That’s machine oil all over the two-week old kitten’s body.
He was so cold when I touched it that I thought “dead for an hour at least.” And then I picked him up and he yelled at me.
I figure his mother, a feral, couldn’t pick him up what with the oil on him. Must have tasted evil.
There was another, healthier, bigger kitten right there, who’d apparently fallen out of a shelf the (not very sensible) mother had put him in, and I grabbed him her. “Your brother needs a heating pad, and you’re the lucky winner.”
Three baths, and some homemade kitten glop, and a session with the blowdryer, and a couple of ruined towels later, they’re snoozing on a low heating pad.
(This, incidentally, is not a good idea for newborns: they can’t move around, and they get burned, and don’t try this at home. These guys are able to roll, and the healthier one is actually tottering around unpredictably. Besides, it’s a high-tech heating pad I bought to sleep on when my back goes out, and it’d be hard to burn yourself on it if you tried. Still, as soon as the little guy was warm, into the box they went.)
More photos here.
On topics other than kitten rescue: I’ll be living in Nipton from July through September, looks like, in an artist’s residence type house, a fifteen-minute drive from my campsite at Cima Dome.

Posted by: Chris Clarke
Categories:
Pets
The Neighborhood
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