I share my current abode with three gentlemen...and I use that term loosely. Allow me to introduce the men in my life.
You've already met Bandit my German Shepherd; I'll talk about him in a later post. For now allow me to introduce the formally attired gentleman who has lived with me the longest: BootZee the cat.
BootZee was a God-send tho I didn't know it at the time.
In the Winter of 2011, we had been hearing cats meow at the corner by the bedroom window off and on for a couple weeks. The weatherman had predicted a major storm and I had been worried about the cats because they wouldn't show themselves to me during the day, but I could hear them crying at night.
With a storm on the way our concern about the cats intensified.
My soul-mate surprised me with a shelter for them. He covered the outside of an old milk crate with newspaper and topped the crate with an inverted 32-bottle empty water bottle case. Newspaper has incredible insulating power. He weighted the 'lid' down with some pottery then closed off 3/4 of the front with more paper and blocked it from the wind with pottery. Good temporary housing. Shelter from the storm as it were.
I added a couple old towels and a bowl of dry cat food. [Have I mentioned the tattoo on my forehead? The one that is blinking neon green and reads "SUCKER"?] In the morning the food was gone. The paw prints int the snow were evidence enough. Fresh paw prints. They had heard me opening the door and skedaddled.
We asked the people in the neighborhood about them. Talked to the postmistress (an animal advocate) to find out if anyone was talking about a missing cat or cats. No one seemed to knew where the cats came from. But there were three of them. A maine coon, a grey/white tuxedo and a black/white tuxedo. All about the same size. All showing up at the same time. I think they came to my house because I feed the birds all winter long and they were planning a hunt.
I put a little food out for them 'cause you could tell they were losing weight. After a while one of them got up the courage and came to me. Believe me - it took a lot of courage for him to come to me. What I neglected to mention was that they constantly saw me with my dog in tow (or the other way around depending on how you see it).
Bear weighed about 100 pounds. Sometimes a bit more, sometimes a bit less depending on what time of year it was. Much like us humans (heavier in winter). Shown here with a very unflattering picture of me so you can get an idea of his size. No wonder the cats were afraid, eh? More on Bear-the-Wonder-Dog at another time.
Anyway. Here's me with this HUGE canine (to a little cat, he was huge. heck even to many humans he was huge.) and these three little cats apparently need a home. *Sigh* What to do. As I said. I put out a little food. I believe it's referred to as 'baiting them in' in some circles. [Did you know that 'baiting' game in order to kill it is legal in parts of the South? Maybe it's legal in other places too. Ya know I really have led a sheltered life. lol]
The food I was putting out was placed on a gated and somewhat sheltered southwest-facing deck. Relatively safe. It took a while to earn the trust of the cats. First I let them get used to eating the cat food on the porch. Undisturbed.
Next, I started sitting on the porch. I hate cold, but was more concerned for the cats than for my personal comfort. After getting them desensitized to my presence during which time I spoke softly to them and didn't make any sudden moves. BootZee rose to the challenge and let me pet him while he ate. He purred all the while, but when the food was gone so was he.
It was a start.
Over the next few weeks all three cats allowed me to pet them. I discovered a horrible truth: all three had been de-clawed. They couldn't hunt as well as their contemporaries. My heart sank. I needed to either trap them and find their owner or take them to the SPCA or something. Poor little kitties. We wondered who could have done such a thing to innocent little animals. Not de-clawing them -- although that in itself isn't my cup of tea -- abandoning them once they had de-clawed them KNOWING they probably wouldn't survive. How heartless can you get?!! I was angry.
I thought about adopting them myself, but you could tell they were really afraid of my dog. Bear would never have hurt them. He grew up with cats and had a healthy respect for them. [The cats he knew had claws. But he 'herded' them anyway and went between them when the two would fight as cats are wont to do.] I even went as far as trying to desensitize them to Bear by leaving the back door open so he could watch them from the other side of the glass door. In retrospect, letting them see the dog was perhaps not the brightest thing to do.
I took pictures of all three cats and made a "Do you know me?" poster. Put the poster up in the local post office with a note to contact me (very small town -- safe to do that here). Eventually I heard the name of the person who owned the cats, but because I didn't know them there wasn't a lot I could do. I didn't want to start trouble for a single person down on their luck (which is how the story was explained to me; again - small town). A neighbor had a discussion with this person. A very heated discussion from what I've been told. Private. But heated.
By this time Spring had sprung. The three cats stopped showing up together. One would come one day. Another the next day. Sometimes two would be together. Usually it was the gray/white tuxedo and the maine coon. Very seldom did the black/white tuxedo stop by. They were either being fed by someone else or were getting to be better hunters. Or a combination of the two.
No more kitties waking me up in the middle of the night with their crying. Or purring while I petted them. I still put food out every day. Sometimes the dish would be empty in the morning when I checked. Sometimes it would still be full.
Time passed.
Then one day right around tax time I heard a little 'meow' at my back door. I opened it to discover BootZee, the grey/white tuxedo cat. Limping. Nothing but skin and bones. With a broken front leg. I called my love and off we went to the vet. He was so good at the vet. I think he knew we were trying to help.
We talked about it on the way home and decided that BootZee wasn't going back outside. Poor little thing. He was so sick and malnourished and hurt. I made him a place where he knew the dog couldn't get to him. He began the process of healing and learning to trust humans again. I comforted him. In return he comforts and calms me. There's nothing like a purring cat in your lap to put a smile on your face and a song in your heart.
We finally got a telephone call from BootZee's owner. I told her that he had shown up at my door with a broken leg. She didn't seem very concerned. Told me that his name was Jinx and that he was always getting hurt. She also said that her new boyfriend didn't like cats and they all had 'escaped' from her house. The only other cat she asked about was the black/white tuxedo - which I hadn't seen in weeks. She never asked for him back or anything. Hmmmm...
Call me weird, but imho when you have a pet you have a responsibility to that animal to provide for it until it crosses over the Rainbow Bridge. What do you think?
BootZee's been with me over a year now. He loves to be hugged and picked up and petted. He likes to lay on the table and watch the birds at the feeder. He likes to sit between the shower curtains and peek at me from the dry corner. He likes to sleep on top of the refrigerator. He doesn't like canned cat food, but won't turn up his nose at a spoon of tuna. He's just an all 'round nice cat.
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