Skyla Dawn Cameron

My characters kill people so I don't have to.

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#ThePsychKittens Birthday

On February 15, I ended up with two orphaned, two-day-old kittens.


I have seen kittens being born before. I have seen neonates. I have never, ever seen kittens this small. They should be 80-100g at birth and gain an average of 10g a day; when I got them at two days old, Gus weighed 57g and Shawn 70g.

Yeah. Tiny.

But getting bigger!

This isn’t a thing I do, normally–yes, I rescue adoptable cats and kittens as part of TNR work, but I don’t foster babies this tiny. I’d intended to only keep them for a few days until a larger recuse could be found…

But they were so, so tiny. Gus struggled to latch and eat, and I didn’t like the idea of forcing another schedule change on them. Plus there’s the reality that shelters often euthanize kittens this young–which is understandable, since they will starve and suffer if specialized fosters aren’t available for them. Without being strong enough to endure travel, there seemed just one option: I had to keep them.

I did not think I could do this. I still do not think I can do this. There are so many odds stacked against them, every day that passes and they’re okay is another miracle as far as I’m concerned. Now that I have three hours between feedings, I’ve had a bit more sleep, thankfully–being sleep-deprived made me very susceptible to panic attacks, which is not good for anyone.

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Guster

Today is their two-week birthday. There have been ups and downs as they struggle to put on weight, have mild colds, and deal with all the challenges low birth weight, orphaned neonates encounter. These creatures are essentially Screamapillars. I am in a constant state of anxiety that I’m going to open their carrier to feed them and someone will be dead even though I record their weight every twelve hours and log every meal in mL so I’d likely notice a downward decline before we reached that point.

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Shawn

They are getting bigger, slowly–you can see a difference in the just short of two weeks that I’ve had them.

They are named Shawn and Gus, from Psych, which I guess is obscure enough now that very few people get my references.

They have a hashtag on Twitter now if you’d like to follow along with #ThePsychKittens. Any day now they should open their eyes–they’re a little behind in that regard, but developing well in others.

I really do sing them their song several times a day:

If you too would like to sing them their song, upload a video and I’ll play it for them!

Due to tremendous generosity from both local and international people, their care is pretty well covered right now–they have their Snuggle Puppy that mimics momma’s heartbeat, a playpen for when they’re big enough to litter train, Miracle Nipples for nursing, cash and gift cards, Kitten Milk Replacement. If you’d like to support the work we do at CCI, we have an Amazon wishlist for various items, as well as PayPal. Our mailing address is 50 Bridge St E / PO Box 27 / Campbellford ON / K0L 1L0, and thus far they’ve been to English Line Vet if you prefer to put money directly down for their care (account name is Cat Care Initiative).

Many of the items on the wishlist would also be useful to your local shelter, and I encourage folks to donate locally if possible in honor of the other little guys out there.

Saving these guys is not easy work but it can be done. Whether you intend to foster or not, just in case you run into babies needing bottle-feeding, I recommend you take a crash course in rescue at Kitten Lady’s site and learn crucial things like how to feed, what to feed, and tips that will help you give them their best chance at survival. I wouldn’t’ve been able to do any of this without round-the-clock support from BeeBee’s House Kitten Rescue. Whether rescue is successful or not, I believe in throwing oneself behind babies like this 100% and taking it personally.

And I’m not gonna lie–this has been pretty rough on me. I’m a single-income household with bills to pay and work I’ve had to triage because I don’t want to fuck people’s projects up if I rush and am too sleep-deprived. Livi 5 is on hold for a few weeks while I live with a three-hour-feeding schedule.

If you’d like to buy me a coffee (which I’m drinking a lot of), that’d be great.

No matter what, it is all worth it to see these little guys grow a little every day, and I’m grateful social media has let me share their journey with so many folks.

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‘Tis the Season (for Asking for Money)

[Click here to skip the explanation if you just want to see the $$ options]

I had my Fuck It Moment™ in Taco Bell.

After the first consult with the specialist doctor–where she repeated my least favourite phrase “You’re doing all the right things, but…” (which I equate with “You can’t fix this on your own”, the thing I abhor more than anything) and it was clear that this autoimmune health thing is actually pretty serious and I have drugs and MRIs and weekly blood tests ahead of me now–I went for dinner with Mum at Taco Bell and had a bean and cheese burrito and glorious cheesy fries that nearly made me weep.

And I said fuck it.

To everything.

It’s the moment of acceptance that This Is Your Life Now and Things Are Different and Stuff Has to Change. Counting spoons and adjusting to more than this new smaller body that I feel like an impostor in. It’s not the black moment from fiction we associate with epiphanies and realizations–it’s a much more calm, less scary sort of thing where you throw up your hands and say okay, this is how it has to be. I’m sick. I can’t make myself not sick. And there are loads of other considerations now that I’m juggling something other than my mental health. I made the decision in that Fuck It Moment™ that I need to take care of myself and prioritize my health, no matter what that entailed.

