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I want to say good bye and talk about my very first kitty, Kitty (very original I know) . I've been wanting to get this off my chest because I feel really guilty.
I found him when I was 11 years old at church. I think he was about 3-4 weeks old. He was a white DSH with very slight orange tabby marks. My dad let me keep him but was not involved at all beyond letting me pick out cat food and paying for it. Which isn't surprising because he wasn't very involved in fathering and I practically raised myself. He also didn't believe in paying for animals to go to a doctor. I hardly even went to the doctor and sometimes I really should have. But anyways I didn't know anything about raising kittens so I raised him as well as any clueless 11 year old could. He left his mom early so he had some suckling and aggression issues. I didn't fix any of those, because I didn't know that there was any way to deal with those things. I just assumed Kitty had a crazy streak. He wasn't neutered and I didn't know about nail clipping. But miraculously I don't remember him ever spraying or scratching things up (we didn't have a scratching post). I bottle fed him when I found him, but again I didn't know anything so I didn't feed him enough I'm sure. But he survived my ignorance. He was a petite cat and, that was probably my fault from when I didn't bottle feed him enough. So after several months I guess he had fleas because my dad was saying he was getting bit by fleas and showed me the bites on his leg. Since my dad didn't believe in spending on animals besides food we never got him flea medicine. So he was forced to go from indoor only to an outdoor only cat. I remember he wanted to come back in the house and I had to leave him out. I felt so terrible and sad about it because I really loved animals and really loved my little cat. A little while later my dad remarried and I had a bi***y stepmom. I remember she would chase my cat off sometimes. One day my cat stopped coming back home. We still fed him in our garage and would leave it a little open for him. We looked around the neighborhood but he was never found. He probably died or got injured somehow. But I REALLY hope some kind person took him in since he was friendly and gave him a nice home.
Obviously, I couldn't give my cat a great life at the time. The days he had it good were short lived and I always felt guilty about it and it was actually traumatic for me. So I knew that I would never get a cat again until I was really ready. Fast forward to the age of 28 in 2015, I found an orange tabby kitty with its eyes still closed. I wanted to keep her, but I knew better and surrendered her to a no kill shelter. I gave her up because I have a full time day job and knew that the kitty would need to be bottle fed every 2 hours. Something that I couldn't do. But it really brought back my desire to have cats again. A month or so later I went to the no kill shelter and adopted a 4.5 month old black kitty that I named Benny on a whim. I allowed myself to do this because I'm living on my own now and have a decent paying job. I never did forget about Kitty and thought about him time to time as the years went by. But when I adopted Benny I started thinking about my first kitty a lot. If I could send him a message I would say that I'm so very sorry I couldn't give him the good life he deserved but that I loved him very much and that I will do my best from now on to be a great kitty mom. I hope he isn't angry with me.
I found him when I was 11 years old at church. I think he was about 3-4 weeks old. He was a white DSH with very slight orange tabby marks. My dad let me keep him but was not involved at all beyond letting me pick out cat food and paying for it. Which isn't surprising because he wasn't very involved in fathering and I practically raised myself. He also didn't believe in paying for animals to go to a doctor. I hardly even went to the doctor and sometimes I really should have. But anyways I didn't know anything about raising kittens so I raised him as well as any clueless 11 year old could. He left his mom early so he had some suckling and aggression issues. I didn't fix any of those, because I didn't know that there was any way to deal with those things. I just assumed Kitty had a crazy streak. He wasn't neutered and I didn't know about nail clipping. But miraculously I don't remember him ever spraying or scratching things up (we didn't have a scratching post). I bottle fed him when I found him, but again I didn't know anything so I didn't feed him enough I'm sure. But he survived my ignorance. He was a petite cat and, that was probably my fault from when I didn't bottle feed him enough. So after several months I guess he had fleas because my dad was saying he was getting bit by fleas and showed me the bites on his leg. Since my dad didn't believe in spending on animals besides food we never got him flea medicine. So he was forced to go from indoor only to an outdoor only cat. I remember he wanted to come back in the house and I had to leave him out. I felt so terrible and sad about it because I really loved animals and really loved my little cat. A little while later my dad remarried and I had a bi***y stepmom. I remember she would chase my cat off sometimes. One day my cat stopped coming back home. We still fed him in our garage and would leave it a little open for him. We looked around the neighborhood but he was never found. He probably died or got injured somehow. But I REALLY hope some kind person took him in since he was friendly and gave him a nice home.
Obviously, I couldn't give my cat a great life at the time. The days he had it good were short lived and I always felt guilty about it and it was actually traumatic for me. So I knew that I would never get a cat again until I was really ready. Fast forward to the age of 28 in 2015, I found an orange tabby kitty with its eyes still closed. I wanted to keep her, but I knew better and surrendered her to a no kill shelter. I gave her up because I have a full time day job and knew that the kitty would need to be bottle fed every 2 hours. Something that I couldn't do. But it really brought back my desire to have cats again. A month or so later I went to the no kill shelter and adopted a 4.5 month old black kitty that I named Benny on a whim. I allowed myself to do this because I'm living on my own now and have a decent paying job. I never did forget about Kitty and thought about him time to time as the years went by. But when I adopted Benny I started thinking about my first kitty a lot. If I could send him a message I would say that I'm so very sorry I couldn't give him the good life he deserved but that I loved him very much and that I will do my best from now on to be a great kitty mom. I hope he isn't angry with me.
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