Right. I tried everything. Death really does come in blue and purple.
Coco had babies around 9 days ago, and I already wrote about how two of them died so suddenly because she rejected them. This is about the third kitten, the one that was supposed to stay alive and strong and healthy. After the experience with the first two, I now know what furry little death is like. And its ugly. And blue. Disgusting.
I don’t even have enough words to describe how horrifying this is. I named this last surviving kitten Simba. I talked to it everyday and told it what a fun life it would have later on. As soon as it opened its eyes and started seeing the world. It would get to see its mom and the little house it lives in and explore every inch of my room, and sleep on my pillow on winter nights. It would eventually eat solid food and I’d get chicken made especially for it.
It never even opened its eyes.
All the forums told me it would have blue eyes because all newborn kittens do. Yeah well, I was hoping for that flash of blue. Not the dull de-oxygenated one I saw today.
Basically, I checked on Simba last night and noticed it was slightly weak, so I put it nearer to Coco, hoping she would warm it or feed it. She did, but it seemed reluctant. I didn’t want to interfere, so I covered them both in blankets and went to bed. In the morning, it looked weaker and very very cold so I turned on the heating pad and tried to get its body temp back to normal. This worked for a little while; it started meowing lightly and moving around. I swear, I would have given it mouth to mouth if it would’ve helped.
It kept on getting weaker and weaker, despite the kitty formula I gave it. Its still there, on the heating pad, but I know the signs. Its neck is a deathly blue, while its stomach and chest are dull flushed purple, like the inside of a bleeding orchid.
I really can’t stop crying, because this one was supposed to survive. Why didn’t it? This might seem plenty ridiculous but I’m about to resort to praying for its tiny little animal soul, so it should stay in its fragile little frame. People say death is black. I say death is blue. And purple.
And hell is having to see the life being pulled out of a tiny twitching kitten, excruciatingly slowly.