Cat Tales 23
The ringing of the phone jarre d us from our relaxation. It was Vicki, president of our Humane Society. “I know it’s not your wee k for rescue, but this one’s in your neighborhood. Would you mind checking it out?"
"He may already be dead,” Vicki warned. “He probably hasn’t eaten in days. He’s been lying on the back step of an elderly lady’s house. She wants someone to come pick him up.”
Arriving at the house, we were met by a decidedly non-elderly fe male. She explained that this was her grandmother’s house and whispered, “No, the cat isn’t dead, and no, he isn’t starving. I’ve been feeding him. Grandma doesn’t like cats.” We walked around to the back, and the re he was, a heap of dirty, matted black fur. I gingerly picked him up and placed him in the carrier.
I called the vet, using my husband’s cell phone. By then, it was nearly 10:30 p.m., and with a tired sigh, he said, “I’ll meet you in fifteen minutes.” Upon arrival at the vet’s office, we reluctantly laid the cat on the cold metal table. My husband stayed with him as I went to call Vicki. Since our Humane Society was supported only by donation s, we had recently voted to limit expenditures on any animal to $100. I needed to keep her posted on the condition of this brave little guy, although my husband and I had already decided, without the need for discussion, that we would pay any fees over wha t the Humane Society would approve. The cat ensured his good fortune whe n he hopped over to my husband using only his back legs, looking like a mutant kangaroo. As he snuggled into my husband’s chest, all we could think was, How can you put a dollar amount on helping an animal with that much gumption and affection?
The vet explained that the cat had broken front pa ws, which had been healing incorrec tly for at least two weeks, one so crookedly it looked as if it would require amputation. He asked if we had considered euthanasia, since the cat’s care would requi re a considerable amount over the $100, and “he might end up with only three legs.” My husband’s only question, bless his heart, was “Will he be able to get around on three legs?"
"Oh, sure,” the vet said. “Then there’s no question. Let’s try to make hi m bette r.”
Andy, as we called him, stayed in the hospital for two days and came home with a bandaged paw. Over the next few days, the pungent smell from that area made it abundantly clear that something wasn’t right. Back we went, days ahead of his scheduled checkup, only to find that infection had set in. The smell was rotting flesh. This time he stayed for three weeks while the doctor bandaged, cleaned, and ran warm water ove r his paw every day. We visited daily, until the vet gently explained that Andy got more upset whe n we left after each visit than he would if we just came back when he was well enough to go home. “We’re taking good care of him, I promise,” he said. We grudgingly agreed to end our dai ly visits, but called frequently to make sure Andy got the attention he deserved.
Nearly a month after we had found hi m in a heap, we brought Andy home again, with all four legs. We had a dog and three cats of our own, and we knew it wouldn’t be wise to try to keep him in the house while he was healing, so we boarded up our screened-in porc h. Not as simple as it sounds, the process included measuring, having plywood cut, painting (so it looked good on the outside too), and screwing the individual panels to the frame. Weather stripping was applied, and since we didn’t want the porc h to be too dark, an $80 sheet of acrylic replaced one of the plywood panels so that Andy could enjoy the sunshine during his forced sabbatical. (The neighbors asked what in the wo rld we were doi ng. When we explained we were building a “cat house,” they got strangely quiet. Surely they didn’t think we meant that kind of cat house!)
As the nights progressed from just chilly to downright cold, I was sure the porch wouldn’t be warm enough. We proceede d to build anothe r shelter inside the cat house on the porc h, with walls made of woode n boxes, layers of blankets on the floor, and eve n a roof. The chimney was our crowning achievement.
Since the porch was unheated, we ran some flexible hose from a heat duct inside the house and through the window into the porch. Not only that, but we also put a ceramic heater in the room, and turne d it on for a few minutes to take the chill out of the air before we we nt to bed each evening. Andy seemed c omfortable with his sleeping quarte rs and had freque nt supervised visits inside our house. He seemed to be recove ring quite well, but the n I noticed a substance on his hindquarters. We took hi m back to the doc tor, whe re we discovered a hole in the thigh of his hind leg, likely from a BB shot. The partially healed wound had probably Re-opened because of Andy’s improved mobility.
As our interaction with Andy increased, we also noticed a bald spot on his neck. Considering he is the only cat we’ve ever known who has run in fear of a dangling length of brightly colore d yarn, we can only surmise that someone must have tried to hang him. Most cats have never met a string they didn’ t like; Andy neve r me t a string he did like. He also had an inordinate fear of tenni s shoes.
We spent many hours tryi ng to earn the trust of this stunning creature. Some times I would sit quietly beside him, holding my breath, hoping he would crawl into my lap. He would of ten re pay my kindness with his purr, which was akin to the sound of an outboard motor and nearly as loud. Sometimes we would try to help him exercise by playing hide and seek with our hands behind a soft blanket. Although we were ve ry busy at the time we me t Andy, our priorities shifted almost unnoticeably once he came in to our lives.
So whe re is Andy today? I would love to tell you we were able to keep hi m, but we knew ours was not the best home for this special creature that was always beautiful on the inside and was now beautiful to look at as well. Six months after we met Andy, the Humane Society called to say they thought they ha d found him a home. I was heartbroken. He was nearly completely healed, and I had been secretly plotting how we might blend hi m into our family.
Sometimes what our hearts want is not necessarily the best thing for the animals in our care.
Andy’s pote ntial new mom, Elaine, came to meet him on a weekend. It was love at first sight. When I heard that her husband’s name was Andrew and their daughte r’s name was Andrea, I knew Andy was going to the perfect home.
I cried when she picked him up to take him away, but I kept telling myself it was the best thing for Andy. I cried again a week later when I found a beautiful Easter lily sitting on my front porc h. The card attached was from Andy’s new famil y, thanking us for allowing Andy to join the m. How fitting to receive a flower symbolizing new beginnings to celebrate Andy’s new beginning. This time, my tears came from joy.
A few weeks later, an envelope arrived with several pictures showing a much-loved Andy, with his gorgeously sleek black coat and spellbinding golden eyes. The most telling photo, though, shows him seated regally in a lovely, and expensive, handmade basket. Andy was definitely home.
That’s why we do what we do. We find the m, rescue them, heal the m, and love the m. Then we give them up, so that whe n we find another feline in need of assistance, we can rescue, heal, and love again.