To the rescue

Kim Breckon, 41, from Brighouse, West Yorkshire, did all she could to get her poorly kitten walking again…

Most people might think it strange to celebrate a pet’s birthday, let alone bake a cake for the special occasion, but for me, it seemed fitting.

As my black Labrador Henry looked up at me, drooling, I couldn’t help but laugh.

‘This is not for you,’ I said, rubbing his head.

Henry had his eye on my latest creation – a carrot and apple cake, laced with catnip and Dreamies cat treats.

But poor Henry was to be disappointed, as this treat was specially made for my two kittens’ first birthday!

A year earlier, I’d received a call from Harvey’s Army, an animal charity who I volunteered with.

A feral cat in Bradford had been hit by a car and was left crippled, limping around an industrial park.

They thought she might have kittens, too.

Driving straight there, I found the cat hobbling along, her back leg hanging off. I tried to grab hold of her, but she was too skittish, scampering away.

All I could do was follow her, hoping she’d lead me to her kittens.

Eventually, behind a Cash ‘n’ Carry, she darted off into the bushes.

Scrambling in after her on my hands and knees, I caught sight of two tiny kittens.

I called another volunteer, who came over straight away to help me.

Soon, we’d managed to grab hold of both kittens and their mum.

Gently placing them in a crate with a warm blanket, I took the kittens home with me, while their mum was taken to the vet’s. I fed the tiny babies with a syringe every two hours, but they were so poorly.

‘They’re too young to be away from their mother,’ the vet told me the next morning.

But their poor mum was in no state to look after them.

Her leg was badly broken and had to be amputated.

‘I’ll be their mum for now,’ I smiled, stroking the adorable pair.

Cradling the tiny kittens in my arms, while Henry looked on curiously, I wondered what I would call them…

Then... ‘Of course!’ I cried. ‘Cash

and Carrie!’

And, with my care, the little ones thrived.

They had such a strong will to live, and despite their tiny stature, they both got along perfectly with Henry, pouncing on him regularly.

But, one morning a few weeks later, I opened the door to my kitchen, expecting them both to fly out as usual.

Cash greeted me, but Carrie, normally the first to jump out, stayed in her basket.

‘Carrie? What’s wrong?’ I said, moving closer to her.

She didn’t move, just meowed at me sadly…

I saw that there was milk spilled across the floor. Then I realised what happened… The milk had been on top of the fridge – Carrie must have jumped up to reach it and fallen.

I gently picked her up and stroked her, placing her on my lap. ‘It’s OK,’ I soothed. But, when I placed her down, her legs splayed, lifeless, and she crumbled to the floor. Panicking, I scooped her up and rushed her to the vet’s. ‘We’ll take an X-ray and some blood,’ the vet said. ‘But if her spine is broken, we’ll have to put her down.’ His words hung in the air as a lump caught in my throat. Back at home, Cash and Henry were wandering around the house, looking for Carrie. It broke my heart. An hour later, the vet called to say that Carrie’s spine wasn’t broken. Thank God! I thought. But she wasn’t out of the woods just yet… She wasn’t eating, drinking, or even moving… ‘She must have suffered neurological damage in the fall,’ the vet said. ‘You could try massaging her legs.’ ‘I’ll do anything,’ I cried, as the vet showed me how to manipulate Carrie’s paws to stimulate the nerves in her legs. Taking her home, Cash and Henry were so happy to see her, licking her gently. But I couldn’t let them too close, as she was so fragile.

And every day, laying her broken body on the sofa for hours at a time, I’d gently massage her legs.

A few days later, Carrie had a breakthrough – she managed to limp to her litter tray! ‘Come on girl,’ I cheered. After a week, she was able to use both her back legs and her front left, wobbling along slowly.

But her front right paw was still paralysed.

‘Reach for that,’ I encouraged, shining a laser light around the room for her to play with.

Then, 10 days after her accident, I opened the door to the crate where she was sleeping, and she slowly stepped out, putting her weight on her right paw. It was a miracle! Today, Carrie still doesn’t have any feeling in that paw, but she gets around just fine.

She and her brother Cash are constantly on the go.

I call her my little street fighter, after bravely surviving two neardeath experiences. And her motto? Keep calm and Carrie on!