The Greatest Gift

Since the internet is for gratuitous cat photos, here's yours for the day. Let it be noted that the kittens are now six months old. They are eight pounds and still growing. Yesterday, they took down the shower curtain and the rod in the guest bath. I spend a lot of my time sprinting from one end of the house to the other, squirt bottle in hand, yelling, "Don't you dare!" at some rambunctious kitten offender. They're slowly learning manners. Slowly.

Which brings us to the topic of reviews. If you've had cats before, my paragraph above reminded you what it's like to have young, untrained cats in the house. If you haven't had cats before, it should have given you a glimpse into the reality that having kittens isn't all cute and cuddles. There's destruction and mayhem. Either you're okay with that or you aren't. The point of my paragraph, and the point of a book review, is to help you decide whether having kittens, or reading a particular book, is right for you.

I feel like book reviews live in this weird in-between state. While they help an author beyond measure, reviews aren't really for the author. They're for other readers to help them decide whether my writing and my stories are going to work for them. 

Very likely everyone's seen classes taught by any number of people promising you can make your book a best seller on Amazon if only you get enough reviews the day your book comes out. While I didn't take one of those classes, I figured what the heck. Lemme give this a try. I offered a free review copy of a book to a group of my readers. I kept my list to 25 people. I got those 25 reviews. What did this do for me? It got me in trouble with Amazon because the 'Zon really, really hates review copies. They really, really hate reviews that show up from readers who did not purchase the book on Amazon, even though advance reader copies are a standard in the industry. The experiment did provide a brief sales bump for the book, but I don't know that it actually helped other readers. Here's the rub. The people who read and reviewed for me are people who specifically like my writing and my weird bent on story. My stuff works for them. Their reviews are lovely and ego boosting and I adore every single one of these people. But if you were new to my work and wanted to look through reviews to find out that my stories can be a bit complicated and strange, those first 25 might not have done that job. 

So I'm not likely to solicit reviews like that again. Lesson learned. I adore my readers and if they're moved to review my work, brilliant. I will weep tears of joy, but no more dabbling in a realm that should remain the sole domain of readers. I will 100% send review copies into the world and where readers leave reviews will be THEIR business, not mine, not the 'Zon's. 

Are reviews worth anything then? Absolutely. They are worth the reviewer's weight in gold, every single one, whether the review is five stars or one star. Because they help other readers find me. And that is the greatest gift, ever.

The Internet Was Made for Cats

Yeah, you're not getting blurbs from me. Sorry. Some might argue that I'm not all that coherent at the best of times, but at the moment, I can't pretend to make any kind of sense at all. I'm running on sleep caught in 2 hour shifts because I'm unexpectedly a new mom.

 

Saturday morning, one of the colony caretakers called in a panic because someone had driven up in the middle of the night and dumped this litter of kittens at the colony. None of the other colony caretakers had the bandwidth to take on fostering the babies, so they landed in my lap.  

Yes. They're adorable and fluffy and cute. But they were in very serious condition when they got to me. They'd been without food and warmth for long enough, they'd started to shut down. It took concerted effort to bring three of the four back from the brink of death. The fourth kitten couldn't recover.

 We looked for another foster solution for these babies. I have two elderly females who I'd promised would get to have peaceful, kittenless retirements. One of those females is chronically ill. So I was doubly motivated to find another placement for the kittens. It was the Humane Society of Tampa Bay who sat me down and explained that in a complete reversal of what I'm accustomed to, it is the peak of kitten season in Florida. No one was going to take these kittens from me because all the inns are full to bursting. The only option I had was to take them to the Pinellas County shelter which cannot turn an animal away - the only problem is that they euthanize bottle babies seconds after they come through the door because that shelter simply doesn't have the man power to care for tiny kittens. That was a nope.  

And this is my plea. Consider fostering an animal for your local Humane Society or local shelter. It needn't be kittens. Any animal you foster still belongs to the shelter and the shelter handles all veterinary care. You provide food, love, walks and possibly a little training. What you don't see is that by taking that animal out of a shelter cage, the animal is automatically more adoptable (and not just by you if you foster fail.) You, as the foster care-giver, will provide SO much more information to potential adopters. The adopters know the animal knows how to behave in a home environment. You'll be able to answer temperament questions and relay funny or endearing stories about the foster critter that will draw adopters in. You'll also be clearing space for another animal in desperate need. By fostering one, you save two. At least. You don't need much. 

Here's my set up for the babies. A plastic bin with old towels, a pet heating pad (only covers one half of the bin, only turns on with an animal is on it, and only heats to 102.) More towels a stuffed animal as a cuddle buddy, and a cover to keep the AC from blowing on them. In a week, I'll need another solution, cause they're already starting to attempt jail breaks. But for now, these babies are easily portable. The first two days, they went with me wherever I went so I could feed them any 

time they squeaked. They're stable now and can be left for three of four hours at a time. 

Makes for some tough nights getting up to feed every three hours. But it's worth it. 

We're joking now that we're growing our own Halloween Decorations. And yes. I did name them Crow, Raven, and Corvid. You need only hear them to comprehend why. 

My elderly girls are deeply unimpressed and, in fact, we just had the vet in for Hatshepsut because she stopped eating. But no guilt trips, right? We have meds and I think we might be on our way to getting on track, my poor girl. I'd spare her this stress if I could, but no one else will take these kittens. And no way will they be turned over to a pound just to be killed for being little.

I guess the thing that stays with me is something the vet said after the first kitten died. 

He nodded while I cried and said, "You're doing what's right. Not what's easy." 

I hope that's true for these three little squeak-monsters (who are currently teething and VERY angry about that development.) It also strikes me as a really thought provoking way to approach writing. Do what's right. Not what's easy. I like it.

Anyone want a kitten? How about three??