|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Fri Apr 23, 2021 4:57 pm
In an effort to get out more, Malcolm had been trying to find little things to do to get him out of the house. Part of it was because he knew his parents were getting worried about him--but really, when were they not. The other part was that he was worried about himself, and he was trying to be better.
He’d neglected a lot of the volunteer work he used to do, so when he dropped by the animal shelter to check on them, they’d been happy to have an extra pair of hands--and he was happy to have an excuse to help without overwhelming himself with people.
By the second trip, he was feeling a little more comfortable, and by the fourth visit that month, it felt like he’d never been avoiding it at all. Really, it hadn’t come as any sort of surprise when they asked him to make a delivery. There were plenty of foster organizations they worked with to maintain their no-kill shelter, and when they’d asked him if he could drop off some medicine for one of them, he couldn’t see any reason to decline.
It was on his way home, and he easily fit all the medicine into his backpack.
Malcolm didn’t drive, but the weather was nice enough that he didn’t mind the detour.
Until he got to the address.
He checked the text message they’d sent him. He checked his GPS. He checked the address.
Malcolm had been sent with medicine for fifteen different cats--he’d watched as the shelter worker pulled out the medicine for each cat. He’d assumed he was going to a smaller shelter or something other than a house. In a neighborhood.
Like. Just a house.
He couldn’t just walk in, drop off, and leave.
Malcolm stood there uncertainly, watching from the sidewalk, until he realized that might just be awkward. He wasn't an imposing figure; despite being in his early twenties, he was often mistaken for younger if only because of his demeanor. He didn’t stand tall enough, didn’t have broad enough shoulders, didn’t groom himself to be masculine enough.
Even now, he was just dressed in jeans and sneakers; he didn’t know what shirt he had on underneath his green sweater, but he suddenly felt very self conscious that he was covered in so much cat fur.
The lump in his throat felt like it was growing, and no matter how many times he swallowed, it was still there.
With great reluctance, and extreme uncertainty, he had to force his suddenly leaden legs to the front door. He’d been told that they were expecting him, but he couldn’t just drop the medicine off, knock on the door, and run.
As he stood at the door, he fussed with his hair to try and look a little more presentable; his hair was already in a braid thrown over his shoulder and there wasn’t much he could do for it. Finally, before he could find another reason to procrastinate or put this off, he drew in a breath, stood as tall as he could--really, not very tall at all, but he was trying--and knocked.
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Apr 24, 2021 2:15 pm
Cierret didn't spend much time on himself after making it home from work, but he did need just a few minutes to prepare for the afternoon ahead. He shed his casual suit and set it aside for dry cleaning. He took a brisk and chilly shower to rinse the grimes of the day away. He folded his long, now-damp hair into a tight donut at the back of his head and redressed in a loose button-up and some dreary grey trousers. "Old" and worn garments whose stitching was not quite crisp enough to wear out into public anymore, but they would do well enough for the work still ahead.
He ate a quick dinner in front of his tv, half watching the airing episode of CSI, and half staring at the clock on his DVR. Keeping track of the passing minutes was absolutely a necessity, given how many tiny, needy mouths were constantly in his care.
Though no one would know, if judging from the main floor of home. The walls were a blank and a bland shade of off-white, with a small sampling of grey furniture that managed to look both minimalist and uninspired, with nary a single cat hair to be found anywhere. Anyone straining to listen over the television may catch the occasional sound of a 'Prrr-ow' or aggravated hiss from behind a closed door off the side of the kitchen, but there were otherwise very few indicators that there was anything other than Cierret himself living in this home.
And 'living' was perhaps gratuitous.
'Residing' may be more accurate.
Regardless, he was there. And there were things waiting on him to finish tending to his needs so that Cierret could begin the process of tending to theirs. He'd been expecting some kind of medicinal drop off right around this time, and he didn't like to keep any of his charges waiting indefinitely, but given that there wasn't anything he could do to speed anyone else's process along, he figured he may as well start his own tasks: cleaning litter boxes, feeding the adults, making sure the surrogate kitten parents were doing what he hoped they were doing by feeding babies much too small to feed themselves.
He was murmuring quiet words of praise to a particularly shabby-looking tabby, flopped on her side while five kits nestled into her when he only barely heard the knock on his door.
If it weren't for the numerous bodies vying for his attention as he moved for the stairs, Cierret may have been at the door in seconds. As it was, it was probably closer to two minutes before he was able to navigate through his cat hoard, up the stairs, nudge back anyone who tried to follow him along the way, and slip through the basement door, shutting it behind him before he could stride freely toward the front.
