This morning it dawned on me- I’ve left a plot-line unresolved! It was 4 months ago now that two little pawing mewing big-eyed big pawed things mysteriously turned up outside our place.

When they first arrived, 3 weeks old, orphaned, it was bottle feeding every 4-5 hours, and they were only really happy if they were suckling, sleeping, or being cuddled. Nick was away in Kampala, and they were good (but demanding) company. They looked like this:

Then they got sick. Really sick. The diarrhoea-situation became severe and the poor wee things had permanently wet, cold, runny bottoms. They gave up all pretences of adhering to my toilet-training regime, and the floor…well….That month was probably my hardest time in Gulu yet. And because sick kittens definitely aren’t socially-acceptable problem to have here, I kept it hush hush with my neighbours. They were still happy when sitting on their blanket-covered hot water bottle, but I was convinced their days were numbered. When they had the energy, they still insisted in finding ways to crawl into confined spaces. Namely my sack of cooking-charcoal. This is Simba after at the height of her sickness after rummaging in the sooty sack:

When they were still healthy, I located a new owner for them to take them when they were weaned.I found a single American doctor, who believe it or not had been literally praying to locate kittens for months. When she heard their plight was growing worse, she came to the rescue, and brought kitten food she’d bought in the capital. When they stopped taking milk, and started eating the food, they slowly, slowly started to recover. I left for Kampala, and handed them over.

When I got back, I found them plush and plump, living with their new Dr-mum in one of the most luxurious abodes in Gulu, frolicking in an extensive garden and enjoying imported kitty food. They made it!