And I also realized I can’t take care of my pets if I don’t take care of me, and I can’t take care of me if I’m panicking while one of them is sick.

This is Temperance von Eviltry, Duchess of DOOM. AKA Doombuggy.

She ate Monday at 11:30am.

She has not eaten since.

We were at the vet Wednesday and she had something for the nausea; while she hasn’t been sick since, she still won’t eat, and she is not acting like herself. “Herself” usually involves things like knocking over my Christmas tree, cuddling with the dog, playing with Rodney Ballsnomore, terrorizing my poor beta male cats, battling with the other household alpha female, etc.

She’s young, not even three and a half, so the vet thinks the most likely scenario is an obstruction of some kind, though there is always the chance of kidney problems or something else. We just have no idea without running some tests. Even though she was a little perkier this morning, the loss of appetite is not good and I don’t want to take chances.

Right now, Doombuggy is hiding in her cat carrier, ignoring everyone. I’d like her to get back to being silly like this, lying in weird positions.

Tests cost money.

I told the vet I’d sell a kidney on the black market if I had to (look, it doesn’t have to be MY kidney). The thing is, I am completely tapped out at the moment. I’ve been in clinical remission for seven weeks, which is great, but I have six months of bad health to make up for–six months of lost routines, lost weight, lost finances, etc. I have been scrambling to stay afloat the past month in particular (when I was hit with another $750 in vet bills for other pets, le sigh–dog has Cushing’s, other cat has bladder cystitis) amidst running to the city to see my specialist and going in for weekly blood tests of my own. I need to buy my own medication next week, too.

Normally I’d just try to take on extra freelance work, I have large scale projects I’m finishing up for people at the moment while dealing with my own health recovery, and tossing more work on my shoulders will not be good for my stress level, which I’m trying to keep down to avoid getting more sick.

She is also my dog’s best friend. Sophie needs her buddy back.

I’ve gone months before without groceries so that my pets can go to the vet; I’ve prioritized them over everything, every time, in my struggle to be entirely self-sufficient. Lost my job last year–didn’t ask for help. Couldn’t afford groceries last spring–didn’t ask for help. Got extremely sick for six months and was hardly able to work–didn’t ask for help. Asking for help feels like I’ve failed so I normally find something to sacrifice. But it’s impossible to focus on my own health at the moment with financial instability and I have no more sacrifices to make at this point.


So fuck it. I am breaking down and officially asking for help.

    • Here’s our GoFundMe page. There is nothing fancy here–I already feel like I’ve failed at adulting and being a pet mom just asking for help, and I don’t like handouts and would rather to give people something for their trouble (so PLEASE check the options below)…but, I’ve got nothing. I don’t have awesome prizes to offer you or the energy for another Giant Evil Project. There is my deepest gratitude, however, plus I am less likely to put a horrible curse on people who help my pets.

 

    • If you are a writer with a book to publish, you can pick up a pre-made cover instead right here and hey, that’s money that comes direct to me too (for something that doesn’t add a lot to my workload).

 

    • Also, I have ebooks for sale direct,Bloodlines-Kindle and again, that’s money that comes to me just as if you’d used PayPal except you get some urban fantasy for your trouble. I am a pretty good writer and spin a decent tale if you’re into female characters often deemed “unlikable” and violence and naughty words and stuff.

 

    • If you dislike GoFundMe (and I am cognizant of the troubles with them), my PayPal is skyladawncameron[at]gmail[dot]com.

 

    • If for some reason you’d like to give directly to my vet and have it earmarked for us, it’s English Line Veterinary Services and I don’t even know how that would work, but there you go. Call them and use my name. They know me well.

There are a lot of people needing help with things right now (hey, I know of this one–if you have pennies, toss them toward these kitties too). And it’s the holidays, everyone’s broke–I’m not even sending Christmas cards until next month. But my Doombuggy needs xrays, some bloodwork, and god knows what else, and I have no buffer left after everything that’s happened to me this year. I lost my beloved Blind Cat a few months ago and I can’t even bear the thought of anyone else being in poor health at the moment.

So if you can bring a little doom our way, we’d appreciate it.

Baby Doombuggy, August 2011.

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Goodbye, Jilly-bean

Blind CatYesterday, I lost a member of my family–Jilly-bean, aka Blind Cat.

Mum got her from a shelter when she was about nine months old. She’s always loved torties, and when she brought this little kitty out of the cage and held her on her back like a baby, she purred and ran her front paws over Mum’s face. And that was when she knew she needed to bring her home.

