Here's a picture of Rogue, the kitten we rescued from the farm six months ago. Although she still suffers from an upper respiratory issue and requires a shot of penicillan every month, she's got it pretty good with us.
Update on the kitties at the farm: My nephew called me Wednesday morning. We'd been waiting for my brother to come home and go back before beginning the clean-up but when Dave got out to the farm with his buddy they decided to go ahead.
They were able to euthanize over 80% of the feral animals, but it came at an emotional cost. Dave is the same age as Jamie and the two kids grew up together; weekends were often spent at the farm and cats have always been one of the draws for the kids. Once the cats got out of control Dave couldn't face going into the house anymore. This past week was so tough on him - not just the act of shooting the cats or burying them, but having to face what had happened to his grandparents and their home.
"I'm a little messed up now," he told me. "There are a few left, but I can't go back."
"I'm so sorry Dave! What you did for Grandma must have taken heroic strength. You saved them, and you saved those kitties from suffering."
"I know. Half the damn things couldn't breathe anymore. Still, what a fucking thing to have to do."
"I'm so sorry. We can't thank you enough. Don't worry about anything else - Bill will look for females on Monday. We're taking a cleaning crew out there."
Yesterday I stopped at Cathy's (she lives on my delivery route) and she's ready to come out with us and clean walls and floors. Today my step-dad and his brother are ripping out carpets and putting in laminate.
Somehow, I have to figure out how to seal the dirt basement. Anyway, things are happening quickly now. My parents sound happy on the phone, and that's a good thing.