Jenn McKinlay News

Newsletter reshared from Nov 13, 2017: Part 1

For those of you who follow me on social media, you have undoubtedly been unable to avoid seeing the new addition to our family, known to one and all as King George. It has been quite an experience.

On Oct 1st, Hooligan 1 and I came home from a late evening run to the store. With two teenage boys in residence, I swear there is never any food in the house even when you know you just bought enough to feed a ravenous horde of zombies. While unloading bags, I noticed a small blob on the front patio. Since we live in a frat house, small blobs appear with great regularity but I had just swept the front porch so I was bewildered. Was it a clod of dirt? A rogue sock? One of the neighbor kid’s stuffies? I couldn’t see in the dim garden lights and asked Hooligan 1 to confirm. He used the flashlight on his phone to help and as he shined the light on the blob, a tiny face rolled up to look at us. It was a teeny tiny kitten.

Baby George:

“Aw,” we said together. Then we stepped back to see if Mama was around. She wasn’t. Any others babies? Nope. The little guy was so pitiful and weak, we brought him inside. Hooligan 2 promptly elbowed us out of the picture and took over warming the little guy while Hooligan 1 and I made a supply run.

Hub and I discussed the situation. Hub, being a big squishy marshmallow inside a burly knuckle dragger’s body, was instantly kitten smitten. The Hooligans were equally besotted. I was the holdout. I am the one who works at home and, quite frankly, is the one in charge of the walking and feeding and vet care of all the other pets. I knew this wee fella would be a lot of work, and I couldn’t imagine how we’d integrate him into a house with two cats, two dogs, and a fish who wouldn’t die. Not that I didn’t love the fish, but he was old.

Sure enough, as my people trotted off to school and work the next day, I was left with this thumbprint of a kitten. I took him to the vet immediately. They told me, gently, that he would likely die. He was about ten days old, his body temperature was low, and he was scrawny. Oh, boy. They gave me all sorts of instructions – apparently, itty bitty kitties need to eat every two hours and you have to teach them to pee – no, not kidding. This kitten the size of a bug bite and I sat in the car where I promptly burst into tears. What if he died? How could I live with that? I was on deadline. I was going to a writer’s conference Canada. I couldn’t do this, sob, snuggle kitten, wail, snuggle kitten, rinse repeat.

I called a family meeting. I had the name and number of a kitten nanny who was willing to take him. I explained that I could not do this alone and that we had to make our decision for the fuzzy nugget based upon what would give him his best shot. The menfolk lobbied hard to keep him and raise him up ourselves. We talked about his schedule, and everyone picked their shift. We all learned how to make his food and how to rub his nether regions to help him pee and poop (again, not kidding) and so it began.

The Hub and the Hooligans and I were all in. For as long as I live, I will double up with laughter at the image of the Hooligans helping George to pee and poop. The looks of “ew” that morphed into pride when the yelling kitten achieved bladder and bowel movements were truly a thing to witness. And the tenderness that filled my heart while I watched them bottle feed him, cuddle him, check on him, and love him -- truly, I overflowed with it. Then, of course, there were the admonishments of how I needed to tend him while they were away at school that made me see a new level of responsibility and maturity in them.

Side note: I don’t know if you’ve noticed but the world seems to have turned rather awful. It’s been a tire fire of vitriol and hatred and people behaving badly out there and, frankly, it had left me somewhat depressed over the past few months, thinking what is the world coming to and how will we all survive? But then this half dead, days-old abandoned kitten found us, and I stepped back to let the Hooligans take the lead on caring for him. They were absolutely determined that he would survive and thrive. While guiding them, I watched two young men committed to saving what to many would be a lost cause, a small inconsequential life of no importance, and I realized, we're going to be okay.

When I think back to the day that I cried, I laugh. As if there was any option but keeping this furball. But I’m also glad that I was overwhelmed by the responsibility and asked for help. I love that my boys have had an opportunity to parent, and I really love that saving this kitten from certain death is a bond the four of us will always share.

I marvel at the timing of King George’s appearance. Hooligan 2 had just been through a grueling surgery and was still recovering. KG became his snuggle buddy, easing his pain. Hooligan 1 was wall to wall with school, activities, and work and KG helped him to slow down and appreciate small joys such as a kitten demanding love. For Hub and I, we got to have a baby again, which was a balm as our babies have grown into young men who don’t need us so much anymore. The universe clearly knew we needed King George as much as he needed us.

Shenanigans with King George over the years:

Today’s Newsletter June 28, 2026: Part 2

As I mentioned in that newsletter from almost nine years ago, King George brought so much joy to our house. He’s the only cat I’ve ever had who plays fetch. When left to his own devices, he would tie up all of the dining room chair legs with a ball of yarn he stole from my knitting basket. He loved to nap with each of us when we watched TV, did homework, or actually slept, moving from one person to the next as if it was his job. His best friends were our dogs and he frequently slept in between them. A true mama’s boy, whenever I traveled, he would yell (quite loudly) at me, letting me know he was miffed by my absence. It usually took him a full day to forgive me for the betrayal.

If any pet can be described as beloved, it’s George.

Why am I sharing all of this? Because it’s time for us to let King George go. He’s a few months shy of nine, so it feels especially cruel that he is so young, but he has an auto-immune disorder that is causing his body to shut down and there is no cure. Believe me, we’ve looked, sending labs all the way to Texas A & M in our search for a way to save him.

As I sit with him now, feeling heartsick at how skinny he’s become, I can’t help but think of how much he has given us so freely over the years—affection, love, laughter, companionship, and endless snuggles. He came into our world so unexpectedly and healed each of us in different ways—ways we didn’t even know we needed—and I’m in awe of the incredible legacy he’s leaving behind.

The King enjoying his catio a few days ago:

It makes me ponder the opportunity that each of us is given at birth—the opportunity to leave something truly good behind. Because there is one inescapable fact of life and that is that everyone dies. They say most people are forgotten within three generations. Even those famous and infamous folks we hear about every day—whether we like it or not—will only be a footnote in history or an abstract name on a genealogy chart in a matter of years.

All this to say, you’d think more people would care about what they leave behind. You’d think they’d want to give more than they take. That they’d want people to think of them fondly…and yet, I see so much taking and not much giving. I see people committed to doing as much harm as possible so long as it benefits them personally and, honestly, I wish they could take a few lessons from King George.

I mean, wouldn’t it be an amazing world if we all gave more than we took, be it with an act of kindness, a helping hand, an encouraging word, or even just randomly shared baked goods?

There is a saying that reads, “A society grows great when old men plant trees in whose shade they know they shall never sit.” King George, despite his lack of opposable thumbs, managed to plant plenty of metaphorical trees and we will remember him and the lessons he taught us for the rest of our lives. That’s a pretty great legacy for a kitten who wasn’t supposed to make it.

Thanks for letting me share the story of our boy. For those of you who’ve watched King George grow up with us, thanks for loving him along with us. And now I’m off to sit with my boy and read him a book. I think he’ll enjoy Mo Willems’s Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus!

Wishing you all good things.

XO, Jenn