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Felinatarianism at Home

Posted by Dirck on 6 October, 2011

So, how did yesterday’s pen get “suggestively furry”?  There’s a story there.

The story starts with our neighbours moving.  They left behind their cat, Sam.  This abandonment wasn’t initially obvious, since the last stages of the move were stretched out, and we assumed that the relocation of Sam was towards the end of  the schedule.  This past weekend, though, the house was dark and the cat was camped out in the leaf-litter in our back yard, and our misgivings were engaged.  They were activated Sunday morning, when I bearded a couple of fellows making off with the fifth-wheel camper that had been in the street all damn summer and was told, “Oh, someone is coming for him in a couple of days.”

“Who’s feeding him?” was the obvious question I uttered.  The modern equivalent of scuffing the pavement with an embarrassed toe was the answer.

My wife had anticipated Sam, a notable outdoor cat, wandering away from the new home, and had wrung contact information out of the neighbours shortly after the SOLD sign had appeared.  She was told a story of a farmer being on the way to collect the cat, of whom ownership was somewhat disclaimed.  “He was a stray!  He’s everyone’s cat!”…who you let into your house daily for several years.  Right.

A cat that has not grown up on a farm does not fare well on a farm.  My wife at that point declared herself Bruce Wayne to Sam’s Dick Greyson, and began to seek a decent situation for the poor beast, after telling the ex-neighbour in slightly polite terms what she thought of a plan that was in effect consigning Sam to a slow, miserable and likely protractedly painful death.  Our problem, as is ever the case; everyone we know who fancies a cat already has as many as they can handle, if not more (we include ourselves in this, given the known emnity between Sam and our bunch).  Those few who are considering the question are concerned with sensible things like whether he’s fixed and is he healthy.

“But how does the pen get fuzzy?”  The neighbours, viewing Sam as an outdoor cat, never brushed him, so my wife insisted that we take him to a groomer.  I was enfuzzed while holding him during this exercise, the free time for which was the back-end of a morning previously booked off to take my son to a medical appointment.  The result was the removal of a single felt, a full centimeter thick, from his entire back.  The fact that he was not a Looney Tune-ish Tasmanian Devil throughout suggests that he was less of a semi-feral animal than the neighbours made out.  As the weather, despite uncommon warmth for the time of year, is getting a bit nippy, we’ve contrived a (somewhat) heated, insulated shelter for him in the yard to make up for the lost natural resistance to cold. 

My wife’s place in paradise is assured, I think, taking the degree of responsibility for this wayward cat which she has.  Apart from the grooming, she’s feeding him and checking on water supplies several times daily.  She’s also arranging to take him to the vet, where (as he is fixed) we hope the identifying ear tattoo vets apply during the de-gendering surgery might indicate the person he strayed from to bring him to our monstrously negligent erstwhile neighbours.  Fantasies of a tearful reunion abound.

Today’s pen: Waterman Carène
Today’s ink: Herbin’s Poussière de Lune

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2 Responses to “Felinatarianism at Home”

  1. […] most pressing and onerous is the construction of a greenhouse and passive solar heater to shelter the abandoned cat of out erstwhile neighbours.  I’ve got a surprising stock of parts necessary to the former about the house already, and […]

  2. […] week I mentioned in passing the downturn in our foundling cat’s health.  On the way into work today, I dropped him off at the vet for the medical-grade konking-out […]

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