Kismet, arrival, and the first two weeks with blind kittens
Kismet.
Facebook. I’m not a huge fan and rarely used it, but one morning I logged on and saw a photo that was about to change my life forever.
A wooden crate with a metal grill. Two kittens looking up, one with his paw stretched out. Heartbreaking in itself — but worse still, they were brothers. And both blind.
The post on Facebook that started it all (Harry on the left, William on right)
I’d been around cats most of my life, more so since living in Cyprus, but I’d never seen a blind cat. Fate stepped in. A voice — a gut feeling — said: you can help.
There was talk of splitting them up, but that same voice said no. They had to stay together. Blind siblings draw strength from each other — though I didn’t know that yet. I knew the rescuer. I said I’d take both. Calls were made. They were staying together, and they were coming to me.
Another voice chimed in with: Now what? 🤔🤣
Time for Google — and the beginning of what I later came to call the negative narrative.
I knew nothing about blind cats. I’d once seen a blind Tsessebe while working on a conservation project in Swaziland, but that was it. I wasn’t prepared for what I found online.
Can blind cats survive?
How do they eat?
Is it fair to keep them alive?
The advice centred almost entirely around don’t.
Don’t let your blind cat run around — they might collide with something and hurt themselves.
Don’t let them climb on furniture or worktops — they might fall.
Don’t let them mix with other cats.
Don’t let them go outside — noise might startle them and cause an accident.
Don’t pick your blind cat up and put them somewhere else — they might get confused.
I came offline sad and depressed, thinking: What have I done? I’m about to take in two blind kittens, and I can’t give them a life.
Too late now. They were already on their way.
The First Two Weeks
The big day arrived. Their history was limited, so the first two weeks were spent in quarantine in my bedroom. Two new beds, blankets, litter tray, water — all standard stuff.
The crate doors opened, and out they came. Slowly.
It was a lot to take in, moving from a wooden box to the open space of my bedroom, so I left them alone to get used to their new surroundings. I came back a short time later to find the pair of them happily bouncing around on my bed.
Another thing you can’t prepare for with your first blind cats is the what ifs. They flow freely through your imagination, fuelled by everything that might go wrong — something I blamed squarely on the negative narrative I’d just absorbed.
They were playing on the bed, and I was about to get my second pointer that Google had got it wrong.
The ginger kitten reached the edge of the bed, put his front paws forward, swung himself around so he was facing the mattress, and used his claws to lower himself to the floor. He trotted over to the litter tray, climbed in on his own, did whatever needed doing, climbed out, went back to the bed, climbed up — and carried on playing.
Bedtime on the first day. It was winter and cold, so I put the pair of them into their beds, wrapped in warm blankets.
I woke the next morning to find two empty beds.
You go straight on alert. Then I felt movement next to me and saw the pair of them fast asleep under the duvet. The tabby had his head on my pillow — he still does. During the winter months, he comes into my bedroom around 3am, gets under the duvet next to me, and sleeps.
It was a mixture of relief and panic. Relief that they were safe. Panic at the thought of what if I’d rolled over.
They never used their beds at night again. They slept with me — and I adapted.
Some good advice I was given was to name them as soon as possible. I’m not a fur-baby, cuddle-bunny type, and I don’t do soppy names. I go for fun, topical ones. At the time, the two princes were in the news — William, the more grounded one, and Harry, the ginger wild child.
So my two became Harry and William.
And my Harry very much followed his namesake.
Their confidence grew day by day. Mine took longer to catch up. But the two weeks flew past. Quarantine was over, and it was time for life to begin.
Harry
William