Sometimes I wonder about “luck.”
Mostly when I am in my den with a cat on my lap thinking of the various probable outcomes that could have been with my cats. Take for instance Christopher Thomas, who is the last of pre-baby animals in my home. Turning 18 this September and despite a few strokes and wobbling hind parts he still has it together. He was found wandering about off of I-10 near Los Alamados at 4 weeks old in the woods. Funny that the very night I found him I happened to be wearing my mother’s mink coat and when I placed my finger down at his little shaking body in those woods he did, as all cat people know a lovely and very felinesk upward head butt to meet my finger as if saying well, hello there new mama!
Over the years Brian and I have of course saved many an animal and both of our childhoods are colored with similar stories of a special dog or cat that just quite frankly chose us. Brian and I bought Charlie. Charlie was and forever will be the only cat I will ever buy as ever since God made sure I could be switched over he has placed in our path many more and only as much as we can handle. He was our first cat and if I had been impatient with anything in my early married life it was for Charlie to be more like a dog. He was amazing and contrary and if I were to leave for longer than he deemed appropriate I would come home to a closet full of shoes that he had marked so as to keep track of me I reckoned. I call those years my Cat training.
About a year ago Victoria Ann and James Edward found three kittens in the parking lot of their then school and called me frantically to ask permission to bring them home. Sissy asked me in her seesaw voice “But Mommy… there’s three, is THAT ok?” She knew full well that I was not going to leave kittens in a parking lot in Sugar Land Texas in this HEAT or that I would take only one. LOL
I have determined that we are supposed to have 6. It sort of worked out that way and not just any six but specifically three girls and three boys. My Cat training was slow and steady and God knew what he was doing because I prefer boys over girls. For many years I had three boys. Then three others were orphaned and they came and then as they died exactly three more would come to replace them.This latest set came in May of last year and this brings me to my little story about a small and very sweet miracle cat, who I have come to call chef and my daughter officially named Roscoe.
He was clearly the runt of the litter and when the children brought him in with his two sister’s his little whiskers had been pulled out. Quite tragic since us cat people know they actually need those to get around; they are not just God’s decoration.
I started calling him Chef because he began hanging around me while I was cooking and then he just basically decided to never leave the kitchen. If while cooking I failed to give him a little taste of this or that of whatever I was cooking he would grab me by both sides of my leg and stretch up to where he could hang on and head butt me in my hip! He would just stay there and keep butting until I gave him a taste. I started asking him if he thought a recipe needed an extra this or that and he would look at me with those big eyes and his lipstick marked mouth and say “meow.”
“Chef” otherwise known as “Roscoe” has always been a little bit different. He likes to curl up in the sinks and he likes to get in the tub after my bubble bath and frolic in the leftover suds. Not many cats like baths or are brave enough to sit in a place they know is capable of water pouring out! Alas, Chef never seemed to want to go outside and even when it wasn’t a hot day he would always stay close to the door and keep an eye out that it never shut; hence locking him out from the cool indoors.
One day Roscoe began sleeping in the litter box and that folks is past strange. Brian had mentioned that he never saw him running around or climbing trees like his sisters. I had noticed too that in one attempt to get to the counter he had missed and landed straight away into a pan of BBQ sauce completely ruining our supper.
Something was awry. I quickly took him to the doctor, a sweet one at Sienna Hospital by the name of Dr. Becky Green. She kept him to run tests and later that afternoon she called. Apparently Roscoe never developed his kidneys and his heart has a huge chamber instead of the ones that he should have. He is sleepy and droopy because two major organ systems never got developed properly. She told me we have a very limited amount of time with him. He could live 6 months, maybe. Here’s the thing though, I’m wondering if he has lived for a year when all odds were for him to never make it then why can’t he live a few more? I adore him, he is the sweetest little guy and our doctor said well, just take him home and keep doing what you have been. It is a sheer miracle he is even alive. I told her I think we should find a donor. Each day I know as much as I hate it we in this country put to sleep thousands of animals. Why can’t there be a kidney and a heart transplant for my sweet precious Roscoe? I really feel that with the vet school at Texas A&M, surely someone, somewhere could find him a few organs and prolong his life. I asked our doctor if she could do the surgery or if she could perhaps see if the surgery is even possible. It seems to me if we can do transplants in humans then for God’s sake we surely should be able to do it for my cat. I have set up a face book page for my little Chef and I hope someone reads this and has the same thought process as myself. I love him and he is only one. Christopher Thomas is 18 and still in amazing shape for his age. It might be too much to ask, each night I ask for him to have another day. I also called Father Mike and he came and prayed over him and sprinkled him with Holy Water. At least I know if we can’t get him a new set of organs he will be most definitely going to Heaven:)
