20 Cats

Bandit

Until one has loved an animal a part of one’s soul remains unawakened.
– Anatole France

The above photo was taken December 14, 2002 when Bandit was probably not quite a year old and still “in the wild.” From then until forever he was the cutest and most gentle kitty boy I’ve ever known. One could hardly refer to him as feral, although that is what he was in some ways.

On Sunday afternoon, about 4:00, I went out to The Pen to take care of things as usual. Bandit was laying on the rug in front of the door and didn’t move when I walked in. He usually jumps up on top of the litter boxes and for his loves and scratches. I noticed his extremely fast and shallow breathing. I called to my wife and said something’s wrong with Bandit. As she approached, he let out a cry of pain and tried to stand up. His back legs seemed paralyzed. He had raspy breathing. The last time we had contact with him was 24 hours before and he seemed normal.

We got the pet carrier and with some difficulty got him in and drove to the after-hours pet emergency clinic. He was in so much pain that the staff had to sedate him to examine him. After x-rays came the diagnosis: Feline Cardiomyopathy. He was in congestive heart failure. His lungs were full of fluid. The heart had thrown a clot that had moved down the aorta to the hind legs, blocking circulation. The prognosis was worse than grim. We gave the OK for euthanasia. He was probably only about 7 years old.

I can’t remember crying so much. Ever. His disposition and attitude were always so sweet and innocent. He not only awoke part of my soul, he illuminated it. He has gone, but his light continues.

He and all the rest will change me in ways that, sometimes, are impossible to describe.

I need to supply some background about “The Pen” before relating the tragedy from Sunday, October 11th.

About 8 years ago, my wife and I found a colony of ferals living in the small park next to the parking lot where we both worked. We trapped them, spayed/neutered them and started feeding them. We set up a nice area hidden quite well by bushes for them, complete with straw-filled coolers wrapped in plastic and water dishes and dry food feeders. Every morning before work we’d feed them and even on weekends we’d make a special trip out and make sure all was well. There were 6 of them. This went on for over a year.

Then one day we found the bushes all torn out, the shelters broken and scattered and the feeders completely destroyed. The “Kitty City” we had so carefully built and nurtured was no more. We learned that the person in charge of the park had found the cats and shelters and ordered everything destroyed.

Facing impending death, we decided the best thing we could do for the colony was to trap and relocate them. But where to? In our backyard we had an unused dog run, about 7 feet wide and 18 feet long. A few visits to Home Depot and we had a roof over the top and pavers for the floor. Over time we added shelves and shelters, makeshift litter boxes and the existing dog house was used to put their dry food in.

We trapped them and transported them to their new home, where they’ve been for almost 7 hears now. Since then, 3 have died.  Their names are:

• Mr. Pib (acronym for Pain In the Butt)
• Jasmine
• Silvie
• Misty
• Bandit
• JJ

And that’s the short of it. The most recent tragedy involves Bandit and will be chronicled tomorrow or soon after that.

Newbie

Say hi to Newbie. One of the neighborhood kids brought him by and said the kids over at the school were being mean to him. Now, why would the kids know to bring him here? Sigh… At that time he was almost an adult. That was in 2002 (give or take).

We called him Newbie because I kept referring to the “newcomer” as “Newbie”. The name stuck. We tried to find who he belonged to with no luck.

He’s a big guy now. 16 pounds and not much fat. He’s a real marshmallow, except he gets after Fletcher something terrible. Tommy (more on him to come) is Newbie’s only enemy.

Newbie is polydactyl. He has two extra toes on each front paw and one extra one on each rear paw. His front paws look like he’s wearing mittens. He’s a large cat anyway, and his front paws look huge.

Newbie develops deposits (the vet calls them crystals) in his bladder, preventing him from urinating. He’s had two operations to open up and flush out his bladder. Now he has to have four Uroeze® tablets each day or the deposits come back rather quickly. They taste so terrible, the only way we can give them to him is grind them up in a bit of canned cat food juice and smear the mixture on his front paws so he can lick it off. Maybe you have a better idea?

When you have to do this twice a day, Newbie becomes rather adept at avoiding capture. It’s now a morning and evening game to get him nabbed and medicated. Most of the time we win, but sometimes we don’t.

He’s a very affectionate cat and just loves to be scratched and lay by your side. We’re convinced he was guided here because of his medical problems and no one else would put out the effort and money to take care of him.