Twenty something years ago, a cat adopted me. Always hanging around my apartment and foolish me, I kept feeding her. Wonder why she kept coming back? Anyway.. I named her Tooter. She used to stick her nose into the lines of white powder that seemed to crop up on my coffee table. Counting the number of time Tooter needed to lick her nose afterwards, was a good indication of the quality of the Peruvian Marching Powder.
One day, I noticed that she seemed fatter. Took her to the vet and found out Tooter was pregnant. Had a litter of four and didn't wanted to use the nice box of old towels I made for her. Gave birth on the third shelf of the linen closet on top of the new bedsheets. Thanks!
Two weeks later, I let her out one afternoon. Little bit later, I noticed tow guys with a German Shepard entering the building. The dog was on a leash, so I didn't give it a second thought. When she didn't come back, I went searching for her. Found her lying behind the building, almost dead. Like you, I took her to a 24 hour vet and like you made that terrible decision to put her down.
I spent the next six weeks, bottle feeding and burping and cleaning up after the four kittens. Finally got then weaned off of the bottle only to discover that kittens are more likely to play *in* their food, rather than eat it.
I eventually got another cat. Only this time, it came as part of a will when my best friend Norn died. Since I used to catsit, his family wanted me to have Gable. Michaelle and took him into our home when he was eight years old. Like Joey, Gable spent the first two weeks underneath the bed, only coming out when absolutely necessary to use the litter box. We nicknamed him GableKittyFuzzball because he was all of nine pounds but looked like twenty pounds. All hair. One of our friends came to call him Rug With Feet. I think you can see why:
And like Joey, Gable would bop us with his paw when he wanted more attention. He would often sleep at the top of the stairs, just outside my office. Would he move when I wanted to walk down the stairs? Not a chance. He owned the house and he knew it. He was a great party cat. Used to visit with everybody there knowing that the more people that were around, the longer he got his back scratched.
We never let GableKittyFuzzBall outside. It was helpful that he never showed any interest in wanting to go outside. We put Gable down two years ago at the ripe old age of 16 after his health deteriorated. He was done to six pounds. But you couldn't tell by looking at him.
A few months ago, we adopted another cat. His name is Houdini. He's laying on my arms in front of the keyboard as I try to type this.
He likes to sleep in the middle of the bed or under my neck or in my office chair when I want to check my email. He drinks out of the toilet, attacks our feet under the covers and roughhouses with me, just like Joey. Houdini can bug me all he wants. He's not going to spend any time outside either.
More photos
here.
I know exactly how you're feeling today.
:tears:
:hang:
I'm sorry. Even more sorry to tell you only time (and wheeling) will make you feel better. Lots and lots of time. (And a little wheeling.)
Give Frankie a fuzz for me...
