Foster care

A week ago, we welcomed into our home this tiny, furry fella:

We've been hearing a kitten's incessant crying for at least two days already but had no idea where the little furball could be. So when I went to check what all the banging was about inside the school next to our apartment (worrying they were damaging our wall), I saw this teeny-weeny black kitten.

The workers said it was abandoned because they never saw any mother come for it. One of them also said that it had just opened its eyes, and that he cleaned them, but added that it wouldn't eat. I looked around and saw just scraps of rice and chicken. It was a kitten for chrissakes! It needed milk! But I was still hoping the mom would come back; maybe she was just wary of all the workers there. So I left.

Back home, My Bibe said that I should get it but what if the mother comes back, I countered. Besides, having two cats proved to be quite a handful already.

But in between loud noises of workers pounding on concrete, we could here meows throughout the rest of the day, as if pawing at my conscience. The guilt was much worse because I saw the kitten, so now I could picture him even more clearly. Eventually I came back for it, acceding to My Bibe's terms that we were just gonna foster it until the kitty's healthy and big enough to be adopted out.

The kitten was a mess but he (we assumed it was a boy) wasn't that dirty. We fed him first with milk before cleaning him up. And my, was he hungry. Poor thing, he even feasted on some Fancy Feast even if he was only about two weeks old by our approximation.

He looked healthy actually. He seemed strong and was one very active kitten. He had no qualms exploring his surroundings right after feeding.

He was so tiny but surprisingly strong. He didn't like to be handled and he always manages to claw his way out of your grip. He's one feisty kitty for sure.

He's one feisty kitty.

The next step was to bring him inside our house. We have two grown-up cats and we expected them to be unwelcoming to this new visitor. To manage this, we placed the little kitty inside a box but which proved too small for him as he was able to easily clamber his way out of it. I found a plastic box, which I thought should make climbing out a little more difficult for him because it was slippery. He fell asleep soon after.

He's so adorable, asleep at last.

Bringing the little furball in reminded me of when Foreman first came into our home. He was so small then, but not as small as this one. Foreman was already going three months when we adopted him. This kitten, like I've mentioned, looked like he was just, give or take, two weeks old.

Our little Foreman some four years ago.

But all the reminiscing also brought back memories of a very upset Kwittie Boy, who was very vocal about his protesting Foreman's admission into our family. This time, though, there were now two cats hissing and growling.

A very upset Kwittie Boy back in 2008.

My Bibe named the kitten Thorben, a Nordic name (an ode to my heritage?) that translates to "Thor's bear." Yeah, who knew Thor had a bear? Anyway, the kitten looked like a miniature bear at times, hence the name.

We were so enamored by this little fella. But look at him, and who wouldn't?

The only question now is whether we'll be strong enough to let go of him when the time comes, or are we gonna keep him for good? We'll just have to wait and see then.

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UPDATE:
Well, we ended up keeping her. Yes, Thorben is a she! We were only to determine her sex when the physical signs on her behind became more evident. We renamed her Thordis.