So, the wife is a veterinary technician, and after many long years of dutiful service in that particular occupation, the inevitable has finally happened: one kitten, 9 weeks of age and paralyzed due to a spinal injury, has been brought into our home for (at the least) love, and (at the most) recovery.
His name is "Kermit the Reeves", because when he sits up, his little stick out funny and he looks like Kermit the Frog. At the same time, he is a bundle of joy, full of life and happiness; he doesn't even seem aware of his loss, yet at the same time he is making slow and steady progress. He's a fighter, worthy of the Christopher Reeves reference.

We fostered him exactly one week ago today, just for the weekend, but when the owners decided that they couldn't take him, we decided to adopt him for good rather than put him to sleep. It's not like he's suffering - he scoots around faster than our oldest boy cat (who is a bit fat) and is quite agile considering he's dragging half of his body around behind him.
There's hope. Not much hope, but some. One week ago, he had no feeling in his legs or tail at all. Now, one week later, he can actually kick a little on his own, and will pull his foot clumsily away if you pinch his toes. At the moment he is getting constant care: frequent physical therapy to try and keep his legs strong, and regular bladder expressions (think: decorating a cake, but with a cat). He likes the former, and hates the later. But we do what we can, 'cuz the little tyke deserves it.








