I'm Really Not Easy!

I don’t know why I was attracted to her. Her hair was a dirty tangled mess, she stank, she was nothing but skin and bones, and she only spoke in a tiny, whiney voice.

I suppose that whimpering voice was designed to attract pity, but that stuff doesn’t work with me. Never the less, and against my better judgment, I let her in my car. That was my first mistake. I couldn’t even keep her out of my lap.
My plan was to feed her, then dump her before my wife got home. Since then, she’s been stalking me, getting her claws into me at every opportunity. But let me start at the beginning.

Friday:
I had gone to the old barn to take pictures. On the bank of Willow Creek, the ancient sagging barn is a favorite photographic subject of mine. As a special attraction, the only inhabitant of the barn is a Great Horned Owl that sits on the weathered frame of the loft window blinking at me while I take its’ picture.
As I walked around the corner of the barn, a little gray ball scurried under the pile of boards that had long ago been part of the barn structure. Curious, I called out, “Kitty kitty”.

“Meow, meow”, answered the kitty as she peaked out from under a board.
Her voice was so weak I had to stoop down and look into the pile of debris to verify that she was indeed a kitty.She darted out of the rubble pile, right up to me, continuing with the “ Meow, meow.”

What a mess. One eye was completely covered with pus, and the other eye was half covered. Her tiny body resembled a gray blob of filthy fur stretched over bones, with no hint of flesh in between. She was too disgusting to touch, and I tried to ignore her while I took pictures of the owl sitting in the loft watching us.

“MEOW? MEOW?” Her cries had taken on an insistent, questioning quality, which I took to mean, “ Can’t you see me? Won’t you help?”

I already have two nice pets. A Siberian Husky named Jessie, and a Siamese cat named Zorro. Two are just right, and I didn’t want to risk exposing them to any disease. But I’m not very smart. I picked her up with a wad of paper
towels from the car, and took her home. “Just to clean and feed you”, I told her. “Then back you go”.

In the car, she expressed her gratitude by clawing my wrist and doing runny brown stuff in my lap, while trying to overwhelm her stench with sound. “Meow, Meow?”

At home, I wiped her off and quarantined her in the guest bathroom. She gobbled canned dog food while I called Becky, my veterinarian.

“Isn’t there an animal shelter in Red Lodge that might take her?” I asked.
Becky answered, “Not yet. Why don’t you bring her in and let me see her”. Kind of like being in quicksand, I just kept getting in deeper and deeper.

Becky lifted the cat off the scales. “She weighs one pound, two ounces. She is about three months old. She has worms, ear mites, a lung infection, diarrhea, and eye conjunctivitis. She will be fine”.

After shampooing and medicating the cat, Becky started a file “Don’t bother starting a file on her”, I said. “She won’t be back, I’m not keeping her, and I won’t name her. I would like help placing her in a home.”

Becky gave me a questioning look. “Why didn’t you just leave her at the barn?”

“Because I didn’t want the owl to get sick from eating a sick cat”, I explained.

Becky loaded me down with medicine, instructions, and cat food, and helped me out the door. I still had one more crummy chore to do today. I had to explain all this to my wife, Linda.

“Meow?”

“Oh, shut up!”

Saturday and Sunday:
We spent the weekend cat sitting. I explained to Linda that we would only provide a short-term foster home, while helping the kitty get well. We bought kitty litter
and two cases of paper towels. The kitty was great about trying to use the litter box, but the diarrhea was too much to control. The paper towels were going fast.

We gave the kitty eye medicine twice a day, and an oral antibiotic twice a day. She was wonderful about receiving medication, as if she understood and appreciated that she was getting help.

Monday:
I decided saying “the kitty” all the time was too cumbersome, so suggested calling her “Willow”, since she was found on the banks of Willow Creek. I won’t give her a real name, because she won’t be staying very long.

Willow’s eyes have cleared up. They are the color of apple-green jade, and they follow me around the house wherever I go.

Zorro hasn’t accepted Willow, and stays away from her. Jessie is very curious, would like to be friends, and tries to lie close to Willow. Willow is accepting Jessie, but is a little concerned about becoming dog food.

Willow’s favorite place is in my lap, which I try to keep covered with paper towels. Still, I have to change clothes often. I should leave her in the guest bathroom but she is extremely sociable, and craves “quality time”.

Tuesday:
“Ouch,” I cried, as Willow clawed her way up my leg to settle into my lap. “ That hurts.” Willow looked at me with her big green eyes, stretched one arm up to my chest, and put her head on my stomach.Somewhat mollified, I patted her head.” That’s a good kitty. Giving me an adoring, innocent look, she deposited another brown runny mess in my lap. The good news, the mess was smaller than usual.

Wednesday:
Oh thank goodness! The diarrhea is gone!

Thursday:
Willow has a sparkle of mischief in her eye, and her soft gray coat is sleek and shiny. She’s a bundle of energy; I’m a bundle of nerves. When not chasing a paper ball, climbing the curtains, or teasing Jessie, her favorite spot is on my lap, eating my fingers. My fingers have little scratches, as does my stomach. Are those scratches becoming red and infected? I wonder how much a liver transplant costs.

Friday:
I told Linda that we should have Willow vaccinated. It will be easier to give her away if she has had her shots. I couldn’t get any work done with Willow always underfoot or in my lap, demanding love and attention.

Saturday:
Linda answered the phone, then handed it to me. “Someone heard about Willow from the vet, and wants her.”

“Great”, I said, taking the phone, “That nuisance has been here long enough.” Before speaking into the phone, I paused to watch Willow chasing the red paper ball across the floor. She suddenly abandoned the ball to run over and rub against my leg. I spoke into the phone. “I’m sorry, she’s already spoken for.”

Present:
Willow thinks she has a home here, but she’s wrong. I’m no sucker for big green eyes and a soft tone of voice. I wish I had given her to who ever called about her. I don’t take well to attention, and I hate having my hand licked. I’m going to put a “free kitty” ad in the paper. But not today. Sometime when I’m not too busy.
“Come here, Willow. I’ll show you how the doggy door works.”
“Meow, Meow?”

• favorite this
• report a concern

Add your comment

You need to login or signup to add your comment to this work.