Wednesday, November 6, 2013
He goes by Kitty, "Did you feed the Kitty?", "Get the Kitty out of the house!", "Go and give that to the Kitty.", "Guess where I found the Kitty.", "Goodnight Kitty.". He showed up in the back yard last fall. Tiny and motherless, I found him shackin' up with the chickens, eating their scraps, and keeping warm in their coop. I knew he wasn't healthy, his belly was three times the size it should have been, and he seemed pretty lethargic. I also knew I couldn't take him in the house, my husband isn't a cat lover, and I have one who is very allergic. Others urged me to put him down, but I've always thought you should give an animal one last chance before you make that decision (In high school I took my 18 year old, on her last leg cat to the vet, they gave her some sort of vitamin/steroid shot, and she immediately perked up tripled her weight, and made it another five years. She just wasn't ready to go yet.). So that is what I did, I decided to do what I could, to give him a fighting chance. I still can't believe he made it through that cold winter, I'd pumped him full of de-wormer (I found that was the cause of the huge belly, don't ask how I found that out), given him a cozy fleece lined box in the garage, and made sure he received a decent rub down daily. And he did what he needed to do, stopped eating rotting chicken scraps, grew a funky thick winter coat, and pulled at my heartstrings earning a warm spot by the fire when I could sneak him in. He beat the odds, one life down eight to go, he's become part of the family, another boy, in an almost all boys club.
About a week ago we thought he was a goner. He'd gotten himself pinned under the gate to the chicken coop (alright so he hasn't totally broken the habit of eating chicken scraps). It was a horrific sight, his back half was flattened to under an inch. We knew what had to be done, our sweet little barn kitty, could no longer walk, just drag his crushed back end behind him. I thought he could do with a little cleaning up before... well......you know (imagine what your bowels would do if they'd been mashed for hours), while rinsing him, he began to purr, it only grew louder when I began drying him. I think I knew at that point he was going to be alright. Long story short, during one very long night, he slowly and stiffly began to walk again, first with only one leg, and then with two. Two days after that he was back to chasing chickens (maybe not quite as fast), and batting at string lights as I attempted to hang them for our Halloween spook alley.
That Kitty likes to make his mark (gross, no, not that way). What is about fresh paint, the entire time I'm painting I'm doing my best to keep little fingers away, only to find it later with small cat prints across a corner.
All well, I've got some time before it needs to be ready for our next gathering, and really it's nothing a little sanding and a touch up can't fix. A small price to pay for my feline friend.
Small prices.... right.... so really what's one life, when you have seven more.