Callie
Sigh. How many calico cats do you know named Callie?
My wife’s daughter lives on a farm in a rural community in the county. She gave us a call one day and said she’d caught a feral kitten that had been limping around for about 2 weeks. She had taken the kitten to the vet on her way to work and asked us if we’d check it out and make a decision on what to do.
Wifey was tied up so I went to the vet to have a look. She was huddled in the back of the cage, nothing moving but her eyes as only a feral can do. I reached in and just about lost my hand. The vet speculated that she’d been hit by a car.
He said we had two options: Euthanasia or amputation. I refuse to put an animal down because it’s “too expensive” to do otherwise, so I told the vet to do his best. That was November 6th, 2001.
We brought Callie home a few days later. Her front left leg was gone. It turns out she had been shot. Entry wound was the shoulder, deflecting down and out the leg. I’d really like to meet the person that did that and properly thank them.
We left her in the pet taxi and put it face-to-face with another open pet taxi, her litter box in one end and some food and water in the other end. After a while we separated the two and she ventured out, limping around the basement TV room. I spend a fair amount of time on the computer in that room. She would tentatively approach and I’d let my hand hang down so she could sniff. I guess you could say that in those days we, well, bonded. She’s now considered my kitty.
You should see her run across the back lawn! She can even climb one of the trees we have. You would never know that she was once a firecracker of a feral. She is one the nicest cats we have.
