30/05/2026
Sixteen days and counting.
(TW: kitten illness and death)
Just over two weeks ago, five beautiful little kittens travelled over 300km to come into our care.
As soon as we got them we could tell that they were struggling, but we had no idea just what an intense, exhausting, baffling, expensive, and heartbreaking battle we had before us.
For sixteen days, these little ones have been battling chronic diarrhoea.
Much of the time, they cannot even hold their bowels; the poo simply streams out of the back of them.
Their little bodies are not taking in any nutrients.
They are less than half the weight they should be.
They are absolutely depleted.
--
These kittens need around-the-clock care
They are getting fluid injections every two hours, day and night.
They are being syringe-fed.
They are getting a cocktail of meds and supplements and injections.
Their carer's alarm is set at 3-hour increments.
Alarm.
Fluid injection. Syringe feed. Bathe kitten. Clean crate. Dry kitten. Sleep.
Two hours later...
Alarm.
Fluid injection. Syringe fee. Bathe kitten. Clean crate. Dry kitten. Sleep.
Two hours later...
Alarm...
Every. Three. Hours.
For. More. Than. Two. Entire. Weeks.
We have tried bland diets.
We have tried every medication under the sun.
And nothing is helping.
We have had bloodwork done.
We have had faecal tests done.
We have had viral, bacterial, and pathogen tests done.
And we still have no answers.
The vets are baffled.
We are despondent.
Their carer is exhausted.
It all feels very hopeless.
Sometimes it seems like we're fighting a losing battle and like it would be easier to give up.
But the kittens are little fighters.
And as long as they are fighting, we are committed to fighting right along beside them.
No matter what.
--
After a week, one of the kittens, our beautiful little Velouté, lost her fight. Her little body simply could not take it. On day 7 she seemed stronger than ever, even being chatty and cheeky and pushing items out of her crate on to her carer's head for attention.
But on day 8, she crashed. She died in her carers arms at the vet that evening.
This is the side of rescue that very few people see.
This is the side of rescue that is almost impossible to convey through words and photos.
The exhaustion.
The heartbreak.
The extreme ups and downs.
The hope and the fear and victories and the losses.
And all the while, we are juggling our daily lives. Our families. Our friends. Our pets. Our jobs. Our commitments.
We don't stop because we're tired. We don't stop because we're sick. We don't stop because it's inconvenient. We don't stop because it hurts.
We. Don't. Stop.
Rescue never stops.
Ever.
--
After losing Velouté there was no time to mourn. We had to keep going for the sake of the other kittens. Pushing the grief aside and staying numb is part of what we have to do to keep going, especially when others need our help.
Currently two of the kittens are extremely delicate.
Their health is highly unstable, and seems to fluctuate daily. Sometimes hourly.
The little girl, Mornay, is by far the worst off.
Her condition is constantly up and down. There have been a few times that we thought for sure we were going to lose her, and their carer sat cradling her with the expectation of saying goodbye, and then she inexplicably bounced back.
The vets are calling her a miracle kitten.
The little boy, Béchamel, seems to be growing stronger bit by bit. But he backslides quickly, so it is still far too early to tell. But little by little he seems to be getting past whatever horrible hell this condition is.
Mornay and Béchamel have visited the vet every day for the past 8 days, getting fluid and oxygen therapy.
Medically, there is no explanation as to how they are still alive.
Their bodes were depleted past the point of no return, but they're still with us.
The other two kittens, Béarnaise, and Hollandaise, are thankfully doing quite well.
It took well over a week to get them there, but we are starting to breathe a bit more easily.
Their diarrhoea is far less frequent and they are active and playful and getting stronger by the day.
They still backslide on occasion, though, and we have to jump in with immediate care.
--
To our four little fighters: hang in there.
You have pushed through this for over two weeks, and you're so, so close. We can feel it.
Please keep going. We know you can do it. And we will be with you every step of the way. No matter what.
We love you and we cannot wait for the day that you get adopted and watch you go on to live your best lives.
And to our beautiful little Velouté, our silly little fluffy grey bunny: We love you so, so much. We are so sorry you did not come to us sooner. You gave it everything you had and we are so proud of you. We will miss your beautiful fluffy face, your silly little meow, and your cheeky disposition, even through all of the pain.
We will see you again someday.
--
To everyone who has made it to the end of this post: thank you.
We know it was a long read, but sometimes writing posts like this is the only way to process the grief.
Please send all of the love and strength that you can spare toward these kittens.
We are also going to start a fvndra!ser for them soon because the medical costs are growing quite extreme (but they're worth it!), so if you are able to help them in that regard, please do so as well.
These kittens deserve a happily ever after, and we will do everything we can to make that happen.
Because this is what we do.
Every. Single. Day.
