May 7th, 2014:
Been a year since I was freed from lock down. Noisy place. Nosy people poking their faces and fingers at me.
Human took me away from that. Let's me stretch my legs. Let's me sleep on the bed. Doesn't get mad when I bite his fingers.
He's a good friend.
I patrol the apartment, searching for information on the Red Dot. I've seen its true face.
It fears me.
One year ago today, my life became enbiggened with the introduction of a huge personality in a small body. Today's post is dedicated to him...
In order to tell his story though, I feel I must give a little back story. I once had a Siberian Husky named Thunder, he was a wonderful dog, and very much still a puppy until he hurt his back in 2011. For a year, he slowed down considerably, had many accidents in the house, and would actually stumble and fall down the two steps on the back porch on several occasions. At his most recent visit to the vet, the discussion about "quality of life" had come up.
He was struggling. He was unhappy. After 13 years, he had become old, simply because of an injury, in the blink of an eye. He tried so hard to greet me at the door when I'd get home, but often would watch me from the floor, wagging his tail and waiting excitedly for me to go to him. It was around this time that my wife decided that she no longer wished to be married.
I now had a dilemma, I was moving out of my house, uncertain of where I'd wind up. My brother and his family had graciously offered for me to stay with them until I had found a place of my own. The drawback there was that their backyard had about 7 steps to it, and they had a dog that was much more active and rambunctious than Thunder. After a long, soul-wrenching discussion with the vet who had taken great care of him since he was a puppy, it was agreed that the most merciful thing would be to let him sleep. He drifted off in my arms as I bawled like a baby, soaking him with my tears.
I had just lost two of my best friends at around the same time.
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| R.I.P. Thunder MacLeod Cruts |
Eventually, I had acquired an apartment, and, thinking forward, asked the landlord if I'd be able to eventually have a cat. I knew that after the pain had subsided, I would want another companion, and being on my own, a cat made more sense than a dog. He said it would be no problem, and that answer helped cement my desire for the apartment.
A few months after moving in to my digs, an opportunity to have a cat had cropped up. We have feral cats where I work, and they would propagate at an alarming rate. We had taken to capturing the adults, having them spayed or neutered, then returned to the grounds. Any kittens we located, were young enough to be able to find homes for, as they readily warmed up to humans. During the cold Winter months, we had located more kittens, one of which was solid black (Spooky). They were malnourished, but otherwise seemed healthy, him being the runt. They were taken to the vet, gotten a checkup and shots, and Spooky would soon have a nice warm home. Unfortunately, for no known reason, Spooky didn't make it through the night. My coworker broke the sad news to me the next morning.
I have several friends who are associated with A.W.S.O.M., which is a no-kill shelter located in the Poconos. I had friended them on Facebook, and enjoyed reading about all the great dogs and cats who had found loving homes. Every week they'd do a spotlight piece on a cat or dog who desperately needed and deserved a good home. One week, they did a spot on a sweet, petite, tuxedo cat they were calling "Pat" who had been in their care for two years!!! The moment I saw him, and read his story, I knew I had to open my home to him. I contacted my landlord to make sure it was still okay for me to have a cat, and after a maddening afternoon of him hedging, he finally acquiesced to the agreement struck when I accepted the apartment. All my ducks in a row, I contacted AWSOM, and informed them that I'd be up after work.
After finally finding the place, I got the ball rolling on the adoption. As paperwork got shuffled and sorted, I met "Pat" face to face for the first time. He wouldn't even come to the door to my coaxing, and only grudgingly did with the temptation of the cat treats they had sitting on the reception desk. My heart sank. He hates me! My friend, who met me there, had similar results with him. Is this a mistake?
Never having adopted before, I was completely green to the process. I had it in my mind that I'd be meeting and greeting, and dropping off the fee and adoption request, then I'd get a call in a day or two with the good news after background checks and whatnot had been finished. Imagine my surprise as I watched them take the cat from his cage and fight to get him into the carrier. It took three grown women to accomplish this feat! YIKES!!
They gave me his paperwork, a soft blankie, a toy mouse, a bag of catfood and a bag of kitty litter. They said their goodbyes to "Pat", wished us both luck, and we were on our way. Our first discussion was about his name. I disliked the name "Pat", for a few reasons. This cat would no longer be known as "Pat". From now on, he would be known as Rorschach! A very fitting name, considering his petite frame paired with his symmetrical markings.
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| He's the little guy in the back. |
A quick stop at my friend's house, where she gave me some more cat toys and supplies, then we were on our way home. I could tell it was a bit of an adjustment for him, it was about three days before he would retract his claws while walking around. His treks through the apartment conjured a strong comparison to velcro being pulled from its backing, repeatedly. My apprehension as to whether or not we were a good fit was assuaged before the end of the first day, when he curled up in my lap and took a nap. By the third day, he was sleeping on my bed with me. Being so tiny and light, I had no idea he had chosen to sleep on the bed, until rolled over and disturbed him. He awoke immediately, and at three in the morning, I found myself cuddling and scratching a little cat who seemed to thrive on the attention. It would be a week before he began purring, and when he finally did, I fell in love with its sound.
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| The vet couldn't write it if it wasn't true! |
Ever since day one of having my apartment, every time I've opened the front door, I've announced, "Hi, Honey! I'm home!" My stepson* found it extremely amusing that I did this to an empty apartment. (*I know he legally isn't my stepson anymore, but I spent 7 years raising him, love him as if he was my own, and my family consider him to be my kid, so if you have a problem with that, deal with it. I'm sure he'll be mentioned in future postings.) These days, I continue said antic, but now Rorschach greets me at the door, tail wagging, when I do. Cats are mysterious creatures, perhaps he learned that habit from Thunder.
What do you see?
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| A pretty butterfly. |
And, now?
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| Some nice flowers. |
Last one.
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| Love. |
I can honestly say that this cat is one of the very few things in this world that can make me genuinely smile. He is definitely Daddy's boy, as he generally runs and hides from most anyone who comes over to visit. There are only a couple people he will venture out for. They must be special.
Happy anniversary, you fuzzy, little velociraptor. We rescued each other! <3
