Wednesday, Oui: Home Run

Around Christmastime I stopped by a friend's house to pick up some merchandise I had ordered from him. When I arrived at his apartment he had a stray cat hanging around his hallway. Unfortunately, due to his roommates request to live "animal free," my friend was unable to take this cat inside so, instead, let him live in the stairwell and fed the cat daily.

I make no excuses for the fact that I'm a dog person. There is just something about dogs. Maybe it's their neediness, maybe I need the reinforcement of knowing they love me, I don't know. I love dogs. I am, however, a sucker for animals and I hate to see animals abused or neglected. My friend was doing the very best he could under the circumstances but, regardless, the cat was still technically homeless.

I swear I was born with a beaconing device implanted somewhere in my body which seeks out and attracts down-and-out animals (or humans for that matter.) My Pepe calls me a "chicken-hearted-fool" (he actually called me that after I "wasted" 90-minutes trying to free a trapped bat from between a screen and a sliding glass door (FYI: the bat lived, thank-you-very-much). So, when I discovered the cat my friend had temporarily named "Paul", I swung into action making phone calls to find a home for this ratty beast.

The purported history of this cat starts in late summer when he was seen in and around the area of my friend's apartment building. Scott, the friend in question, is also a lover of animals so he took the cat beneath his wing (or into the hallway). "Paul" claimed the hall as his "home base" leaving for days at a time, but always returned for food and, occasionally, rest.

When I met him he was matted (he's long haired) flea-infested and friendly as hell. I would have never pegged a lifetime stray as being such a sweetheart. I successfully found a home for him but, just hours prior to picking him up, he disappeared. For about 2 weeks Paul was missing and I, being chicken-hearted, worried relentlessly about him. Then, to add insult to injury, the snow arrived. Again, and again, and again. Now, not only was it cold, but food was even more scarce (he wasn't returning to Scott's to eat) so I was imagining his frail body frozen in a snowbank.

The third week in January I received a phone call from Scott who reported Paul had resurfaced, bloody and worse for the wear. I drove over immediately and picked him up. Aaron, bless his heart, supported my ($200 dollar) decision to take him to the weekend emergency vet to have him checked. While there, the vet tested him for FIV (Feline HIV)  and Leukemia- all was clear. It was estimated that Paul was about 9-months- to-1-year-old, un-neutered, flea infested, male Tomcat in desperate need of shaving to relieve the pain of the mats. The vet took an electric razor to some of the larger mats leaving the poor beast to look even more hideous. What was amazing was how sweet he remained through the blood draws, poking and shaving; none-of-which this cat had ever experienced in his life.

My brothers-in-law had agreed to take Paul in but first they wanted him to be neutered and vaccinated before he was exposed to their other cat. Aaron and I soon discovered it wasn't that simple. First, he needed his distemper and rabies. check. check. Followed by a two-week wait before he could be neutered (too much meds. at once). Okay, two more weeks, fine. Then, after he was snipped, there was an additional two- week wait before he could have his second distemper. Further, FIV has a six-week incubation period so he couldn't be integrated into a household with other cats until he was tested six-weeks after his first test!

Wait, what?

What the hell are we going to do with another cat for six weeks? How many times am I going to have to run to the vet with this... thing? Where the hell am I going to keep a cat in my house, away from Rocko and Shredda, for SIX WEEKS?!

So (dot-dot-dot):

Aaron built him a room in our garage.
We installed a electricity sucking money wasting space heater to keep him warm.
I had to bring the poor little thing to the salon- he needed a proper hair-cut. Throw in a massage and manicure too- he's had a tough life.
We bought him his own litter, food and bowls.
I guess he'd need some toys too.
He kind of looks like a "Homer" doesn't he?
Shit, I really like this cat.
How much are we up to now? $1300? Wow, rescuing a cat isn't cheap.
I wonder if Rocko and Shredda would like him?
He really is sweet, isn't he?
I hope in six weeks his tests are negative.
"When you get home from work, I'll be in the cellar with Homey."
"Homey, Mama's hommmmmeeeeee"
"This is Queen City Vet calling to confirm Homer Molloy's appointment tomorrow at 5pm"

Shit, I have a new cat.

I must say. I didn't plan on getting a new cat. I don't even like cats. I take 180 mg. of Allegra once per day so I can co-habitate with the two I already have. However, six-weeks, two clean tests, multiple shots, a haircut, massage, manicure and $1300 (++) later, may I introduce you to Homer Pittsburg Molloy.

The very first photograph (pre-haircut) after he was apprehended.

Many'a'night was spent in the cellar.

Once he was integrated, he truly discovered toys!

Notice, in the background, my husband the "cat-person" playing along.

I should mention, at one of his vet visits, the doctor discovered a heart murmur. We had Homer seen by a cardiac specialist (stop laughing) and it was discovered he has a mild form of feline hypertrophic cardiomyopathy. He will have to take medication twice a day for the rest of his long (I hope) life.

He made himself right at home. I can't say he's a member of the pack, yet, but...

His Mama sure does love him

Stay tuned for more stories about Homer.