Decision made

Toby the cat was rescued from a parking lot in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. No one could locate him; he cried for a day and a night. Then a little girl played the kitty app on her phone, and he came running. No onlooker volunteered to take it, so Carol and I scrapped our plans for another day at the Three Rivers Art Festival, and concentrated on getting the scrappy kitten back to Ohio, where he devoured a bowl of water logged adult cat food, and became the topic of my first blog entry.

We found him on a Saturday, and at his trip to the vet on Monday he weighed in at a pound. The vet put him at four weeks, and pronounced him lucky to be alive. Lucky or not, he seemed reasonably content, and grew up to be a very long haired black and white, with a “Got Milk” mustache and very short legs. I told him his mama left him behind because his legs were so short.

There were two cats in the house, Purrl, the indoor/outdoor cat, and Ryon, a young rescue. Purrl, of course, had no use for either cat, but Ryon and Toby got along. Ryon fell into the habit of licking Toby’s ears. I never saw the favor returned.

Ryon and Toby

Toby did not know how lucky he was, until a January day some years ago that Ryon took an afternoon nap and did not wake up. There was no other cat to lick Toby’s ears. He took to licking the arm of any available person and rubbing his ears on the wet spot. Truly pathetic. I asked if his legs were too short to reach his ears (they really aren’t, in a stretch).

Ryon 

When we go to the vet, there often is a large crate with a few kittens. I think Dr. Mike helps the local Humane Society get them adopted. Laura always wants one, of course. As sweet as kittens are, I’m not tempted. Pets are a responsibility, and there now is that problem of longevity. Toby is under strict orders not to outlive me, but a kitten could be iffy.

Toby boarded down the road for the week we were in Wisconsin. Thinking of his great longing for an ear licker, I asked the technicians to introduce him to the common room of cat boarders as quickly as possible and let me know how Mr. Feral took to new cats.

Toby is a feral cat, and does not resemble any domesticated cats I’ve known. In the beginning, he was the kitten who had to make up to adult cats. Now he is the adult cat, set in his ways, though still wishing for an ear licker. To consider a kitten for him, I’d need to know he could be social.

Monday evening I peeked into the cat room. Cats everywhere, lolling about, snuggled up to other cats—cat stuff. And Toby, lying in his condo, door wide open, looking out. I asked the technician how his week had gone, if he’d made up with any other of the boarders.

They said his door was open, all day, every day, and he laid in the opening all week. The cats came up to investigate him, and he tolerated it without flinching. But, he never came out and said “Hi, my name is Toby. What’s yours? Do you do ears?”

So, he can stop playing pathetic cat with me, and realize his paws do reach his ears.

Toby