Frank Loses Body Part - Gets Forever Home

If you're wondering why I look so woebegone, it's because she's done it again. I'm referring to my mom. What's she done, you ask? I'll get to that in a minute. First, let me preface my revelation with a little hissstory.

I call the lady who rescued me from a blizzard 13 years ago, "Mom." She isn't my biological mother, of course. But since I don't remember my bio-mom, and my rescuer doesn't have human children, we came to an agreement way back on that cold day in January. She would be my mom and take care of me forever, and in return, I'd help her write books, and keep her company when she travels, and devote my 9 Lives to being by her side, through thick and thin.

Maybe I should have looked at the fine print in our contract.

Maybe I should have hired a lawyer to draw up a contract! (Is it too late?)

I didn't realize at the time, way back on that cold January day, that the lady I let rescue me was a Cat Magnet. I don't think Webster has come up yet with a definition, but my definition of Cat Magnet means, my mom can walk outside and a stray cat will be there -- right there! -- waiting for her to feed him, and name him, and take him to the doctor for...you know...doctoring. And then...she usually keeps him. *Sigh!* She's pretty much run out of peoples who don't already have a bunch of cats to ask if they want to adopt her newest stray.

Lately, my mom stinks like a tomcat. You'd think I'd be used to it by now. She's adopted countless cats over the past 13 years, and while she hasn't kept them all; some she's actually found homes for, the others who have stayed have sunk their claws into her heart. Which breaks mine. Because there is only so much of her to go around. And when a new cat shows up, all needy and wonky from Life on the Road, that's less time she will have for me.

There are 7 of us living inside: Me, Opie, Peaches and her son, Jack, and her granddaughter Gidget, and Chauncie Marie and Adorapurr aka Dori.

And there are 3 panfur cats living in our fenced yard: Jesse is Peaches' son, Jack's brother and Gidget's dad. Nikolas is Dori's daddy. Feral Charlie has been around for 3 years, but he knows what a live trap is, and so far has eluded entrapment.

That's 10, not counting the raccoons Mom cares for, who are currently making more raccoons.

Every single one of us cats has had a prior life on the streets. We've known hunger. We've been scared. We've had injuries, and sickness. None of us came to Mom 100% clean. She rescued all of us, and so many more, out of her own pocket, and out of her own time.

Time better spent on me.

I'm just saying.

I'm sure you might have read about her trying to capture Joshua, the sick orange kitty who found his way to our yard, but like Charlie, had confinement issues. He had a runny nose, crusty eyes, couldn't breathe! So of course he couldn't smell food inside the trap, nor could he smell food on a clean plate right under his nose. It took him watching Mom use a broom to battle back another tomcat who wanted to beat the stuffing out of Josh, for Josh to realize maybe she wasn't his enemy. After the broom incident, Josh let her approach to feed him. She talked baby talk to him, and eventually he came to her for petting. She wanted to get him to the doctor, he needed it desperately. He was so thin, dehydrated!

But it wasn't to be. He got scared, and then returned to the woods behind our house, avoiding Mom except for after dark when he would come to the porch and she would feed him and love him. And try to capture him. She got a lot of scratches from him being scared. Finally, she got a drug from the doctor and was able to pick him up and cage him. But it wasn't to be. Joshua had leukemia. He is now OTRB, may he rest in peace. But at least he knew someone cared at the very end. Joshua would have joined my Mom's cat club, if he had lived. There's no doubt about that, cuz I overheard her telling him he'd have a home when he returned from the doctor.

Remember that tomcat she had to sweep back to keep him from beating the stuffing out of Josh?

That's Frank. He showed up about the same time as Josh, in early spring, acting tough, showing off his man cat pride with tail held high. Jesse and Nikolas never really bonded, but now, because of their mutual dislike of Frank, they're pretty chummy.