He opened his door to see a very... uncomfortable-looking young man standing near the entryway: not who he was accustomed to seeing or expecting. Cierret's icy gaze slid assessing down the other man, before asking in an uncertain, wavering tone, "Can I help you?"
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Apr 27, 2021 6:22 pm
By the time the door actually opened, Malcolm was ready to leave. He was anxiously checking his phone, his maps, the address he was at, and was halfway through a text to confirm that he was in the right location. He stiffened immediately, more so when the stranger at the door didn’t seem particularly glad to see him.
“Oh,” he said, and knew how stupid it must have sounded because he felt how stupid it came out.
He swallowed and lowered his phone, drawing out an uncertain, “Y...es? I’m--l was supposed to make a delivery, and I thought I was in the right place? But I might have typed something wrong, um. I don’t suppose you have, um. Fifteen cats. Do you?”
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Apr 28, 2021 7:04 am
Cierret would've really preferred that the shelter send him a volunteer he was familiar with. Letting strangers in his house had always seemed like bad business, but the kid didn't look dangerous. He didn't sound dangerous. And it wasn't like Cierret could afford to be choosy with who helped him out. He couldn't just say 'no thank you' and send the kid and necessary medicines away.
Okay, this was fine. He could do this. They probably wouldn't even talk to each other. Probably.
"Nearly sixty," Cierret answered as he opened the door a bit wider and stepped to the side to let the young man inside. "It's always helpful to have someone stop by who knows how to tend to them. Are you used to giving shots? The kittens are old enough for the leukemia vaccine now. I hope they sent some along. But really the eye infections are the most rampant. It can get a little messy. You can leave your shoes on, and please just walk right to the basement."
He gestured to the door visible off the kitchen and took another several seconds to eye the boy. He was really used to seeing older women who didn't have much to do during the day. "You're pretty young. Did you need volunteer hours for school, or something?"
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Apr 29, 2021 4:24 pm
At first, Malcolm thought he was joking. There was no way he could have nearly sixty cats in this house--from what he could se already, there didn’t seem to be any.
...But he was talking like he knew what was going on, and the shelter had sent Malcolm here. They’d never let him down before, or made him do weird things, so maybe…
...this…
wasn’t weird.
He quickly forced a smile, but he couldn’t shake the perpetual knitting of his brows. He couldn't just stand on the doorstep forever, and his mind wasn’t exactly helping since he was suddenly worried he was going to be annoying. Or waste his time. Or make this weird.
After a few seconds, he had to force his suddenly leaden body over the doorstep. It felt like a mistake. It felt like he was just walking into some stranger’s basement, just to be polite.
And the guy, asking if he was young? It’s not like that was a red flag--was it?--he felt strangely color blind. There was a lump in his throat, but he managed to push past it to say, “I’m twenty three.”
Wait, that didn’t answer the question. He felt like his face was warm and he kept his head just slightly bowed and tried to shake some sense into himself. “I’m just doing this to help, I don’t need it for school or anything. I know they gave me some extra medicine, but I don’t know exactly what it all is, I didn’t look. I have the ones that are for specific cats, and I know I’ve got some extras. I think they sent some extra. They didn’t mention that you might need help giving anyone shots. I’ve only done it once before, I--I don’t know if I’m the best person to do that. My hands, ah. They shake,” he said, because that was definitely a good excuse for why they were shaking now, right?
He walked in, reluctantly heading towards the basement. He twisted his backpack so it was only over one shoulder and unzipped it, as if to prove that he had shown up with medicine. Like this would suddenly affirm that the shelter knew he was here and that someone would know if he got axe-murdered in this guy’s basement.
“I think Janet was supposed to come, but she’s sick and couldn’t, so they asked me to stop by. But, they didn’t give me your name when they sent me over. Um, I’m Malcolm,” he introduced, and paused to stretch out his hand to shake.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu May 06, 2021 5:56 am
"Oh. I thought you were younger," but it didn't seem important to dwell on. "It's nice of you to want to help. You'd be surprised how many strays roam the streets, and it's not exactly an easy life. I wanted to help too, when I could, it just..."
Well, it got to be overwhelming when he realized how much 'help' needed to be given, and Cierret hadn't known then that help was just a rabbit hole that he'd fall down forever. He loved his kitties, and he would never send any of them to the street, but there were so many. And it seemed like the number only grew and grew... He didn't really have the social skills to get any of them adopted, no matter how wonderful and sweet they were. But he didn't want to scare the volunteer away with all that.
