Our Free Cat

We have been a refuge for free pets.  Many of our pets have been free.  There were those 'pure bred' bunnies we bought for the kids (OK, I got one too--they were very cute).  Those we paid for.  El Profesor, who grew up on a ranch, found the offer of our bunnies' papers being copied for us (no, not the kind of papers you line the cage with)  to be amusing.  Other than those bunnies, our pets have been free. (We never did pursue getting those papers.)

'Posie' the cat (she was preowned and prenamed) came from one of El Profesor's co-workers who was moving to Iowa.  She (the cat, that is) moved in with our elderly neighbor when our kids joined the family. (It was much quieter over there and the neighbor actually did regular vet check ups, shots, etc.  I think Posie was planning for her own feline elder care--good choice!)  When we purchased our current house there was the stray tomcat, 'Tiger', living under the house,  who became ours for awhile. He was extremely tame and our daughter, Ten, would pack him around the neighborhood.  Then came 'Thumper' (you guessed it--a rabbit).  Our sweet Japanese neighbor came jogging over one morning to let me know that our bunny (the only one left of the original three) was loose.  When he described the color/size, I let him know that 'Hoppy' was safe and well in her hutch. Still,  I caught the loose bunny with the fishing net (the only things I have ever caught with that net have been bunnies on the lamb) and Thumper moved into separate quarters in our bunny condo.  Surely, we had enough free pets.  Then, on one especially stormy, blustery November day (2006), we acquired what I like to refer to as 'Our Free Cat'. 

The week Our Free Cat turned up the local news had been reporting that the local cat shelters were at capacity and that people needed to keep any kittens/cats they had if at all possible.   The day Our Free Cat turned up was very stormy and Ten had ventured out to the rabbit hutch to check on Thumper (all of the other bunnies had now aged out and had taken up residence in shoe boxes six inches under the rhodies) when she heard a kitten crying.  Ten hurried to tell me about the distressed kitten and so I got the ladder (and not the fishing net).  The forlorn little thing was up in our cherry tree and, despite a momentary thought of teeth and claws, I climbed up and got him.  He was socialized, tame, and clung to me. He was a 'catten', not quite a cat, no longer a kitten.  Ten bundled him into her sweatshirt and we canvassed the neighborhood in the pouring rain, to no avail.  One lady informed us she already had four cats.  No one had seen 'the catten' before.  

Having already  acquired one stray tomcat and one stray bunny, El Profesor (remember, he grew up on a ranch), responded to 'the catten' dilemma with, "Take him out and throw rocks at him to scare him off".  (Remember, the cat shelters were full).  He then modified the rock plan to scaring 'the catten' off himself after Ten and Thirteen went to choir practice.  He did agree, reluctantly, that if 'the catten' was still around after choir, we could feed him.   Remarkably, 'the catten' seemed to sense a foothold.  He stuck to the premises dispite the showers of gravel delivered in his direction.  He was still around after choir practice (much to the delight of Ten and Thirteen, who were then Eight and Eleven) and he became 'Skipper' the cat (we had been watching old Gilligan's Island movies from Netflix that week).  

Skipper the cat on the day he was found. 

Skipper the cat spent much of the rest of his 'cattenhood' swaddled in dolly blankets, dressed in dolly clothes and adorned in dolly bonnets.  He seemed to eat up the attention.  He slept in a white, lacey dolly bassinet in the garage and went for rides in the dolly baby buggy.  He was the favorite play thing of  Eight.  One of Eight's writing assignments in a homeschool writing class was to write the directions for how to do something, step by step.  Eight wrote a paper called 'How To Dress A Kitten'.  As Skipper settled in, Tiger the tomcat moved on, and Skipper became our cat.  Our Free Cat.  He was a keeper.  He was completely tame, playful and was growing into a pretty, buff tabby with a white bib. 

Now, about the free part? Remember Posie the cat?  I always balked at the idea of seeking extensive (or regular)  medical care for a pet.  Oh brother, I thought.  Then, Skipper got sick.  Very sick.  We were going to have him 'fixed' and the vet noticed at his pre-op appointment that he had a fever.  I had noticed a bit of lethargy once I thought about it.  He was given some antibiotics (ka-ching$$$) and 'the fixing' appointment was delayed for a few weeks.  Skipper tanked a few days later.  He became so lethargic I had to give him water with a syringe.  (Maybe a coincidence, maybe not, but we had just opened a new bag of Iams cat food and this was at the precise time some pets were sickened by tainted food.) El Profesor (who grew up on a ranch) lovingly took Skipper to the emergency vet where Our Free Cat was given steroids to stimulate his appetite (he was wasting away) and blood tests (ka-ching$$$$).  Our Free Cat survived, and once he was recovered we had him 'fixed'  (ka-ching$$$).  

We have really loved Our Free Cat.  El Profesor (the one who caused the gravel rain on that blustery November day) gently cradles Skipper when he retrieves him off Ten's bed late at night.  He holds and pets Skipper and asks me to get him flea stuff (ka-ching$$$).  Then, there was last night.  (Remember the part about balking at extensive vet care?)  We were out for a walk when Thirteen found Skipper limping and bleeding.  His back leg had what looked like a bite wound.   (I was kicking myself for not getting around to vaccinating the cat--I keep meaning to get him a rabies shot, and that cat-leukemia-whatchma-call-it shot.)  We loaded up a quilt, a box and Our Free Cat and headed for the emergency animal hospital.  The wound turned out to be an impalement injury (thank goodness--no rabies threat) from jumping or falling onto something sharp and Our Free Cat had two staples, two bottles of antibiotics and a bottle of kitty pain killer (ka-ching$$$).   In a few weeks, I have to take Our Free Cat to our regular vet to get the staples removed (ka-ching$$$).  Then, we plan to get those vaccines done (ka-ching$$$) and some flea treatments (ka-ching$$$).  

The only really frugal thing about Our Free Cat is that he LOVES the cheap Friskies in the gigant-o bags from Costco (remember that expensive Iams I was feeding him??) and Friskies was on the list of pet foods that didn't have to be recalled in the tainting scare when Our Free Cat first became a little spendy.  As for his name, Skipper, with all of his crazy antics and silly behavior, maybe we should have called him 'Gilligan'.