Mom and Dad like Frank. A lot. He's a 13-1/2 pound tabby, all muscle, with a tiny bite out of his one ear. Dad sez he's a dog-cat. He comes when he's called. He supervises Dad doing yard work. He wants to come inside the house to hang out with my mom. But... thank cat! Frank won't be allowed inside the house. Unlike that old teevee show from the 70s, 7 is Enough!

Frank has claimed the garage for his turf. He's been set up with a bed, a kitchenette, a fan and toys. Mom cracks open the door so he can come and go. She's also encouraged him to hang out in the raccoon yard because its been so hot here and she doesn't want him to get heat stroke.

 

If you're a guy cat, it's a firm rule with the Cat Magnet that you have to sacrifice your nads in order to be adopted. I saw this file on Mom's desk this morning, so it's official.

Since Frank is an outside cat, and I'm...you know, King of my World, it isn't likely that we will hang out together like we're friends. But because my parents will stink like Frank from time to time, I will be aware of him, lurking on the fringe of my world...where he belongs.

Some of you might know that I've recently taken up pawtography. So, I decided to rise above my deepest desire to rip him to shreds, and asked Frank to sit for his Official Adoption Portrait. My wonderpurr talent has made him look better than he really is.

The Power of A #Hug by @Adorapurr

Today is

International Hug

Your Cat Day.

Speaking to those involved in animal rescue: you must remember how powerful that first touch can be to an abandoned cat or dog who has gone a long time...perhaps forever...without contact, without touch.

My mom has rescued numerous strays throughout her life, many of them feral. Feral cats are her specialty. She says there is no greater high on this earth than when, after weeks or even months, of working to establish trust with a feral, they allow her to touch them for the first time. After that first touch, it's often like the flood gates are thrown wide and progress with taming and possible homing rapidly follows.

Touch isn't necessarily human contact either. Touch can come from another animal, like Jack and Opie who enjoy a bromance kind of friendship. In 2008 Opie was caught as a 3 month old stray in our yard, and in 2009 Jack was born under a neighbor's deck to Peaches. Neither cat had experienced human touch when my mom took them in, but Opie never possessed the feral streak, while Jack did...and still does. Jack avoids all attempts at contact from my pawrents, but he gets his need for touch fulfilled from Opie, and from his mom, Peaches who also lives with us.

Touch for ferals can also come from a clean blanket, or a cushy bed. In Florida, Mom rescued a feral tuxedo named Amy. To give Amy comfort while they worked on her trust issues, mom provided her with a blanket on top of a lawn chair. To this day, the memory of Amy enjoying her first blanket, her first real comfort, brings tears to my mom's eyes.

I was born to Nicolas and Annie. My dad was tame from the start, but while tame, Annie had trust issues. She may have been born to feral parents, or abused in a past life. She gave birth to two panfur boys and two tabby girls. Kepurr was scared when we were rescued,  but he tamed with little effort and was adopted. His twin, Kopea, was feral, and while he was adopted by Kepurr's family, he could not be tamed, and eventually escaped their house. I was tame from the start, a tribute to my wonderpurr dad, but my twin Patsy, was so feral, there was no chance of her getting adopted. She had to be released back into the yard with Annie and Nicolas. But! Patsy underwent a huge transformation after her release. She regrouped, learned to trust, and became a pawsome, adoptable cat. She learned to trust my human mom, and eventually Patsy permitted being sat in my mom's lap like a baby doll, and having her claws clipped. Her claws clipped! Without screaming and twisting and yowling, like I do.

But this isn't about my issues. This is about touch. This is about Hugs!

You don't need a calender date to tell you to hug your cat...or your dog, or ferret or bunny... You just have to stop and take a break in the middle of your chaotic life, put down your pawphone, put down the teevee remote... and give your fur kid attention.

Play with them. Talk to them. Hug them.

They will thank you for it with life-long devotion. You can quote me.

 

Thank you for stopping by. I appreciate you taking the time to leave a comment or maybe share this post before you rush off to hug your fur kid. And do give them a smoochie from me, Dori. Have a Wonderpurr day!