A little history first. SM had stopped at a gas station to fill up the Jeep on our way home from a Labor Day beach weekend. It was very late on a Sunday night. When he went to pay for the gas, he found a "squished" kitten beside one of the pumps.
The kitten had obviously been hit by a car. His back end was flattened and he was laying in a pile of his own poo.
SM brought the kitten to me and laid him on my lap. He was no bigger than my 2 hands put together. We took the kitten home and placed him in a box expecting him to die overnight. He was still alive the next morning so I took him to the Vet on my way to work and signed the paperwork to have the poor "wee beastie" euthanized.
The Vet popped his head out and asked me if I wanted him to try and save the cat if he could. I told him that it was OK to give him "the once over" but that I wasn't going to pay for surgery or anything like that.
You see, I'm not a cat person. I've never owned a cat, but was traumatized by an evil siamese cat when I was teenager. The bastard came after me a ripped me a new one. Needless to say, after that experience, cats were way down on my list of desirable critters. But that didn't make me heartless. I would save a life if I could.
So later that day when I called to check up on the kitten, I was told to swing by and pick him up. He had a bruised bladder and the Vet couldn't say for sure if he'd regain the use of his legs but told me that "Kittens are like rubber bands. They bounce back. Give it a few days." (He was right. Kiki regained use of all his limbs.)
"Anybody want to adopt a kitten?" I asked, laughing. Little did I know that stray kittens are a dime a dozen.
So back home we went. Over the next several days I tried to unload this little kitten on some poor, unsuspeting sucker but there were no takers.
So, like most of the critters who live in this house, we kept him.
Kiki was likely born to a feral cat. He had NO interest in becoming an inside, loveable, lap cat. You know, the ones you see on TV that purr and purr and look so soft and loveable? Oh, no. Kiki made his escape early on, but knows where the food is, so he's home every night for dinner at least.
Love and scratches can only be dispensed on his terms and SM his clearly his favorite human most likely because there's always a dog on me. But we get along as well as can be expected.
When he was younger, Kiki tangled with area cats and cost me a small fortune over the years with cat fight bites that would abcess. The Vet's office had a bright red sticker on his file that said THIS CAT BITES and he was nicknamed "Evil Kitty" by the staff.
As Kiki has aged he's gotten more mellow. (Haven't we all?) He can't see me to pounce at me but that doesn't make him any less lethal.
Just last night, as I sat watching TV at 2 am (freaking hormones) I heard a muffled, strangled sound.
All the lights were off in the house.
I sat there as I wasn't sure what I'd heard. Then louder this time. Now I knew it was the cat. My first thought was that he was sick. I flipped on the light and there's Kiki with a bird is his mouth. He dropped it as I came up to him and sauntered away, tail up, clearly proud of his contribution. He's done this over the years with birds, bunnies and the occasional mouse. The bird was still flapping so I waved the dogs off, picked it up and took out outside to a nearby bush.
He's become a very vocal cat now too. Man, can that cat yell when he wants something.
"I'm hungry." "Let me out." "Let me back in."
"Scratch my butt."
I never knew that there was a kitty hot spot, right at the base of his tail. Scratch that and he goes right up on his tippy toes with delight. (I suppose it's better than "sniff my butt" which seems to be the dogs favorite past-time.)
Well, here's to you Soft Kitty. I'm so glad it worked out...