, shadows dancing. After 10 feet or so, I call out. Baby Kitten cries. I keep crawling forward.

I get across my neighbor's apartment and make a left turn underneath my apartment; wiggle under electric conduits that barely admit my body into the inner core of the crawlspace under the apartment complex. I'm out of maintenance guy's sight at this point and frankly, he's hefty, so if I get stuck, I'm not sure he can reach me.

I'm crawling through spider webs now, my breath audibly shaky as I focus on not having a full blown claustrophobic freakout. I'm practically using peristaltic motion at this point. Baby Kitten can hear me now and is really letting loose. Ahead of me is a six inch high concrete barrier. I manage to get my head over it and there is the baby kitten, laying all alone, eyes not even open yet, crying piteously and squirming.

I grab the kitten and immediately realize I can't turn around. I start wiggling backward through the crawlspace with the kitten in one hand and flashlight in the other, my shirt rolling up and my full torso exposed now to the dirt and shit and spiderwebs as I crawl back unitl my feet touch the wall. After a three-point turn, I crawl back to the trapdoor and emerge triumphantly to present the critter to the two maintenance guys. The guy whose face I don't like still wears his natural leering expression of uncaring. The other guy is glowing. "You're a hero," he says.

I took it inside and snuggled it with one hand while searching the internet for no-kill shelters. I found one and drove out there, petting the kitten with my right hand while steering, signaling, and shifting with my left. Its head is the size of the first knuckle of my thumb. The kitten is quiet now, content to be touched. It's tired, but not beyond repair.

The lady at the shelter explained that baby kittens need constant sustained attention, which their staff doesn't have the capacity for. She suggested I feed it baby kitten formula, then she directed me to PetSmart. I drove there and sought assistance from a couple of employees while they cooed at the kitten. I drove home and tried to feed it, but it wasn't quite ready to eat yet. It just wanted to be held.

I wanted to keep it, but my apartment doesn't allow them and my lease isn't up until August. I'll be at work all day tomorrow and I'm going to a wedding this weekend, so I can't give the kitten the attention it needs. Fortunately, a friend who is a stay-at-home mom offered to nurse it for 24 hours while I find a home for it. My friends in Hayward, one of whom has a four year old who wants a cat, agreed to adopt it. I agreed to pay the medical bills.

Now I can sleep.

Friday Morning:

Monday afternoon:

Bad news. The baby kitten died. We're not sure why.

Oh, well.

Life goes on for us. For a while. Life is temporary and we should all be grateful for this one whether or not it conforms to our expectations. I did my best and that's all I expect from myself. I may not have saved the kitten, but I learned something about myself.

There will always be more kittens.