Suddenly *Not So* Single Journey

We can’t seem to keep ‘em…

Author: thenicknick

For reasons I can’t explain, we seem to have trouble keeping our male cats.  And it’s a bit troubling.  If it has happened twice…can I call it a trend?

See, when we moved in together the first time, I had two cats and a rabbit.  Harry was our fixed and de-clawed male.  Sophie was my sweet, gentle kitty-cow.  Sophie spent the first three weeks at HIS house hiding in the wet bar.  Our days were punctuated by talks of Sophie sightings.  And Harry…well, apparently two boy cats cannot exist under the same roof.

And Gracey, nice as he was, still seemed to be viewed as a threat by Harry.  Gracey was a survivor.  We thought.  He was a rescue, found under a vehicle that had traveled more than thirty miles.  He had the face only a mother could love.  And we nursed him to health.  His fur filled out.  His face filled out.  And he was a handsome kitty-cow.

It wasn’t even that the boys didn’t play together nicely.  Gracey mostly lived outside, coming in to eat and letting himself back out by climbing up the chimney and jumping from the hole just under the roof where HE hasn’t finished the chimney reconstruction.  Still, Harry was not himself.

When he started attacking people, we stuck him outside.  And days later when he seemed to have calmed down, we let him back in.  That lasted for…very nearly fifteen seconds before he turned on HIM and threatened me.  In an effort to get him back outside, HE was badly wounded…which sounds silly, but was very ugly…resulted in days of lost wages, since it’s hard to work with your hands when your hands are swollen like catcher’s mitts, and a trip to the doctor, and antibiotics and…you get the idea.  It was bad.

Harry…well, he was put outside for a timeout and has never been seen again.  After all the damage Harry did, it was hard to feel too sorry for him.  Even the kids felt badly for HIM.  (His ego was even more wounded than his hands.  Imagine a big tough guy having to admit he was felled by a cat.  Not a lion.  Not a bear.  A common housecat.  Ouch.)

When I moved out, Sophie was lonely and…I ended up taking in another stray…Charlie.  She has become the love of our lives.  She wags her tail like a dog when she’s happy.  She lounges across us froggy style.  She cries and tries to climb me like a tree when she wants to be snuggled and I have the nerve to be standing.  She has managed to make sleeping with us her new routine…much to Bishop’s chagrin.

And we figured that there’d be no problems this time.  I mean, Sophie had lived there before and Charlie could adapt to anything.  Gracey was the only man of the house.  (In our cat world…)  So, we figured it would be mostly smooth sailing once the girls adjusted to Bishop.  And it was.  For the most part.

Within days, both girls were in heat.  And being the responsible pet owners we are, we made an appointment to get Gracey fixed since the girls stayed inside.  (We just have to finish convincing Charlie…)

Well, Gracey was back to his routine of coming in to eat, and trying to hump one or both of the girls.  (Trust me, there will be no kittens.  He still hasn’t figured it out.)  Soon, we tired of the horrific sounds that would emanate from the girls when Gracey was around and we started shooing him back outside faster than normal.

Then, about a week and a half ago, he came in and prepared to eat.  And that’s when I saw it.  *gulp*  When you first spot what could potentially be a worm crawling out of your cat’s butt, it’s easy to pause and let your mind wrap around what your eyes have witnessed.  At least…that’s what I had to do.  I stared a moment before speaking.

me: Umm.  Ummm.  Gracey has worms.

HIM: Are you sure?

And I simply nodded and pointed.  HE saw what I was referring to, made a face, and then we made a plan.  Gracey was shooed out as soon as he finished eating.

The very next day, I picked up the worm tablet to be hidden in his food.  Gracey returned at the normal hour, gulped down his food without even noticing the pill, and was shooed outside again.  The risk was too great for the girls.

And Gracey has yet to be seen again.

We’ve been beating ourselves up about it.  Why can’t we keep a male cat?  Could the pill have poisoned him?  Did he run out of lives?  Who knows?

His surgery was scheduled for March 29th.  If he doesn’t return, we’re having Charlie fixed instead.  There’s a distinct possibility that she may make a run one sunny day.  And if that happens, we don’t want her returning with kittens.

Oh, Gracey, where art thou?

And if things go horribly wrong…

Quick Karma:

• take in free kittens
  

This entry was posted on Friday, March 19th, 2010 at 5:50 am and is filed under Furry Family Members, Reflections. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.