Tag Archives: adopt a cat

Good Morning!

Just a few months back, my house was silent. Morning consisted of a dull routine. This morning I opened my eyes to this.

Lil’ Red is always bringing me toys, Moe wants to cuddle, Princess sings constantly, and the kittens just want to play. Boring mornings are a thing of the past!

Sue

Note: Princess is the first singing cat I’ve ever known. Her little “Purrup, meow, purrups” go on all day in a never ending song. Moe and Red sing a little, but with Princess the concert never ends.

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The Battle of Boot Hill (History Rewritten by a Kitten)

Caution: Images of extreme kitten violence.

As it has often happened throughout history, what began with a mere property dispute escalates into an all out war….

The Red Army had firmly staked a claim to the infamous Boot Hill, and would not be moved, because “Possession is nine-tenths of the law.” and EVERYTHING is Red’s possession!

But unbeknownst to Red, the Gray Army had placed a previous claim, and improvements had been made to this piece of real estate. Deep inside the cavernous Boot Hill Mine a stuffed mousie awaited his owner’s return.

Catching her adversary with his paws in “her” mine, Red immediately demanded that he relinquish the mousie and vacate the premises. A heated discussion ensued.

Followed by a shouting match.

Then… violence!

Many were the causalities.

Some even freakishly appeared to have passed in the battle.

In a surprise ending, that is sure to make the history books, the Red Army, in spite of their smaller size, arose as the champion and is seen in this photo enjoying the sweet scent of victory.

 

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Sunday Afternoon Nap Time

 

I could use a good nap.

 

Nap? That means sleep, right? Who needs sleep? Sleep is for losers. I don’t wanta sleep….

Can I play with the Kindle instead? I’m sure I can do better at that video game than what you were doing.

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Kitten Personalities (or loose in the house at last!)

Moe and Lil’ Red are out of the bathroom, and we are finding that, like children, no two kittens are the same.

I found the chair, now where is the person who’s suppose to hold me?

Hey, what you got? Is it for me? Hey! Is it mine? Hey …

What’s up here?

I really hope you didn’t want the rest of that Coke.

My stuffed mousie is escaping. I must subdue it!

Does anyone else realize that there is a monster in this window?

Still waiting.

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Gifts from a Princess

I’m not sure if I am ready for this. I’m not even sure if I’m young enough for it, but things are rapidly changing here in the hollow. Heartache struck swiftly this spring and took both the Elderly Gent and our eighteen-year-old cat Grenny.  For the first time in decades our house was without a pet. Silence reigned, but the outside cat Princess would see to it that our home didn’t stay that way for long.

We knew about the kittens she had stashed under the porch, and we had made arrangements with a farmer weeks ago. He would take them as soon as they were of age, but a predator moved into the neighborhood, and kittens began to disappear. We moved the final two into the bathroom for safety sake, and (you guessed it.) we became attached.

It’s been eighteen years since we had a kitten. Wow, are they active! Wow, are they noisy! Wow, are they messy! They get into everything, they tear up anything they get their paws on, and my legs look like I’ve been strolling through barbed wire. It’s been a great couple of days.

Meet the kids.

We are guessing Moe (the big gray one) was sired by a huge Main Coon that has been sulking around the neighborhood, and Lil’ Red is a rare, female, red tabby. We had originally given Red a boy’s name, because we had never seen a red one that was female.

Moe is a cuddly, Mama’s boy and Lil’ Red is as mischievous and energetic as she looks. The silence is over, and if we survive this, it might just turn out to be fun.

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The New Kids on the Block

When I was a kid, I remember traveling vagrants left marks on the fences of houses that were good for a handout. If you felt a smidgen of sympathy and gave a gaunt, sunken-eyed bum a sandwich, it wouldn’t be long before more vagrants were knocking at the door. The cure to your problem was to paint your fence. I am beginning to suspect that someone has marked my fence, or perhaps I have the word “sucker” tattooed to my forehead in invisible ink? Anyway, if someone dumps a stray cat in our neighborhood, it inevitably ends up at my door. Gent was the last to be taken in of our local feral cat colony. We were free of outside cats for a few months, but….

Meet the new kids on the block.

Skitty

Skitty

Pumpkin

Pumpkin

Princess

Princess

The big one, with the fur coat that would see her through an Alaskan winter, is Skitty. (Named that because she was one skittish kitty) She has grown extremely loving in a very short period of time, and walking to the garden without tripping over her has become quite a chore. The orange one is Pumpkin. You may pull his tail or touch his nose, but petting him is out of the question. The little fluff ball is Princess. She is very delicate, very feminine, and a non-stop chatterbox. We really don’t mind their company, and someone has expressed interest in Skitty and Princess. I’ve already decided to keep Pumpkin as an outdoor cat. (We have plenty of warm shelter for the winter, and finding a home for a cat you can’t touch is difficult.)

