When Bad Things Happen to Good Kittens

I picked up "Big Boy" on Wednesday night. I felt emotional when I went to get him. Leslye, the adoption coordinator, told me Big Boy had caught a kitty cold. She gave me medication for him and told me to expect he'd sneeze and cough for several days. We walked the four blocks from the shelter to his new forever home. Along the way, I heard him meow for the first time.

When I let him out he did two rounds of the apartment. He particularly enjoyed hiding underneath the bed and standing between a Chinese screen and the television set. Then he jumped on the bed, where he's been living pretty much non-stop. No jumping. No playing. No eating. Just a lot of sneezing, watery eyes and running in the opposite direction when he sees me with the medicine.

He's a sweet-natured cat. He enjoys a good brushing. He loves to be petted. When I touch his side, he rolls over onto his back like a dog so I can rub his tummy. He also likes water. For the last two days I've brought him into the bathroom during my shower to help clear out his nasal passages. He jumps right in and meows at me.

Whether he can hear is a mystery. I'm sure having no name doesn't help. I'm starting to think my inability to name him is pathological.

He doesn't eat, and I'm extremely worried. Leslye gave me some high-protein paste to force down his throat so he'll get enough nutrition to survive. I have visions of feeding tubes and thousand-dollar cat bills in my head. Moreover, I don't think I can bear another sick cat. Not after losing my Lancie.

We head to the vet Wednesday. I hope to have a name by then.