So last night at about, oh, I don't know 10 PM, Cheech started to lose his everloving mind barking. This is a semi-usual occurrence for him -- it usually is something like the mailman going by, or people walking their dogs on the street, or other just normal things that come from living in an urban area. He usually barks for a minute, then huffs all haughtily and goes back to being fat and sassy.
But sometimes, he's really effing insistent. As if their are zombies trying to break down our door and he's totally giving away that there are live, non-zombie humans in here but you best not want to eat them for your zombie dinner because that's HIS plan if we all just perish from starvation or whatever.
Between him and the cats, dude, the zombies don't have a chance.
So when he gets all beside himself, I figure there's actually someone at the door that actually wants us to acknowledge their presence. I begrudgingly got up from my nightly Interwebs perusal because I wasn't sure if I was hearing knocking on our screen door or if it was just Sylvester, the porch cat, demanding his dinner, unlocked our seventeen thousand locks, and looked through the screen to see what all the commotion was about.
There was a young boy on my porch, clutching a tiny pet bed wrapped up in his sweatshirt (because of course it was raining), who nervously looked at me.
I eyeballed him because (a) please don't be what I think this is and (b) it's a school night why aren't you in bed and (c) Kyle's not going to be happy.
And then, then the little white head popped out of the bed and two orange eyes pitifully looked at me, and the boy began to speak quickly.
"My friend and I found this cat and my friend over there said that you have cats and we can't keep it because I have a dog and so I brought it here to you, and it's a girl."
I looked at the tiny face, gauging it to be about 2-3 months old. The boy was already handing the kitten to me, so I took it to give it a once over.
It looked clean, like it hadn't been outside long (if at all), but through it's white fur I could see some flea dirt. It's ears looked gunky, probably in a mite-y way but possibly not. Eyes and ears had minimal goop, but nothing super gross looking like infection or disease, just ... goop. And a peek at it's rear end revealed that the gender was most definitely male.
The boy held out the tiny pet bed (which was black velour with pink cheetah print and not old in the least) and was joined by a slightly older girl, who told me some story about the cat being in a tree but her mom's allergic and she has a pit bull puppy and they're moving anyway and she loves cats but she can't keep it.
The boy told me he was from across the street, a family that moved in a couple of weeks ago, and I didn't recognize the girl at all, but she somehow knew we had cats, too.
I made the boy hold the kitten while I went inside to talk to Kyle, whose gut reaction was as I expected -- unhappy and completely unwilling, but some talk of not keeping the kitten, just fostering or rehoming it, and he acquiesced because ... well, I don't really know why.
And now, well, now I have a tiny kitten living in my upstairs bathroom.
I named him Tucker Earl (hat tip to Tanis) and he needs a home.
If I can't find a home for him pretty much this weekend, I'll take him to the shelter I used to work for and hope that they'll take him, though I know the likelihood is slim due to it being kitten season. I'd really love to send him to a happy, new home that will love and care for him, but that place can't be here.
So please spread the word for me -- I'm using the hashtag #findtuckerahome on Twitter and on Instagram (I'm so_tabulous there) and hopefully we can find this sweet little guy a forever home soon.