Happy Birthday To The Cat I Didn't Know I Wanted
My 22-pound bundle of claws and teeth is officially a teenager. Whiskey turned 13.
He is typically rather disgruntled with the world but has grown into a loving and loyal family member.
As a kitten, Whiskey lived in an apartment complex behind mine. The first time I met him was when I strolled into my living room and saw him dart in and steal a toy I had bought for a cat that was trying to adopt me. I had to follow him for two blocks to get it back. He would set it down until I got close, then pick it up and take off.
After that, he came over nearly every night and was always hungry. I would feed him and also put a bowl of food in front of the house he lived at hoping they would take the hint. When he was about 1-years-old, I met his owner who referred to him as a specimen--not a cat. When Whiskey (the name I gave him) saw the guy, he low-crawled over to me clearly not wanting to be with the man.
One day his people moved and I thought I would never see Whiskey again. On occasion, I would hear neighbors talking about this mean black cat who was in the area, but I didn't think it could possibly be him. Six months later, on a stormy night, I opened my front door and there he sat soaking wet with a lot of pus oozing from a wound in his head. I asked him if he wanted to come in and then toweled him off, cleaned his head, fed him and gave him the best chair in the house. He came back every day.
I assume he was abandoned by the people who had adopted him. The only other option is that he ran away and came to a home where he had been treated with love.
I wasn't allowed to have a pet where I lived. Additionally, after a cat I had as a teenager had died several years earlier, I swore I would never get another one. It was just too hard to lose them.
During his times on the street, Whiskey had been trapped, neutered and returned as evident by his clipped ear. His socializing needed work. If I sat on the couch next to him, he would lunge at me with bared teeth, his ears back and that look cats get in their eyes when they are ready to fight. A sudden move on my part would lead to an attack on his.
I worked with him letting him know he could trust me. I got him to understand that attacking me was wrong, but I still loved him. Many bandages later he came around and started sleeping in my bed with his head on the pillow and his back pressed up against me.
Not long after, it was my turn to move. I noticed during the weeks of packing that Whiskey started squatting with too much frequency in unusual places but not producing much urine. I took him to the vet, and he was put on some pills. I went back to packing box after box unaware that he was so stressed out by my moving preparations. I tried not to think about what I would do with him when I left, but my heart had known for months.
Then things got really hectic, my parents moved across the country, my car was stolen, and work was insane. Some friends came to visit and help me with some of the moving. The very first haul had my furry friend in the car with me. The next morning, my guest woke up before me and noticed Whiskey hiding in a closet and not looking very healthy.
I called a new vet, and they said it was likely he had a urethral blockage due to crystals forming in is urine, a life-threatening condition. I was told to bring him in immediately. Naturally, this was on a holiday weekend and dollar signs were flying all over the place before I even got him in the carrier.
He had an operation and had to stay two days with the vet coming in to inject fluids several times a day. While there he earned the nickname Bruiser because of his size, facial scars, and ragged ear, but they adored him.
His bill was $1,100; I had about $11 to my name. Thankfully I had a credit card and was able to pay for his procedure. To this day, it's the best money I have ever spent. I couldn't have imagined that I would end up writing a blog to help black cats and adopting another one.
I have moved four times since then, and Whiskey is always the first one in the new house.
I made Whiskey a short birthday video. Check it out here http://bit.ly/2dxlHqv Give him some love.
Every Color Deserves a Forever Home
As a kitten, Whiskey lived in an apartment complex behind mine. The first time I met him was when I strolled into my living room and saw him dart in and steal a toy I had bought for a cat that was trying to adopt me. I had to follow him for two blocks to get it back. He would set it down until I got close, then pick it up and take off.
After that, he came over nearly every night and was always hungry. I would feed him and also put a bowl of food in front of the house he lived at hoping they would take the hint. When he was about 1-years-old, I met his owner who referred to him as a specimen--not a cat. When Whiskey (the name I gave him) saw the guy, he low-crawled over to me clearly not wanting to be with the man.
One day his people moved and I thought I would never see Whiskey again. On occasion, I would hear neighbors talking about this mean black cat who was in the area, but I didn't think it could possibly be him. Six months later, on a stormy night, I opened my front door and there he sat soaking wet with a lot of pus oozing from a wound in his head. I asked him if he wanted to come in and then toweled him off, cleaned his head, fed him and gave him the best chair in the house. He came back every day.I assume he was abandoned by the people who had adopted him. The only other option is that he ran away and came to a home where he had been treated with love.
I wasn't allowed to have a pet where I lived. Additionally, after a cat I had as a teenager had died several years earlier, I swore I would never get another one. It was just too hard to lose them.
During his times on the street, Whiskey had been trapped, neutered and returned as evident by his clipped ear. His socializing needed work. If I sat on the couch next to him, he would lunge at me with bared teeth, his ears back and that look cats get in their eyes when they are ready to fight. A sudden move on my part would lead to an attack on his.
I worked with him letting him know he could trust me. I got him to understand that attacking me was wrong, but I still loved him. Many bandages later he came around and started sleeping in my bed with his head on the pillow and his back pressed up against me.
Not long after, it was my turn to move. I noticed during the weeks of packing that Whiskey started squatting with too much frequency in unusual places but not producing much urine. I took him to the vet, and he was put on some pills. I went back to packing box after box unaware that he was so stressed out by my moving preparations. I tried not to think about what I would do with him when I left, but my heart had known for months.
Then things got really hectic, my parents moved across the country, my car was stolen, and work was insane. Some friends came to visit and help me with some of the moving. The very first haul had my furry friend in the car with me. The next morning, my guest woke up before me and noticed Whiskey hiding in a closet and not looking very healthy.
I called a new vet, and they said it was likely he had a urethral blockage due to crystals forming in is urine, a life-threatening condition. I was told to bring him in immediately. Naturally, this was on a holiday weekend and dollar signs were flying all over the place before I even got him in the carrier.
His bill was $1,100; I had about $11 to my name. Thankfully I had a credit card and was able to pay for his procedure. To this day, it's the best money I have ever spent. I couldn't have imagined that I would end up writing a blog to help black cats and adopting another one.
I have moved four times since then, and Whiskey is always the first one in the new house.
I made Whiskey a short birthday video. Check it out here http://bit.ly/2dxlHqv Give him some love.
Every Color Deserves a Forever Home
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