Wow … siblings and now pets. We have a lot to celebrate. Well, I have a lot to celebrate.
Most of you know my cat, TB. The initials stand for The Beast.
He showed up at my back door late on a Saturday afternoon, which created quite a problem for me. I had nothing available for a cat … a kitten who was barely weaned. I have no idea who his mother was, but living in the country, cats come and go pretty quickly. There is always a bigger predator. Somehow, this little guy had gotten to my place through a heavily wooded hillside and demanded that I let him in. He was quite loud about announcing his arrival.
I didn’t know what to think. Carol is allergic to cats and I’ve been really careful about subjecting her to them, so I wasn’t sure what to do about a cat at the cabin where she came on a regular basis. But I couldn’t turn that little fluffball out. It was late October and nights were getting colder and he needed to be warm. I thought about building a warm space for him on the porch, but he wasn’t having anything to do with that. Once I picked him up, he wasn’t leaving me.
I had no litter in the house, no food, no nothing. And in central Iowa, you don’t easily find those things once the sun goes down on a Saturday night. I took him outside after feeding him a little of my dog’s wet food and that poor thing panicked. He didn’t want to be out there and practically crawled up my pant leg. He finally went to the bathroom and we went back inside. He was a mess. Fleas, filth, everything. He got a quick bath and I tell you what. Fleas be damned, he was getting into bed with me. He slept snuggled up to me all night long.
Leica, my dachshund, wasn’t terribly sure what to do with him, but she was my girl and willing to do whatever was necessary to keep me happy. She let him chase her tail and follow her around, batting at her short legs with his paws.
On Monday we found a vet and made a trip to the store for supplies. The decision had been made. Not by me, but by the cat. He owned me and I had nothing to say about it.
Now, the reason I called him the Beast was that I assumed it was a girl. There were no discernible signs, so I decided that she was going to be called The Belle of Bells Dell. It worked!
The veterinarian couldn’t find his man parts either. Now, she did tell me that he / she / it had just barely been weaned and was still too young for them to actually show up.
For the next six weeks, the cat’s name was TB, but I had a lot of trouble with which gender the poor thing was. In fact, it was several months after he’d been neutered that I finally settled on the fact that he really was a male cat.
TB became part of my life the day he walked in that back screen door and took over. Neither of us have had much time to look back. He knows exactly how to play me and get what he wants and needs.
We have the best time together. As he ages, he gets more and more affectionate and I will take all of that.
You know, I’m often surprised at the fact that animals desire our companionship. It feels like such an honor when he climbs up onto my desk and settles into my arms to fall asleep.
TB walked into my life and I rescued him from the cold nights that were to come. I gave him shelter, food and love. But something else happened that evening. He rescued me, too. I didn’t know that I needed that to happen, but apparently he did.
I’ve loved a lot of pets throughout my life and I hope to love a lot more, but for now, this one has stolen my heart and anything else he desires!