But how? How do these cats know that out of all of the houses in the neighborhood this is the one to come to? How do they know which person will run into the house to get them a plate of cat food and a bowl of milk? I think perhaps it’s time to paint my fence, or maybe apply a little makeup?

Sue

 

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The Last Wildcat

102_9805I almost gasped as the cat stuck his head out around the wheel of my son’s motorcycle. This animal wasn’t supposed to be here. Not this close!  The old cat meowed then ran to my feet and waited for a response. Instinctively, I backed away. This wasn’t right. Everyone knows that uncharacteristic behavior from a wild animal is a sign of rabies.  The elderly cat had skirted the edge of our yard and avoided human contact for over four years. You could call him. He wouldn’t come. A sideways glance would send him running into the woods. He hated humans.  Why was he standing at my feet?  Cocking his head to the side the cat looked up into my face and meowed again as if to say, “Hi. It’s me. I’ve come home.” He rubbed against my leg and I rubbed my eyes. I had fallen asleep the night before in the real world and it appeared that I had awaken in the Twilight Zone.

“A rabid animal will not drink,” I quoted to myself as I stepped backwards towards the door. Milk seemed to be the answer. If he drank the milk I could relax, but if he began to froth at the mouth like something from the Exorcist, I could…

“I could what?” I asked myself. ” Shoot him? Me, shoot a cat? I don’t think so.”

“Milk first,” I decided “Panic later.”

The cat waited patiently as I slipped into the house and got him something to drink. I placed the bowl in front of him, but rather than lap at the milk, the hungry, old cat checked out my offering, then looked up as me as though he were asking permission.

“This looks pretty good,” he seemed to say. “Are you sure you don’t want it?”

“Drink, Kitty,” I coaxed, and the cat lowered his head and obeyed.

People who know of him have often said that the elderly Gent, as we call him, came to me that day asking for help. I can see their reasoning. When Gent came to us, his health was failing. Life in the wild had not been kind. His broken nose is the first thing that greets you when he lunges onto your lap. As he snuggles close, you will immediately notice his raspy breathing. When you first caress his long, soft fur, your fingers will recoil as they trail across with his crushed ribcage. These were merely the beginning of the old cat’s problems. His sides were missing huge patches of fur and splotched with chemical burns. His fur was full of nits and he was crawling with lice. Deer ticks circled his neck like a collar, and he had the absolutely worse case of fleas I have seen in my entire life. But this too was only the beginning. His ears were blackened with mites, tape worm segments were clinging to his privates, and he was vomiting round worms. And finally (yes, these really do exist.) his urinary tract was infested with worms. The poor cat was passing things that looked like baby night crawlers. I suppose if I tried really hard I could make myself believe that Gent came to us that morning looking for help, but I think I would always doubt. You see, I believe the old cat is a miracle.

He came to me the morning after I buried Puff. I had no desire to face that pain again, so I had staunchly determined that I didn’t want another cat, but often times what we want and what we need are entirely different things. I needed Gent. I just didn’t know it. In the months to follow my family would have to face the loss of two more pets, the failing health of my parents, and too many other problems to list without becoming severely depressed. Through it all, Gent has been like a gift from God. This old wildcat gave up his life in the out of doors and moved flawlessly into our home. He is not neutered. We would never consider having him put under anesthesia. Yet he does not spray. Within a day’s time he stepped from the role of wildcat into that of therapy cat. Yes, we have provided him with medical care, but the care he has given us is so much more.

Calm and attentive, Gent has an uncanny ability to detect feelings and to decipher needs. He knows when someone is sick. He knows when someone is hurting, and he knows when someone needs to feel special. He saw Grenny through the deaths of Kitsten and her brother, faithfully staying by her side until she was ready to face the world on her own. When my elderly parents came to live with us, he took it upon himself to welcome them and provide activity to keep their minds and hearts alive. His fur has been cried upon, his ears have listened to plans, failures and heartaches. He glues himself to the sides of those who are sick and spends hours upon the laps of those who are depressed. The list goes on and on. This old cat has made us his purpose in life.

I have no idea how long we will be able to keep Gent. He is a very old cat. His lungs are bad. His heart beats too fast. His kidneys are almost shot, but we will keep him as long as we can, and I will face the pain when the time comes. because this old cat is our gift from God, and he is worth it.

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