My little Boots
I am typing this to document the discovery of my little Bootsie. Last Thursday, one of my co-workers first saw a kitten in a bush by the building at around 6am. Once I heard this, I went looking for him, but didn't find him. One of my other co-workers then went looking for him, meowing as she walked around. Sure enough, she got a meow back, and found him. Then she went back up to tell me and the first co-worker, and we all went down and surrounded the bush he was in, trying to get the scared, mewing kitten. I remember first seeing his eyes peering out of the bush in all their tiny beauty. He is a tuxedo cat: black with snippets of white on his face, white paws, a white bib and two large patches of white on his belly. At one point, he was distracted watching my co-worker, so I came behind him and scooped him up into my arms. I knew this was a risk, as he could go wild and try to tear me up. Yet once I held him, his crying stopped, and he was calm. I took him upstairs into the office, and people circled to marvel at him. Once I took him back to my desk, I noticed his congenital absence of a tail. He looked up at me as if to study my face and remember me. My supervisor later said that he was looking at me like he was meeting his new mom. It wasn't long before he was purring, and he fell asleep on my lap, cradled around my arm.
I took him home in an empty paper box and made a makeshift home for him in my downstairs bathroom. He quickly got accustomed to his new surroundings and was rubbing his head up against my head and fingers. I gave him a bath, and his lack of crying and lashing out was remarkable (Whiskey acts like baths are the worst kind of torture). He is the type of kitten that I would pick out of a litter at the Humane Society as the best one: he loves to cuddle and is playful, gentle and outgoing. Cuddling is his favorite thing. It's mine, too, so we make a great match. In the first day or two that I brought him home, he fell asleep on me, purring. Upon waking up and seeing where he was, the purring began again.
Whiskey took to him much better than I imagined. If you recall Meow Meow, the precious, sleek black kitty who followed me and my husband home one night, you may remember how Whiskey wanted to demolish him. But with Bootsie, Whiskey was more like an antagonistic big brother, and even motherly in the instances where he would lick Bootsie.
Hali'a enjoyed him, of course. And he was very tolerant of things such as this:
I never had a kitten before. I love their tiny meows, the extra soft pads on their paws, the kitten fluff, and watching them discover the world. Everything is new and has play potential. Bootsie is trusting of all people, but I was his safest place. Judging by his temperament, he can't be feral. My guess is he was born from a domestic cat, and once he was weaned, the people in the house figured they could get rid of him by putting him in a bush by an area where someone might see him and take him in. Maybe they thought his lack of a tail was weird. But he couldn't have escaped out of a residence and gotten in that bush by himself. I estimate he was about 6 weeks old when I got him.
There were occasions when Bootsie was cuddling with me and Whiskey would sit in the vicinity and stare at us together. My poor Whisk! He has been more cuddly with me over the past couple of days, so I'm reaping the benefits of his jealousy.
I brought Bootsie in knowing that I wasn't keeping him and I would find a good home for him. Chris doesn't want 2 cats, and I'm not going to argue with that. I am content with one kitty. One of my friends came and adopted Bootsie last Wednesday night. I miss him, but I know he is in good hands, and I will get updates on him.
Each cat who has been mine for at least a little while has taught me something about love or deepened my feelings. I better understood God's love for me through my love for Tigger. Whiskey expanded my love for cats in general. Meow Meow made me realize my heart could love two cats at the same time without favoring one. Bootsie helped me cherish Whiskey even more... and maybe Whiskey cherishes me more, too.
Funny enough, my friend who adopted Bootsie renamed him Whiskey! His friend suggested the name without even knowing about my Whiskey.
I took him home in an empty paper box and made a makeshift home for him in my downstairs bathroom. He quickly got accustomed to his new surroundings and was rubbing his head up against my head and fingers. I gave him a bath, and his lack of crying and lashing out was remarkable (Whiskey acts like baths are the worst kind of torture). He is the type of kitten that I would pick out of a litter at the Humane Society as the best one: he loves to cuddle and is playful, gentle and outgoing. Cuddling is his favorite thing. It's mine, too, so we make a great match. In the first day or two that I brought him home, he fell asleep on me, purring. Upon waking up and seeing where he was, the purring began again.
Whiskey took to him much better than I imagined. If you recall Meow Meow, the precious, sleek black kitty who followed me and my husband home one night, you may remember how Whiskey wanted to demolish him. But with Bootsie, Whiskey was more like an antagonistic big brother, and even motherly in the instances where he would lick Bootsie.
Hali'a enjoyed him, of course. And he was very tolerant of things such as this:
I never had a kitten before. I love their tiny meows, the extra soft pads on their paws, the kitten fluff, and watching them discover the world. Everything is new and has play potential. Bootsie is trusting of all people, but I was his safest place. Judging by his temperament, he can't be feral. My guess is he was born from a domestic cat, and once he was weaned, the people in the house figured they could get rid of him by putting him in a bush by an area where someone might see him and take him in. Maybe they thought his lack of a tail was weird. But he couldn't have escaped out of a residence and gotten in that bush by himself. I estimate he was about 6 weeks old when I got him.
There were occasions when Bootsie was cuddling with me and Whiskey would sit in the vicinity and stare at us together. My poor Whisk! He has been more cuddly with me over the past couple of days, so I'm reaping the benefits of his jealousy.
I brought Bootsie in knowing that I wasn't keeping him and I would find a good home for him. Chris doesn't want 2 cats, and I'm not going to argue with that. I am content with one kitty. One of my friends came and adopted Bootsie last Wednesday night. I miss him, but I know he is in good hands, and I will get updates on him.
Each cat who has been mine for at least a little while has taught me something about love or deepened my feelings. I better understood God's love for me through my love for Tigger. Whiskey expanded my love for cats in general. Meow Meow made me realize my heart could love two cats at the same time without favoring one. Bootsie helped me cherish Whiskey even more... and maybe Whiskey cherishes me more, too.
Funny enough, my friend who adopted Bootsie renamed him Whiskey! His friend suggested the name without even knowing about my Whiskey.