He shut the door as Malcolm stepped in, and beckoned for the boy to follow. "We'll figure it out. They're usually pretty decent about sending what I ask for. I can give you a refresher on the shots. It's easy enough." The little old women with the rickety bones had shaking hands too, but it didn't stop them.
"My name is Cierret. It's nice to meet you. I'm grateful for the help." Even if it was from someone unfamiliar.
He eyed the boy's outstretched hand for only a split second, as the thought that it seemed kind of gross to be touching some random strange teenager's- sorry, young adult's fingers with all the icky places they'd probably been. But he was about to go comb poop out of cat fur, so the thought was brief. Cierret gave Malcolm's hand one quick shake, before releasing him and and hurrying to the basement door.
He set his hand on the doorknob, took a deep breath, and his expression suddenly took on something fierce: eyes narrowed and lips set into a firm line. Cierret opened the door, and was immediately greeted by a loud 'Purrow!' and a plump wad of fur darting through the doorway. He swooped to catch her, hooking one hand beneath the cat's stomach and lifting to tuck her beneath his arm before she could so much as utter another complaint.
"This is Lenora," he introduced the cat's wriggling rump to Malcolm. "She's one of the queens here, though not a very good one. She is always very, very excited to escape her kittens. Come on, then," he said, ushering the other man inside with his free hand. "Before the rest realize the door's open."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun May 09, 2021 6:15 pm
The shutting door made Malcolm feel like he’d signed his death sentence, but he tried to keep a pleasant enough smile on his face. Cierret himself didn’t seem like an imposing figure, but he was here now, doing all those things you weren’t supposed to do--like going into strange places with people you didn’t know.
But. It was for the cats, right?
The shetler wasn’t secretly running some hidden organ ring--right?
Cierret’s personality made it a little easier to follow him, and Malcolm complied without protest, only nodding a bit when assured he could get a quick refresher.
“Oh!” he blurted, when the cat came running out--and suddenly he felt less afraid of being murdered, because there were, actually, cats here.
He hurried in, keen to comply now that he was certain it was for a good cause. “She’s fast. You’re faster, though. --Do you really have nearly sixty cats down here?” he asked, seeming surprised--especially if they were loose. “Are they--are you keeping them all, or…? I don’t mean to pry. I--I can’ barely handle a cat or two, myself, but. I mean--I thought I was going to another shelter, when they sent me with this delivery, I really wasn’t expecting a house.”
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon May 10, 2021 10:17 am
He hurried Malcolm through the door and quickly stepped after him onto the small landing before the stairs. Once they were both in, Cierret clicked the door closed behind them and set Lenora back onto her feet, safely away from the danger of letting her roam his home.
The lights were already on (it seemed cruel to leave so many in the dark all day, even if there were a few windows), and the commotion had brought other cats into the mix. A tabby trotted up the stairs to greet them. A slender white-with-grey-spots female waited on the third stair up. A pair of orange torties skittered haphazardly toward them. And the noises and smells were more pronounced without a door between them.
Cierret led him down the stairs into an open room with surprisingly tall ceilings. Dozens of cages lined one wall, each adorned with a bed and a food and water dish. Most were left open and empty, but a small handful were closed, their occupants staring tersely out. To the far left was only one doorway to an opened and darkened room: a garage where most of the crates were stored and litterboxes housed, as well as a set of cabinets for food, medicines, extra blankets, litter, and other various supplies. On the opposite side, behind the stairway, was a bathroom and one other small room. The back wall had one door to an enclosed outside greenhouse, fitted with a catflap so any who wished it could get a taste of sunshine and fresh air.
"Yep, though about a dozen of them are neonates. It's kitten season. Four or five are just the mouths I feed outside, but I try to keep n eye on them for injuries. And there are maybe about six there," he gestured to the cages, "who aren't friendly with the others or who are sick and need to be kept more separate for now. I try to socialize them, but success is hit-or-miss. The other thirty or so free-roam as they please."
And there did seem to be a great swarm who were very excited to see people, with lots of furry bodies approaching to greet them and pose inquisitive 'Prrow?'s in their direction.
Though at the next question, color bloomed on Cierret's pale face, and he suddenly seemed much more interested in a snaggly-toothed black cat that stood to put its front paws on his pants. Cierret scooped him up. "I... wouldn't keep them," he admitted. "But I'm not very good at finding them homes, and the shelter doesn't have space for so many. I can't just throw them back out. Some of them have been here for- Three or four years? Since I moved in myself. It all happened very quickly, to be honest."
