7
years ago last April, I adopted a feral dog. I was looking at getting
a dog. I wanted a good sized dog to be a friend and companion. I
wanted to teach it and care for it and take it on camping trips among
other things. I had thought about the dog I wanted but I didn't find
the dog I wanted. Then I was approached about taking a feral dog. I
researched, studied, inquired and eventually I had a pup with tons of
issues that would become about everything I thought I wanted and
more.
The
best advice in all my preparing was to form a bond with the dog; they
are pack animals. They have a community sense about them and if they
bond with you they will be loyal and loving pets. He's really been
more like a hairy family member that doesn't speak but understands my
language perfectly. I've found myself to be a 'dog person' beyond
what I ever was. I took the responsibility seriously from the first.
The problems were never what I would have imagined. The blessings
are beyond what I could have hoped. God has taught me so much about
me and about grace and redemption through this animal that I've
bonded with.
13
years ago I took on a cat. I was always a cat person and had an
affinity for yellow tabbies. Hobbes is a yellow tabby, but Hobbes has never been my cat. Hobbes
is his own cat. Yes we feed him and give him a space to lay down
comfortably. We make sure he has warmth in the bitter cold of winter
and shade and water in the heat of summer. He's our cat -sort of.
Large
numbers of neighbor cats frequent our yard. Most of them succumb to
the barking and chasing of Willow and choose other terrain as soon as
he enters the picture. Will seems to recognize our neighbor Barbara's
cat and doesn't chase it much when it frequents the deck or other
shady areas of our yard. The rest, he playfully chases away and then
whines because they leave. I've been fairly content to discard my
'cat person' role for a 'dog person' role.
On the
13th of June my daughter and grandson were over and we
were playing on the hill when Willow alerted us that there was
something to check out in the yard. On the deck was a small handful
of fir and bones that was too weak to escape. My first thought was
“I'm getting ready for camp, I don't have time for this.” The
training and ethic I'd received from my father would not allow me to
let it die without an effort. I bathed it, restrained it, fed it with
a syringe and gradually nursed it from the critical stage before
leaving it in the care of my grandson while I went to serve at
fostercare camp. I kept telling myself I'd get it stable, have it
neutered, and then probably put it up for adoption.
By the
time I returned from camp, the kitten we would end up naming
“Martigan” was gaining strength and becoming playful and
inquisitive. I got his shots -along with antibiotic, some snooty
reprimands about fleas and possible worms and a guesstimate of 12
weeks age. And no, the vet at the animal clinic didn't care that I
had saved its life or how much better it was or that I had been
trying to battle the fleas or that I'd had no where to send or take
the kitten because of the city's lack of current animal control. I
was told to call for a neutering appointment and snotted right out
the door. I really didn't want to say it was my animal and my
responsibility but I took responsibility anyway.
I
can't use topicals because of my reaction to poisons, and I wasn't
ready to get into the whole 'vet' commitment yet. I learned about
capstar for fleas. So far that's been fairly successful. I called for
that appointment and they assigned it to a date during our vacation.
When I told them we wouldn't be back until the 17, the receptionist
said “just call back when you return and we'll get him in.” I
realized we could be getting into the range where a cat can begin
adolescence, but there wasn't anything else to do.
We
ended up taking him with us on vacation. With a few purchases and a
great deal of planning, it worked okay. I became more and more
committed to keeping the kitten. I began a general worming of the
kitten and called to make his appointment after we returned.
Somewhere in the doing, I began to call him “my cat”, while still
feeling the uncertainty of the wisdom of such an acquisition, given
my schedule and plans. About a week ago, amid developing aggression
and ornery cat behavior, I began saying “I've got a CAT!”
thinking more of the development of Hobbes than the development of
Dusty -possibly the best cat I ever shared space with. I've begun to
take charge. With cat's you never know, but I will give it an honest
effort and the benefit of a doubt. I put him in a very containing pet
carrier during 'sleep' hours. I put him in his play yard during times
when I'm busy. I let him play when we are in the room as long as he
doesn't get too wild. When he loses is ability to calm down, I put
him away (pet carrier) for a few until his bounce has gone away.
A
certain level of crazy is entertaining, beyond that, he is contained
one way or another -for the time being. After his surgery, he will
need contained for a week or so anyway. I figure this is good
preparation for both of us. After that we'll play it by ear. I
could feel guilty, but I refuse. I tell him often that I saved his
life because it's who I am on the inside, but I won't let that ruin
my life. Truth is, I can't guarantee that last statement. I've
extended the gift of life and the grace that I had to give. I now
have a cat for better or worse.
Willow
taught me more about redemption than I ever expected. I learned a
level of patience and expectant love with him. He learned love and
loyalty pretty fast, though he may still struggle with obedience
sometimes. It's easy to see God relationships with Willow. I wonder
what I will say of Martigan in 5 or 7 years -if I live through this.
The big difference in cats and dogs? Dogs have a conscience, even
when they misbehave. Cats don't see anything they want to do as
misbehavior. I feel that I am about to understand grace in a whole
new way.
