Four ("the little cat who could")
If you're not a cat-lover, you might not find this story very interesting. But if you are, it's worth reading - just have a kleenex ready.
I belong to an online group of cat lovers, and this is the story of a rescue kitty one of our members tried to save. Several months ago, a woman noticed a cat who had been hanging out near her house. He was thin, bedraggled, and had an old injury that had not healed, and was still an infected, gaping wound. The woman spent months trying to lure him into her (enclosed) front porch, but he was very skittish. Nobody knew how he'd gotten such a terrible injury, but it was understandable that he would be afraid after that.
She succeeded in getting him into the porch, and after he escaped once, in getting him to come back again. He wouldn't let her near him, but he recognized the value of a good meal. Then, after he was secured in the porch, she spent weeks trying to get him to go into a crate so she could bring him to the vet and get him checked out. During that time, he started warming up to her, started to enjoy getting petted, and showed himself to be a very sweet kitty. Probably, once upon a time, he had been someone's pet, before (possibly) getting lost and injured.
Eventually he went into the carrier, and off to the vet he went. His wound was checked out and cleaned, he was prescribed antibiotics, given various shots, etc. The one piece of bad news from that visit was that he was found to be FIV+. No wonder the wound wasn't healing.
Over the next few months, with decent, regular meals, medication, and lots of TLC, Four blossomed into a wonderful cat. He gained weight, his fur got soft and silky, his wound closed up smaller and smaller, and he got more and more friendly. The two of them developed a deep bond.
He still wasn't allowed in the house for two reasons. One was that his caretaker had other cats inside, and she wanted him all healed before putting him (and them) through the stress of introductions. The other was that he had very bad litterbox habits, as in, he didn't use it. He was used to the outdoors and simply didn't understand the concept of a litterbox. But as an FIV+ cat, he wasn't going to be allowed outdoors anymore, where he could possibly infect other cats. So that was an ongoing problem, which, over time, got better, but was still not good enough for indoor living.
His wound healed quite a bit, then had a small setback where it appeared to get worse. More antibiotics were prescribed, and he seemed to be on the mend again. All of us in the cat community cheered him on, as well as his wonderful caretaker who bent over backwards trying to help him heal.
So it was a complete shock earlier this week when I saw a post from a friend of hers, saying that the cat's back leg was paralyzed, and he had been rushed to the ER vet. Next thing, they found he'd fractured his leg, precipitating his FIV to go full-blown. They did all the bloodwork, and his T-cells and red blood cells were all out of whack. There was no way the leg would heal properly. They considered all the options. And it seemed like euthanasia was the only kind thing to do.
Four was put down this morning. Now why am I so upset about a cat I've never met? Why do I feel like I knew him anyway? Why did this poor kitty go through so much, seem to blossom and be well on the way to a happy life as a spoiled housepet, only to die from a fluke accident? I know, life's like this, and life's not fair, and all that. But I'm sad for him, for his human who did so much to make his life better, and for all of us who read installments of the story and saw him slowly improve. I would've liked a different ending. As someone in the group wrote, "He was like the little engine that could!"
RIP, Four...
I belong to an online group of cat lovers, and this is the story of a rescue kitty one of our members tried to save. Several months ago, a woman noticed a cat who had been hanging out near her house. He was thin, bedraggled, and had an old injury that had not healed, and was still an infected, gaping wound. The woman spent months trying to lure him into her (enclosed) front porch, but he was very skittish. Nobody knew how he'd gotten such a terrible injury, but it was understandable that he would be afraid after that.
She succeeded in getting him into the porch, and after he escaped once, in getting him to come back again. He wouldn't let her near him, but he recognized the value of a good meal. Then, after he was secured in the porch, she spent weeks trying to get him to go into a crate so she could bring him to the vet and get him checked out. During that time, he started warming up to her, started to enjoy getting petted, and showed himself to be a very sweet kitty. Probably, once upon a time, he had been someone's pet, before (possibly) getting lost and injured.
Eventually he went into the carrier, and off to the vet he went. His wound was checked out and cleaned, he was prescribed antibiotics, given various shots, etc. The one piece of bad news from that visit was that he was found to be FIV+. No wonder the wound wasn't healing.
Over the next few months, with decent, regular meals, medication, and lots of TLC, Four blossomed into a wonderful cat. He gained weight, his fur got soft and silky, his wound closed up smaller and smaller, and he got more and more friendly. The two of them developed a deep bond.
He still wasn't allowed in the house for two reasons. One was that his caretaker had other cats inside, and she wanted him all healed before putting him (and them) through the stress of introductions. The other was that he had very bad litterbox habits, as in, he didn't use it. He was used to the outdoors and simply didn't understand the concept of a litterbox. But as an FIV+ cat, he wasn't going to be allowed outdoors anymore, where he could possibly infect other cats. So that was an ongoing problem, which, over time, got better, but was still not good enough for indoor living.
His wound healed quite a bit, then had a small setback where it appeared to get worse. More antibiotics were prescribed, and he seemed to be on the mend again. All of us in the cat community cheered him on, as well as his wonderful caretaker who bent over backwards trying to help him heal.
So it was a complete shock earlier this week when I saw a post from a friend of hers, saying that the cat's back leg was paralyzed, and he had been rushed to the ER vet. Next thing, they found he'd fractured his leg, precipitating his FIV to go full-blown. They did all the bloodwork, and his T-cells and red blood cells were all out of whack. There was no way the leg would heal properly. They considered all the options. And it seemed like euthanasia was the only kind thing to do.
Four was put down this morning. Now why am I so upset about a cat I've never met? Why do I feel like I knew him anyway? Why did this poor kitty go through so much, seem to blossom and be well on the way to a happy life as a spoiled housepet, only to die from a fluke accident? I know, life's like this, and life's not fair, and all that. But I'm sad for him, for his human who did so much to make his life better, and for all of us who read installments of the story and saw him slowly improve. I would've liked a different ending. As someone in the group wrote, "He was like the little engine that could!"
RIP, Four...