POT PURRY
Somewhere in the Denver area, for or five years ago, a cat had kittens. One of those kiltens was a red mackerel tabby boy. From that point until February, 1977, the record is blank. It seems safe to assume that this red fellow had a home (perhaps several) because he learned to love and trust humans. He was probably a cute kitten and was loved and cared for for awhile. But he grew and became a tomcat and as tomcats do, he roamed, fought, and perpetuated his species when opportunities arose. His people, if he had any, did not care enough to have him neutered.
Consequently, February, 1977, found him on death row at the local pound; scrawny, scarred, and sporting a «cauliflower ear». souveneir from one of his many battles. 9 His situation was about as bleak as it could get when fate stepped in and granted him a reprieve. My veterinarian «bailed him out» to serve as an emergency blood donor. In return for his services and «just because he was such a neat fellow», he was neutered, named «Tuffy», and a search begun for a permanent home.
I met Tuffy in April. He was still a bit thin, but neat, clean and a very charming fellow with an expression that said he hoped for the best, but expected the worst. But Tuffy, wasn’t happy; his free spirit couldn’t tolerate life in a cage. Sooo a couple weeks later, Tuffy came to stay with us to await adoption. He was a perfect house guest, but he had one problem. He couldn’t forget he’d been a fighting tomcat and regarded any male of his own species (neutered or not) as a deadly enemy. He loved me and the dogs, was a gentleman with the girls, but couldn’t tolerate the boys.
Since he couldn’t adjust to the bachelor bunch, Tuffy became our outside cat with his headquarters in the garage. His days were spent on the patio with the dogs, or snoozing under the trailer in the front yard. Although he would have preferred to roam, he learned to report for bed at sundown, retiring to his carrier in the garage. Gradually his tolerance for the fellows improved until he could be allowed inside for the evening as long as I was around to chaperone. Most of his evenings were spent snoozing in his favorite chair until bedtime when he would amble out to «his house» without protest.
His tolerance wasn’t the only thing that grew. Tuffy ate as though trying to make up for all the meals he had ever missed. From a 10 lb. «weakling» he turned in to an 18 lb. red sausage; a very happy sausage. His anxious expression had been replaced by one of contentment. His coat was thick, shiny and impeccably groomed. Tuffy needed just one more thing – a home of his own.
In November, Tuffy participated in the Household Pet class at a local show. His charisma captured the «Judges Choice» award and a home of his very own with a couple who fell under his spell.
Tuffy’s story has a happy ending. Most of his kind are not so fortunate. Millions of Tuffy’s walk death row every year, either in the pound, on the streets and highways, or the slower route of starvation. How can you and I help? The only real answer is to prevent the birth of surplus kittens by supporting neuter-spay programs in our own communities and by urging congressional support of legislation to provide for low cost neuter-spay clinics. Write your Congressman today – for all the Tuffies of the world.
Connie