And that right there was Jilly-bean for the duration of her life: no matter where she was or what was going on, she wanted to cuddle. Very little bothered her, she didn’t seek out trouble, she was never bitchy. From day one, she was happy and affectionate, the kind of cat everyone who met her fell in love with.

Including me. I was a teen when Mum got her and later when I got my own place, I asked a few times if I could have Jilly-bean. Mum declined (I didn’t blame her).

Then on September 15, 2005, I lost my babydoll, Hanna. Devastation doesn’t even begin to describe it–she was my everything.

The day after she died, Mum showed up at my door with Jilly-bean. That was nearly nine years ago.

037Her eyesight was never good and failed bit by bit over the years. While that might’ve stressed out many cats, it never bothered her. She navigated our different homes with ease, learning the layouts. She never missed the litter box and easily found the bowls of water. She learned how to get on and off the bed with ease. She spent her days sitting on the arm of the couch beside me, trilling and purring whenever I reached over to pet her.

She never much cared for the other cats, mostly because she had trouble understanding their intentions when they approached. Generally they didn’t bother with her, except Rodney, who loves everyone. When Jilly-bean would give a hiss of warning and smack him, utter bafflement would come over his face and he’d swat back while giving me a look of, “MUM! SHE DOESN’T WANT TO BE MY FRIEND?” It never failed to make me chuckle, two simple cats not entirely sure of what was going on as they half-heartedly slapped one another.

Despite getting up in age, she never stopped playing, usually with me where she’d roll around on the bed and bat my fingers. She also chased the toys with bells in them so she could track them across the carpet, though had the most fun pouncing on the phantom mice apparently only she could see on the living room floor. This continued right up until the past month.

There’s now a small (but no less gaping) hole where she used to be, tucked at my side all day every day. I waver between the numb shock of coming to the realization that she’s really gone and the soul-deep grief that feels like it’s cleaving me in two and makes it impossible to breathe.

778My cats and dog are, really, all I have. I spend all day, every day, in their company–there are days I don’t have contact with a single human but I always have a couple of animals in close proximity. As most people know, I bond with animals more than humans; being able to unconditionally love something that’s never going to disappoint or hurt you is a wonderful–and I’d say necessary-gift.  But even when they have a good long life, it’s always too short. Always.

I’m offline for a few days as I try to adjust to not having her curled up beside me when I sleep at night, not having her paw my shoulder to be let out of the room precisely two hours before I normally wake up, not having her trundling over when I get up in the morning. I still have to remind myself not to call her at meal time when I fell like someone’s missing.

I do encourage people, if able, to speak to their local shelter and/or rescue groups about adopting a special needs animal. It doesn’t always mean medication or costly procedures–blind cats can be harder to place in homes (and periodically are euthanized right off the bat) but with a few extra considerations, they are no different from any sighted cat.

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Goodbye, Jilly-bean. You were pure light and my home–and heart–is much darker without you.

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Give Me Your Stuff. For Charity.

CCSNI_logoSo, this group? The Cat Care Spay/Neuter Initiative? It’s local and was founded to deal with the feral cat problem here.

It’s such an issue in this area because vacationers/cottagers often get a kitten for the summer, or well-meaning people feed stray cats at their cottages, and then the cats are abandoned come fall. There’s a huge influx of cats right before winter. Some die in the cold when there’s no food left, while others live on and just start breeding and breeding, creating feral colonies. Cats who grow up in feral colonies without any human contact can’t be placed for adoption, although their kittens often can be socialized.

The CCSNI traps ferals, spays and neuters them, and then returns them to their colonies. They also rescue kittens and abandoned pet cats, and places them in foster and adoptive homes.

They need money to do this. If you want to send them some, I certainly won’t stop you: head to the website to donate by PayPal. (ETA: if you donate in January, forward the receipt to my friend Shai and you can win stuff!)

But they also do a lot of fundraisers. In a few months, they’ll be holding a fundraiser comedy show in a nearby town and they also have a silent auction that night. Local businesses as well as everyday citizens donate items–books, gift cards, baskets of pet treats, knitted goods, jewelry, etc–and guests at the show bid on them. There are usually two or three hundred people there, I believe.

Do you have stuff? Stuff people would want to bid on? Awesome goodies you can donate? We’d love to have them.

You can ship things to me and I’ll see that they get listed.

P.O. Box 1833
Campbellford, ON
K0L 1L0
CANADA

The event is late February, so if you can get anything sent to me by at least two to three weeks prior, that would be fabulous.

Do it for the kitties like Vincent, Miss Dinah, and Rodney Ballsnomore, who were all abandoned in this area.

Vincent Miss Dinah Rodney

MEET SKYLA DAWN

Writer of urban fantasy, thrillers/mysteries, and horror. Fifth-generation crazy cat lady. Bitchy feminist. So tired all the goddamn time.

My characters kill people so I don’t have to.

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