"They're a lot of work, and expensive, but I don't know what to do besides keep them, and the shelter sends me help whenever it can. This time of year is one of the hardest, since so many are finding stray kittens under their houses or in their sheds..."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon May 17, 2021 9:10 pm
Malcolm didn’t seem remotely disturbed by either noise or smell, but then--he had just come from the shelter, anyway. This, suddenly made more sense. This was okay. This, he understood, and he’d have been lying if he said the relief didn’t wash over him when he actually saw the basement, and all the cats in it.
The fact that Cierret had color on his cheeks made Malcolm wonder if he’d said something wrong, so he distracted himself with the black that stretched up onto him and wound up in his arms.
“Oh,” he said. “That’s a long time to be fostering a cat.”
He couldn’t imagine it, anything staying with him for more than a week would have been declared family, so he had to be very careful about not accepting any from the shelter.
“You must have a big heart, to be able to share it with all of them. I’ve been talking with the shelter,” he said, “They were saying how overcrowded they are right now. I saw online, that sometimes they have more luck with adopting out their animals if they’ve got pictures and profiles set up. If you’ve had some of them for that long, I bet you could probably write a really good profile. Have you considered anything like that? Social media?”
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue May 18, 2021 4:34 pm
"I'm not really sure it's even 'fostering' at that point," Cierret grumbled quietly, scritching two fingers against the top of his captive cat's head, to a chorus of enthusiastic purrs in response. "I had two of my own before all of this," he said, notching his head toward the hoard in the basement. "They stay upstairs, though, away from any potential sicknesses of fights. I'm still not exactly intending to keep these forever. I'm just at a loss for what to do."
"There's so many. They need so much care. I'm already worried they aren't living their best life. Imagine how happy they would be if they each had a person to care for them individually. The best I can do is a few scratches, feeding and cleaning up after them... But that already is most of my time when I'm not at my day job."
Because he definitely needed some kind of actual income to be able to afford to care for all of them.
Even if it would be such a relief to find homes for them (it would be significantly less strain on his time and wallet and home), Cierret didn't know how to go about it. He didn't have very many friends he could tell, and most of his work clients were either in financial crisis (so not someone he'd trust with an animal) or looking to make big investments that didn't usually include pet care. How was he supposed to do this. "I don't even know how I'd begin to set up any kind of social media account, and when would I find the time to manage and update it?"
It was all just so much work, and hard to get started on something new when he still needed to put all his time into what he was doing currently.
...Like giving kittens vaccines. "Right, well, we should get started." He set the black cat back to the floor, though it (and a dozen others) continued to follow as Cierret made his ay to one of the back rooms.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue May 25, 2021 4:18 pm
Malcolm followed with great uncertainty, now because he was just afraid of messing up. He was quiet and curious though, considering Cierret’s words.
“Maybe I could help?” he asked, though sounded a bit mousier than before. He seemed like he felt the sudden need to list his credentials and ideas, so he was quick to add, “I’m a photographer. Or, at least, I take pictures and have a fancy camera to do it. It’s just a hobby, sometimes I do news articles and things. But I--everything I do is online, practically. I do some writing, nothing impressive.”
It was impressive, he thought, but he couldn’t tell anyone that. His parents knew he had some things ‘working’ for him, but he was so embarrassed by the romance in his books that he thought they’d judge him. They were sweet and supportive, and overprotective, but they knew he’d lived upstairs his whole life and had absolutely no actual experience. But, he had a good imagination, and that had to count for something.
Just, nobody was allowed to know.
He didn’t dwell on it, “But I’ve run blogs and things. I bet if we could get something up, I could network enough to get it some attention. I don’t mind doing the work. I mean, if it’s okay with you. It would be a little time consuming, but not hard work. I mean, maybe getting them to sit still to take a good picture, but...if you can tell me a little about them, I could get profiles up. Um. If you wanted.”
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Jun 11, 2021 11:27 am
There were always resources, Cierret knew. No matter what the goal was, there were always resources to help in any situation that bettered the care of living things. He referred enough people to programs that helped with food, money, and housing that Cierret knew he could conceivably find a way to better his life and these cats' lives, if he only invested the time to find them. The shelter helped out in any way they could. They'd sent this volunteer along with medicines just today, even.
It shouldn't really come as a surprise that someone giving their time to help care for his kitties would offer to assist in finding their forever homes, and Cierret did want them to be happy! They deserved pampered kitty lives, where someone could provide them with all the play and love a kitten could hope for...
But he faltered at the idea- the threat even, of a 'time consuming' project with a boy he'd just met.
Presumably to take place in his own home, as that was where all the subjects of the pictures and profiles resided. He wanted to help the kitties, but Cierret didn't know how much more time he had to give or what his attention span would be when working for prolonged periods with someone else. For an hour or so while they were doing vaccines or giving brushings or cleaning litter boxes, sure, but for more than that... He didn't know.
