I went to feed a small colony of cats, and heard a faint meow coming from the bushes. I followed the meows, got into the bushes, and finally was able to pull out a dark grey tabby about 3 months old, whom I later named Bob. Even though he sounded like he was in distress, he looked ok.
I drove home with him on my lap and he never tried to escape my hold. When we got home I noticed his tail was bent at the end (like a number 7) and there were some raw patches on it closer to his body. I applied some triple antibiotic after I inspected him for fleas and gave him a bath.
When the vet checked him out, she said the tail needed to be amputated and that he was lucky gangrene had not set in. He was also tested, given his shots, and neutered while in surgery. I picked him up the next day and he was as calm and sweet as he'd always been.
Since I already had 7 inside cats (down from 8 since I had just put down my 13-year-old Anni whose kidneys where shutting down), my husband was not a happy about bringing in another cat. I told him I'd only keep him until I found a home for him. We all know how difficult that is to do. One day I was watching T.V. with Bob on my lap and the doorbell rang. I went to answer it with him in my hands. A lady who had come by to drop off a check saw Bob in my hands and fell in love. She wanted a companion for her small dog who had recently become very sad at the loss of her mommy. I miss Bob and his antics terribly, but I console myself in knowing he is with a great lady who will take extra good care of him.
MIAMI, FL
