3 Lives Left


We got her as a kitten.  7 weeks old.  My oldest son picked her.  The runt of the barn kitty litter.  Free.

And, she used up 6 of her nine lives in her first 24 hours at our house.  Sorry, Kitty.  Again.

Her first night here, we figured, she’s a barn cat’s baby.  She’s used to the barn.  It was a cold night, but not too cold, so the Animal Whisperer custom-made a cardboard box contraption with soft bedding for her to sleep in, gave her a bowl of water and put her in a closed off area of the chicken coop. 

Good night Kitty.

The next morning, 6-year-old and I race to the barn to see her.  She’s meowing!!!  How cute!!!  Until we see the cause of her mmmmmmrrrrrrrroooooooowwwwww.

We find her wedged with the edge of the cardboard box pressing down (hard) against her neck, strangling her.  Her front legs scissored out stick-straight in front of her.  Ooohhh, poor kitty.  I take her out and cuddle her and ask her if she’s OK. 

Nope.  Life #1.  Over.

Son and I sit on a bench by the barn and put her on the ground to walk.  She falls over to the right and arches her back unnaturally.  Can 7 week old kittens have a stroke?  Appears this one has. 

Life #2.  Gone.

Scoop her up.  Shout at son: “Go get that little medicine thing we use to squirt medicine into your mouth!”  He races away.  “And get water!

She was stuck under that box for who knows how long, she wasn’t able to drink any water!  She’s probably dehydrated, I deduce.

Kitty’s head is flopping around as I verge on shaken kitty syndrome to her to keep her awake…alive.  Son back.  I drip water into her mouth.

She revives.  For 2 minutes.

Life #3.  History.

Now, I’m contemplating the mechanisms of Kitty CPR.  I decide against mouth to mouth, but figure I could attempt some chest compressions.   She revives!  I’m getting cocky.  I’ve saved her 3 times.

I’m cocky long enough to watch her close her eyes in my hands, and become lifeless.  Totally lifeless.  Dead.

Life #4.  Finished.

Begin CPR.  If the Animal Whisperer can save things, SO CAN I.

She’s back.  I give her more water and a tiny bit of milk.

I hold her for a really long time.  Way longer than I’m known to sit still.  She’s OK.  I move her temporary headquarters from the garage to the kitchen.  She plays in the kitchen, almost running!  She’s better.  For good!

We move her back outside, set her feet on the garage floor.  Arch right.  Fall over.  Head back.  Feet extend.  Stops breathing.  Floppy.  Dead.

Life #5.  Fini.

Repeat.  CPR.  Revive.  Hold.  Cuddle.  Survives.  For 7 minutes.  Fades away. 

Life #6.  Done.

Repeat.  Again.  Chest compressions.  Again she revives. 

Animal Whisperer sets up a heat lamp in the garage.  He holds her.  He puts her under the heat lamp.  She doesn’t arch.   She doesn’t have a stroke.  She doesn’t die. 

She lives.  She drinks a little milk by herself.  She sleeps. 


He saved her!  Although I take most of the credit.

And, she hasn’t died since!

She hasn’t caught a mouse either.  And, she was diagnosed by the vet as a he.

–  The Goat Cheese Lady


About The Goat Cheese Lady

I am Lindsey. At first I was a city girl. Then I was an urban farmgirl, attempting to balance city and farm life. Now, after moving to the country, I have embarked on life as a rural farmgirl, complete with my husband, the Animal Whisperer, man of exceptional knowledge and patience, two boys who are louder than my sister and I ever were, a herd of milking goats, and a flock of egg-laying chickens. Coyotes, mice, country dogs and prairie dogs are frequent visitors. Just 45 minutes north is Colorado Springs, the setting for our first six years in the goat world. Our family. Our city friends. Our introduction to cheesemaking. But we...and our growing farm and soon-to-be creamery...have set up shop down off of Highway 115 in Penrose, Colorado.
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