Originally Posted by Tari
he knows I only like fur that's still breathing.
Me too! This is long . . .
Rocky and Oliver's story: My cousin Heather and I were sharing an apartment back in 2001. She is an architect, and her firm was doing extensive renovations on an old housing project in University Circle. She came in one Friday afternoon in July and said, "Come help me get some stuff out of my car." I said "OK" and went down to the parking lot with her and when we got to her car, I spotted these two adorable orange kittens and fell in love right away.
Unfortunately, they were terrified of us and stayed in the bathroom, hiding behind the toilet and hissing at anyone who came in.
At their first vet visit, they got the usual workup that kittens get. Rocky had a URI, but they were otherwise healthy. The vet told us (I went with Heather to help) to hold them for an hour every day so that they would get used to human contact. Of course, I was more than happy to oblige. When we moved out of our apartment in October 2001 and got separate places, Heather took the babies with her and I missed them terribly.
Fast forward to February 2003. I'd just gotten an apartment by myself, and I was lonely and thinking about adopting a cat. Heather decided to move in with her boyfriend (now husband), who had an 80-pound wolf hybrid (Ace
) and a very temperamental black DLH (Spooky), and she was worried they wouldn't accept Oliver and Rocky. Since I already bonded with them when they were little, she naturally thought of me. I'm so grateful she did; they're my best friends and the sweetest cats I've ever known (and I've known some sweet ones!)
My mom's RB cats:
My Mom found Silly
under a car in her apartment building's parking lot, covered with oil and absolutely miserable. She cleaned him up and got him to the vet, and he lived 15 years before crossing the Bridge in 1985 when I was 10.
came from a pet store (this was in the 1970s when no one really knew differently) when Mom was looking for a friend for Silly.
wandered into the St. Thomas Hospital emergency room while my Mom was working there. (Hence her name.)
came from the Humane Society in Summit County.
were born to a feral tortie who lived in our next-door neighbor's yard. Their mother ran away, and my Mom rescued them and gave them to a friend whose female cat had just had a litter and was more than willing to nurse two more babies. When the kittens were older, they came to live with us permanently.
My Mom (do you see a pattern here?) found Miles
when she was doing home care. She was at a patient's house, and as she was leaving, she saw a tuxedo kitten outside and asked her patient if the kitten belonged to her. Her patient replied "No" and said she had been trying to shoo the kitten away.
Of course, Mom couldn't resist and picked him up, got him some kitten food, and took him home.
Peaches developed renal failure when she was just six years old and had to be PTS.
My Mom, my brother and I were all sitting around the house crying after burying Peaches, and my Dad (who claims not to like cats) left for a while, saying something about going to the store.
He came back an hour later with a half-Siamese kitten, whom we named Taffy
because she was sort of taffy-colored. She lived to be 16, and my Dad was the only man she ever liked.
wandered into our next-door neighbor's yard (different house, different neighbors), covered in fleas, starving, suffering from pneumonia and a collapsed lung, and terrified of humans. My Oma was going to take her to the Humane Society (my Dad had said two cats was enough), but she changed her mind when she realized Lucky would be PTS. Oma took her back home, we cleaned her up, and she lived to be 13 before crossing the Bridge in 2005.