Paw Prints in the Moonlight Read Online Free PDF Page B

there seemed to be a relishing of the milky concoction. I thought I could just detect a very tiny tongue-licking action with what I interpreted as enthusiasm, albeit faint, but nonetheless there. His eyes were still gummed shut and the grey bald patches on his skin showed no signs of improvement but intuitively I could sense that this little fellow was putting up a tremendous fight for his life.
    Optimistically, I began to believe that together there might be a chance for us to beat the odds. The only time
that I wasn’t occupied doing things either for the kitten or myself was when I was dozing into sleep and this was when I had the time to think. This kitten’s fight to live was testament to the enduring ability of living things to recover and adapt in the face of hardship if given help, support and, perhaps, some luck. Just before I fell asleep I had come to the conclusion that the kitten had been extremely lucky. And, furthermore, so had I. Tomorrow would tell, I believed, whether or not he really was on the mend. For the first time in several days I looked forward happily to the next morning.
    Kittens grow up fast and two days in the life of a kitten is a long time compared to a human, so I was hoping to see a definite improvement in the condition of the kitten after a whole weekend of intensive care and nurture. As it turned out, I was not to be disappointed.
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    On Monday morning I arose bright and early to see how things were. The kitten lay coiled in a little fluffy ball, snuggled into the blanket in a corner of his box. No sign of life greeted me until I lifted him out and placed him gently on to a hand towel on my lap. He didn’t seem strong enough yet to stand and he appeared very fragile. Holding him in my hand I attempted to feed him from the pen sac, only this time it wouldn’t work. Inserting the business end of the sac into his tiny mouth, which as usual I had prised open, I squeezed carefully and nothing happened. I squeezed harder
and the sac burst, spraying the evaporated milk mixture over the kitten, the kitchen table and my clothes. I suppose the fountain pen ink sac had never been intended for this purpose, although it had so far done sterling service.
    I considered what I could do now as I cleaned up the mess. I resorted to ladling the milk directly into his mouth using a miniature silver-plated sugar spoon found abandoned in the cutlery drawer. I vaguely remembered it among the many keepsakes I had from my grandmother’s house. It seemed perfect for the job. The reaction to the first spoonful was discouraging. There was a great deal of spitting and snorting but some of the milk obviously went down. The second and third offerings caused him to gulp and gasp for breath but he didn’t choke, although at times it seemed as if he would. When I felt he’d had enough, I sponged his face and chest which were by this time extremely messy.
    It was then that I noticed the bald patches on his skin had become red and looked really sore. I decided to apply some Evening Primrose ointment that my mother had given me to heal my hands after I’d been doing some building work. I had never used it and it took me a while to remember where I’d stored it. It was to prove very useful and I applied the sticky ointment with great care to the kitten’s bald patches. During these ministrations he simply lay quietly on the towel in my lap and seemed to be soothed into sleep by my fingers gently stroking the balm into his
skin. He had a most affable temperament, even allowing for his weakened state. I was beginning to appreciate that there was something very special about this little cat, something simply lovable. Day by day he seemed to be developing and changing for the better.
    As the week went on and his health continued to improve, I had another problem. Since the kitten appeared to be progressing so well I worried what would happen if he became really active and escaped his box.