Sugar in the Morning

In January of last year our black lab Little Brother was diagnosed with a thyroid imbalance, Maggie Moose got an ear infection, Spot was wormy, Rowdy needed boosters, and Jellyfish had a cough.  So there was a period of about two months where we weren't exactly strangers at the vet's office.

During my first visit there since the summer I noticed that a wire cage had been placed in the clinic's waiting room, and inside the cage was a scruffy looking kitten.  A sign on the cage read:  "Please take me home with you."

Standing at the counter filling out paperwork, I asked Liz the receptionist where the kitten came from. "Man down the road a piece,"  She told me brusquely. "He brings in his horse sometimes, or we go there.  We take care of the livestock around here.  Got a hog outside right now." 

I could believe it.  Winnie Texas Veterinary Clinic was located a good distance from where we lived.  Herds of cows dotted the long stretch of pastureland on either side of Hwy 124 between High Island and Interstate 10.  Getting medical treatment for our animals always necessitated a forty minute drive.

Liz was shuffling through papers on her desk.  "Anyway, Bob's mouser got out of the barn and found herself a boyfriend.  I kept telling him to get that cat spayed.  He wouldn't do it.  Nobody ever listens to me."

Little Brother started tugging on his leash.  He didn't want to listen to her, either.  He wanted to get the hell out of there.

"That's the last of a litter," Liz nodded toward the kitten.  "The others were snatched up pretty quick.  They had nice markings, almost Siamese looking. This one... well, this one has been here awhile."

I glanced over at the kitten who was craning its neck, trying to see through the wire mesh of the cage.  "It's a female.  We call her Sugar,"  Liz said, handing me a bottle of thyroid pills.  "She's in good heath, but as you can see, she's nothing special to look at."

"No," I agreed. "She isn't."   (Continued, after the jump...)

When I finished paying the bill I led Little Brother across the waiting room to the door.  As we passed by the cage, a small furry paw darted out and popped me on the leg.  I  stopped and turned and glanced down  - and there was Little Brother, leaning against the cage, going nose to nose with the kitten.  "Come on, boy," I said to him. "Stop flirting."  And we promptly left the building.

Various versions of this scenario played out over the next eight weeks or so.  I'd be standing at the counter and I could feel that kitten's eyes boring into my back.  I'd turn around and, sure enough, she'd be looking at me sideways, her little head tilted at an odd angle, trying for a better view.  Sometimes I'd ask whoever was at the counter if anyone had shown any interest in adopting her.  I was told no, no one seemed to want Sugar.  Sugar was there watching me when I brought Rowdy in for his booster shots, and then ten days later when we went in to get Maggie's ear flushed.  The moment I walked through the door, Sugar's eyes never left me.

The prospect of adopting another cat wasn't well received by my partner Art.  "We already have three cats," he said. "You don't want to turn into to one of those crazy cat people.  Let's wait until we get a farm.  Then you can have all the cats you want." (This happened before Hurricane Ike washed away our beach house.  We'd been trying to find some rural property to buy - a place with plenty of land for the dogs to run.  But all the places we looked at were outside our price range.)  I agreed with Art that his was the most sensible plan.  Three cats and two large dogs were more than enough animals for the size house we lived in.  There was no rush.  We would wait. 

And then the following morning I drove straight to Winnie and adopted the kitten.  It had really been gnawing at me.  It broke my heart to think of Sugar spending her young life in that cage, unable to frolic and explore like other cats her age.  Sugar was growing up fast, right before my eyes.  It seemed like each time I went into the clinic she was bigger than I remembered.  Being stuck inside that cage all day long - no matter how coddled she was by the clinic's staff - was a cruel fate, and I knew I couldn't live with myself if I left her there.

When Art got home from work that afternoon he wasn't particularly surprised to see Sugar darting around the living room, getting into mischief.  "I knew you'd go and get that kitten," was all he said.  Five minutes later I saw him sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor, dangling a piece of ribbon in front of her.

For the first few days our other three cats were watchful of Sugar but there was little interaction between them, except for some warning swats and an occasional hiss.  (I figure they were thinking that if they snubbed her she'd get the message and find someplace else to reside.)  So then Sugar gravitated to the dogs. 

Maggie Moose, our yellow lab, had never shown much interest in cats.  She just barely endured the shenanigans of Little Brother, who kept her running in circles throughout his seemingly endless puppyhood.  The Moose generally ignored felines, unless one was careless enough to tread on her tail.  That elicited a warning bark.  So when Sugar inevitably made overtures of friendship to our old blond girl she was gently - but firmly - rebuffed.

Then Sugar set her sights on Little Brother - and an interspecies love affair blossomed that to this day leaves us shaking our heads in wonder.  They are bosom pals, best mates, partners in crime, and absolutely inseparable.  They scuffle and play fight, they groom each other, they nap together, they cuddle endlessly.  After living her early life in enforced isolation, Sugar has found a forever home.  And a forever friend.

One curious side note:  For several months after we adopted Sugar I noticed that her head was often cocked at that same weird angle she used at the clinic.  It was as if she were still trying to look at me through chicken wire.  We even started calling her "Crooked Head."  But eventually that mannerism slipped away - once she finally realized, perhaps, that she'd never again have to view the world from the inside of a cage.

*

Check out my latest cat story:  Justifying Jellyfish

Comments

[Danielle]

Thank you for giving this kitten a wonderful home. I am the proud owner of a 7 year-old calico cat, and a 5 year-old pit-lab - both shelter rescues, and both wonderful members of our family.
I have been reading about people giving up their pets to shelters because of the economy - but I would never, ever give up my "babies".

[Angie B.]

What a great story. I love all animals. I had a time when that happened to me. I came Home after seeing some kittens at a store that were being given away free. 3 were all the same color and one was totally different and sleeping in a corner all by itself , while the others were cuddling up together. Well i made the mistake of telling my kids about it and the next thing i know, we have puss puss as a memeber of our family. Puss puss now is 10 years old and still napping strong.

[AWWWWWWW]

I might be PMSing but this was just the sweetest story----!! You're such a nice person...really I can't believe no one else was moved enough to take Sugar home earlier, we can't save all the deserving cats in the world but it's too much to ignore one when it's right there, head cocked to the side and just waiting to love.

Please live a long life, we need more wonderful people like you and your family around.

[Jenny]

What a sweet story - doesn't surprise me a bit that you went back and adopted Sugar - you have such a tender heart :)

[Max P.]

Thanks for the kind words...

(Jenny, I don't know about the tender heart thing. But I am a pushover!)

[Jane]

I had a kitten who did the head tilt and occasionally would bob her head about. As she grew older, the head tilt developed into seizures. She was diagnosed with twitchy skin syndrome.

[jill]

That's so nice! Thank you... from all the cats out there.

[Rei]

She's perfectly nice to look at. She's rather handsome.