Until I hear a sad pitiful meow over at the Russian's house. I look over and there's a kitten over there. He starts walking across the street, and I yell for Jill and the painter's son to get out here right now, while trying to keep control of two dogs that have suddenly gotten very interested in this small furry critter.
The dogs end up chasing the kitten underneath Mom's car, where it vanishes. The painter calls his dog home and we shove Britney in the house and try to figure out where the kitten is. Finally, Jill fetches a flashlight, letting Britney out in the process. I was wondering if the kitten had climbed up in one of the wheelwells, and watching Brit intently sniff a wheel, I think I have a pretty good guess.
Unfortunately, we didn't think to put Brit in the house before extracting kitten, nor did Jill remember my little run-in with Mama Cat back in 2000 and put on gloves to try to corral him. She got bit for her troubles. She managed to get him, though, and we put him in a box to keep him corralled until we could figure out what to do with him. Turns out, the painter's son, the one that brought it to our attention in the first place, wants to keep him.
It turns out, the little guy is skinny. So skinny you can pretty much count every rib and his pelvic bones stick out of his rear, and he's got fleas and probably ear mites. Poor little guy.
Since he's bit Jill, we have to keep an eye on him for a bit to make sure that he doesn't have rabies, but I don't really think that's a problem. And now that he's no longer being chased by dogs, he's the most loving critter you ever did meet -- purring loudly, loving to have anything to do with people, and is settling in nicely.
(He's in the bathroom mainly because it's a small room we can confine him to which we can also keep the dog out of. The dog has taken to guarding the bathroom door, though. And yes, that's me, holding the little guy.)