"I'll think about it," Cierret grumbled noncommittally, seeming very much like he was trying to recede into himself at the proposition.
It would be easier on his life to have fewer. Everyone would benefit. It could be worth the initial time investment. He just didn't know. It was hard to wrangle with the thought.
"But anyway." He flicked on the light in one of the back rooms, to be greeted by dozens of bleary eyes as the light roused another handful of napping cats from their slumber. Cat toys were littered about the tile floor, and beds and scratching posts lined the walls. But the room itself was a small kitchenette, with a minifridge, a two-burner stove, and a single-basin sink. Cierret moved to the fridge to collect several labeled sandwich bags of assorted vials, and a handful of syringes from one of the overhead cabinets. "Can you show me what they sent along?"
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Jun 16, 2021 8:40 pm
Malcolm managed a hopeful smile when Cierret said he’d think about it, no matter how noncommittal it had sounded. He followed him into the room and was careful not to step on any of the toys--or worse, a cat.
The room itself was strange and not at all what he expected to be down here, but in hindsight it did seem to be reasonable to expect to have a station to prepare food and medicine, so any returning thoughts about being axe-murdered and cannibalized quickly faded.
He set his bag down on the nearest flat surface, mindful not to knock anything over or make a mess in the process. Cierret wasn’t quite intimidating but Malcolm was jumpy and nervous all the time anyway. Being in someone else’s house--their domain--made him feel like an intruder, even if they had a shared goal. He felt like a delivery boy at best, and like he was well out of his league already. He opened his bag quickly, convinced that he’d already wasted enough of Cierret’s time. “Yeah, of course,” he’d answered, and began to carefully remove everything the shelter had sent him with. He read the labels as he removed them, figuring Cierret might be more familiar with what they were--and what they were for--than he was.
When he was finished, he just looked back at Cierret, already somewhat waiting for instruction or guidance on what he could better do to help him get this all taken care of.
As his eyes strayed over the cats, and the toys, and how well taken care they were, he couldn’t help but smile faintly. “I can’t believe you have so many and they all look like they’re doing so good. They look much happier than the shelter cats here. They’re lucky to have you, yeah?”
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Jul 07, 2021 5:44 am
Once he had everything set out on the countertop, Cierret moved to observe the few things Malcolm had brought along: some antibiotics for eye infections, a couple doses of the distemper vaccine, and a small bottle of deworming pills. Nothing that would take too long, and most of the kittens requiring such things were not running loose to begin with.
"Are you comfortable giving any of these?" He prompted, nodding to the little assortment set out on the counter. He slid the antibiotic toward Malcolm. "This one is just a goop that you smear over their eyes." The pills next. "This one is a dewormer. Some of them will fall for wrapping it in a little piece of salami- Most won't." Then the vaccine. "This is a shot. It's intramuscular. You stick it in the leg. Or you can mix food, if you prefer." He stepped back, indicating what he'd taken out of the fridge. "I have some who will only eat mixed wet-dry food and some who need extra supplements added. I have a list there," He indicated a little note that had been taped to the countertop. "It won't hurt them if you make a mistake, so you can do whichever is easiest for you."
Most everything that was out would go to kittens who were pinned up in the living room, but that didn't stop the rest of the clowder from swarming around them now, eager for a meal. Several jumped onto the counter to inspect the current offerings, and Cierret gently lifted any trespassers and moved them out of the way.
"Or if you want, you can just scoop out the kibble to get the rest out of the way," he said, gesturing to some large plastic covered tubs in the corner where dry food was stored. "They will all follow you, if you do that."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Jul 12, 2021 8:50 am
Malcolm forced a strained smile. Was he comfortable giving any creature any medical attention? No. Was he comfortable performing tasks in front of others? Also no. Was he comfortable ever? No. So, none of this was surprising or worth vocalizing any protest.
Thankfully, the longer Cierret went on for, the more Malcolm realized that he probably actually could do some of the tasks to help out, and apologetically said, “I can start with the kibble,” he volunteered. “And then come back and help with the rest. I just need a minute to cool off. The weather wasn’t bad, but I biked over. I just don’t want to make any stupid mistakes.”
No, if he had the opportunity, he’d made many stupid mistakes, he knew this.
He moved quickly, as if to escape any potential backlash, and diligently moved to the kibble to try and distract the other kittens.
“They all seem like they want to help. Do they all get along?” he asked, and though he sounded hopeful, he knew that was probably just a nice dream.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
