Truman is going home this Christmas
catscradle
products - for someone special or for yourself, consider getting and giving
a rescued animal a permanent home.
Adopt a pet from your local shelter. No 'gift' can give the pleasure that a
rescued, grateful animal can - for life.
The Homeless
A story about one out of thousands...
The cat was seven years old, but looked older. His once-glossy golden
coat was now the color of dirty straw, matted, oily, and dull. One ear
drooped, and he flicked it impatiently as he intently watched the field
mouse going about its business in the tall, dry grass.
Truman (for that was his name in years past, when a human had cared
enough to name him) crouched low, wiggled his scarred rump imperceptibly,
then leapt at his prey. The mouse squeaked and disappeared into a hole in
the earth. Truman growled in disgust and turned back to the dusty road that
bisected the fields of dry weeds.
As he trudged along, he quickened his pace at the sounds of a motor
approaching. He wasn't quick enough though.
"Cat!" a young male voice shouted, as the muscle car veered toward
him. A blinding flash of pain shot through Truman's lower half, as he flew
through the air, landing several feet away. Liquid spattered his dirty coat
as a half-full beer can was lobbed at him. Through pain-filled eyes, Truman
watched the car race away, and his thoughts travelled back to the other
young man, the one who had pleaded with his father, tears streaming down his
face, to let Truman come with them when they moved.
Driven by hunger, Truman dragged himself upright, and limped along the
road, intent on making his way back to the food place. The white-hot sun
matched the pain in his hind quarters as he doggedly moved onward.
Hours later, he approached a copse of trees thick with underlying
bushes. The other cats were already there, waiting patiently: a ragged
tortoiseshell herded her two remaining kits into the shelter of a brambly
bush; the old gray tom glared balefully at Truman, but let him pass. Two new
refugees had appeared, both gray tabby toms - possibly brothers, from the
looks of them.
At first glance, the clearing would have appeared empty, to human
eyes. Each cat sought out its own hiding place, respecting the personal
space of the others. It hadn't always been that way. Strange cats would
appear from time-to-time and the self-appointed alpha cat would battle the
latest interloper until one or the other ceded, sometimes through death.
Truman had uncomfortable memories of his own acceptance into the colony,
following a violent engagement with a one-eyed black cat. One-eye had
eventually slunk away in defeat, but not before doing considerable damage to
Truman's ear, and to his pride.
Today, Truman carefully averted his eyes while cutting a wide berth
around the brush where the two tabbies lay. He found an unclaimed spot in
the shrubs about fifteen feet away, gave his matted fur a few swipes with
his tongue, then crouched and expectantly watched the road
At length, the sound of an approaching car engine growled, then
stopped abruptly. Two women alighted from their dusty car, arms full of bags
of (food!) paper plates, bowls, and canteens of cool, clean water.
"Here, kitty, kitty, kitties," they softly called. "Here
Micha...Ran-deee...Momma Kitteee... here's dinner, darlings."
"Oh, we have new ones! Look at those two big tabby guys, Eileen. Did
you see Sunny, yet?"
One by one, the cats slunk out of their hiding places and hungrily
approached the plates filled with a mixture of dry and wet food. The tortie,
whom the women called, "Autumn," daintily nibbled while her kittens fought
to nurse her.
Truman observed from a distance, his empty stomach growling, until his
hunger won over, and he limped over to a plate of food, bowed by the weight
of starvation.
"Oh look -- there's Sunny! He's back!"
"Oh, he's injured. Did you see him limping? We've got to get that big
boy to Dr. Evans!"
The cats continued eating while the two women busied themselves with a
box hidden away in some shrubbery several yards away. Finally, satisfied
with whatever they were doing, they returned to their car and sat inside,
sipping coffee from paper cups and talking quietly.
A couple of hours later, Truman awoke with renewed appetite. He
dragged himself to the food area and saw that the paper plates had been
removed. He thirstily lapped water from the remaining bowl, when his
nostrils lifted, picking up a strong, delicious scent of -- fish! The cat
ignored the pain in his hip and followed the scent, gimping along on three
legs. The odiferous trail led him to the back of a dark copse, where he
found anchovies, a dimly remembered treat from his days with the boy. A
cracking noise resounded, and Truman found himself -- trapped! He yowled in
anger and frustration and threw himself against the walls of the box, until
weakend and defeated, he slunk to a corner and crouched.
Soft voices comforted him, as he felt the box moving gently, then
heard a door slam.
After an hour or more of jostling and bumping, Truman found himself on
a shiny table in a room with soft peach-colored walls. He glared balefully
at the man who was gently manuevering his back legs. One of the women held
his front legs securely, while scratching between his ears, while she talked
to the doctor.
"I don't know, Susie. This leg will have to be pinned, and there are
no guarantees. It might be kinder to just euthanize this one. He's probably
too old to be adopted and with a gimpy leg, he won't have much of a chance
to defend himself out there."
"Pin the leg, Doc. There's something special about this little guy.
I'm going to keep him for myself. I have a feeling about him."
As the veterinarian busied himself with a needle, Truman was startled
to recognize the sound of his own purring, a long-forgotten sensation.
Truman was going home.
catscradle
news:xbTXm.115443$rE5....@newsfe08.iad...
> Instead of buying a commercial product - like a million other commercial
> products - for someone special or for yourself, consider getting and
> giving a rescued animal a permanent home.
>
> Adopt a pet from your local shelter. No 'gift' can give the pleasure that
> a rescued, grateful animal can - for life.