The Story of Daddy the Cat - Democratic Underground

bertha katzenengel

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Thu May-05-05 12:15 PM
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The Story of Daddy the Cat

Meeting Daddy

Daddy was a stray who started coming around for food. From a distance, he didn’t look like he was in bad shape, except that he was bloated. I started spending time with him, sitting out on the deck and talking to him. Over several weeks he gradually let me pet him, then scratch his ears, until he showed me the ultimate in trust: He rolled over and let me scritch his tummy. When he did this he grabbed my arm with all four paws and bit my fingers – without scratching me or breaking the skin at all. He was gentle and sweet.

Getting closer to him, I saw what kind of shape he was really in. He’d obviously been living outdoors for a long time. He looked as scruffy and cut up as any feral tomcat, with cuts on his ears, one on his side, a bad one on his nose. He had a cold and was infested with fleas and ticks. Yet he was tame. I was sad because he’d obviously been someone’s pet. I tried not to be angry – he could’ve just escaped. Sometimes it's hard to keep them in.

He had a weird coughing problem. I thought he was yakking up a hairball all the time.

Part of the Family

Eventually he trusted me enough to pick him up. Once he did, he was whisked away to the vet. He was neutered, tested for diseases, given his shots, treated for the parasites, and had his ears thoroughly cleaned of dirt and nasty mites.

We already had four cats and knew that was enough. But Mrs. V., after seeing the condition he was in, softened and let me bring him inside.

Here’s why he is named Daddy. Two of our four cats had been born in our basement on the day of the September attacks, a litter of four born to a sweet feral tortoiseshell named Patches (this was well before we adopted Daddy). Three of the kittens were tuxies like Daddy, and one our kittens, Toby, had a loud, raspy voice like Daddy’s. He was just as likely their father as any other tomcat in the neighborhood, so he really named himself. (Besides, even without his nards, doesn't he look virile?)

Goodbye, Hello

Several weeks after we adopted him, a young man showed up at our door and said he thought we had his cat. We brought Daddy to him and the cat recognized him, instantly flipping onto his back and grabbing the kid’s hand like he’d grabbed mine. I was dumbstruck and instantly catatonic with grief. What could I do? The kid took Daddy away.

Mrs. V. and I grieved for three weeks. She kept saying, “He’ll be back. They don’t care enough to keep him in the house, he’ll be back.”

She was right. He showed up at the back door one Sunday evening – just as dirty and tattered as when he’d first come to us – and I cried harder than I had when the boy took him away.

After Daddy had been back a while I got really angry and realized that if push came to shove – if the kid came back and demanded his cat again – there was no way we’d give him up. If we had to we’d go to court. Hell, if nothing else, we had the veterinary records showing that we were taking care of him. There was no way I’d ever give up my Daddy again. But the kid never came back.

As for that weird cough he has: It’s asthma. When I learned that, I was really pissed at that kid. :grr: It’s very hard to treat Daddy's asthma because he fights taking pills, fights the transdermal meds on the ear, freaks when the inhaler comes out, and hates going to the vet for shots. But we do our best.

Furry Little Bastard

Daddy certainly does drip with personality, and not all of it is good stuff. Just one example: He is the most irritating cat I have ever known. It seems he was never fed anything but human food in his early life, because no matter what any person is eating, Daddy has to check it out up close and personal. I mean, standing on the table or on your lap, his face in yours, his paw pulling your hand to his mouth. If allowed, he will do this until he determines what you’re eating, and if it’s something he wants, out come the claws and voilá! – it’s gone. We have to keep a squirt bottle handy at dinnertime, and still, he’s never very far away from a plate, and he rarely shuts up. “Mao. Mao. Mao!”

In the kitchen – my god, that cat is everywhere in the kitchen. If he’s not underfoot begging, he’s on the counter. (That bandage on his foot? He got it because he was on the counter and got spooked, knocked a glass down and then fell on the broken shards on the floor. :eyes:) If he’s not squirted, he’ll stay on the counter, watching you cook or even do dishes (scraps, y’know). He understands “get down!” very well, and if he’s on the countertop and hears those words, he usually jumps to the top of the cabinets.

But he’s also the most affectionate cat I’ve ever known. He cries for my attention when I get home from work. He stands up on the bar until I come and grab his face, scratching behind his jaws. Then he headbutts my face, smells my breath, and purrs a while. He loves to be close. He cuddles up, on my lap or in bed, and he cuddles with whoever’s available. He’s my cat but he adores Mrs. V. just as much -- and irritates her just as much, too.

The End

That’s our Daddy the Cat. Protector of Waldorf Cat Haven, furry little bastard, and (please, don’t ever tell my beloved Harry this) number one cat in my heart.