Back in May, we had a 3-day rain. When the sun finally broke through the cloud cover, my husband and I took our three dogs for a walk. At the end of the road, several blocks from our house, there is an empty lot adjacent to a creek. Out of the tall grass, I heard the distinct cries of a cat.
"Here, kitty, kitty," I answered.
More meowing.
"Here, kitty, kitty."
Eventually, a brown and black striped fluffy tail became visible in the tall grass and shortly thereafter, a domestic long-hair cat broke out of the vegetation and rejoiced at having been found.
After a few pets, which revealed no collar, the cat happily snuggled into my arms, unperturbed by the very curious dogs at my feet.
Closer examination indicated this cat was definitely lost as it had been declawed. So, I brought it home.
My husband immediately protested saying that we didn't need another cat. I replied that I would do the right thing and post "found" signs and hopefully, somebody would claim this cat.
The cat settled into our home, thankful to be inside away from the cruddy weather and none too soon either, because that evening was the beginning of a 5-day rain. Talk about perfect luck.
My daughter inspected the cat and informed us that it was a she. Her cat, Nona, was not overjoyed with the new arrival, but they seemed to get along. The dogs, however, were greatly disappointed with the new cat. Turns out, the new cat had not yet learned the fine art of playing chase. She didn't run when approached. Bummer for the pups.
After the rain, I posted signs around the neighborhood and made inquiries with folks that I suspected might be the rightful parents. No luck. I did received some response to the signs, but those lost cats did not match my found cat.
After several more days, I decided that the cat would be staying with us. She had proved to be a loving cat, who actually enjoyed snuggling and showed affection. Good qualities for living with dog people. So, the cat, became Emily.
Emily, is the most relaxed cat around. She lays on the kitchen counter and does not protest being pushed around. She actually becomes a dust rag. She gently wrestles and readily submits to being picked up and carried.
My husband, in spite of his original protests, plays with the Emily and has been known to seek her out for cuddles. He even brought her to bed one evening.
After two months, he came to the conclusion that Emily would be staying with us on a permanent basis and suggested a trip to the vet.
At the vet clinic, we explained how Emily came into our lives and that we knew absolutely nothing about her.
The vet tech took a quick peak and informed us that our Emily was a neutered male. Hmmm. Other than that, he was in good health. His age, based upon the appearance of his teeth, was estimated to be 18 months. He was tested for feline aids and leukemia and he was negative for both. He received his immunizations and a clean bill of health.
All that was left to do was to determine a proper male name.
Emily went through some trial names, none of which lasted more than a couple of hours. He was Bob, then Charlie, Freddy was immediately cast aside as was Dieter. Alister lasted less than 10 seconds. Eventually, everyone agreed that Emily was now Henry.
Henry is a member of the family, as degreed by my wonderful husband. He told Henry one afternoon that he was the best pet, almost as good as Jake. WOW! High praise, especially since my sweet husband thinks that Jake (the Westie) hung the sun, moon and stars.
Just the other day, my husband and I went for our morning walk. I noticed a LOST CAT sign and stopped to check it out. Luckily, it wasn't our Henry.
My husband said, "Good, because it's too late now. It's been over two months. He's ours."
"Does that mean you would fight to keep him?"
"Yes."
