I am sitting here writing this while wondering how long it will be before Connery, the neutered tomcat I have taken in, decides to come over and insist it is time for me to pet him. He likes to leap up on my desk, step on my keyboard, and rub his head against mine.
You might be thinking, "What's with the name Connery?" Here's his story.
It was late at night and early in the summer of 2011. My oldest son and roommate, Vincent, had been out walking Henry, my dog. He burst into the apartment and breathlessly told me that there was a cat outside. He tossed Henry's leash to me and quickly went back outside leaving me with question marks floating over my head.
I stowed Henry's leash, grabbed the cat carrier and went outside to find out what was up.
Vincent met me just outside our front door with the cat he had mentioned in his arms. We stuffed it into the cat carrier and took cat in to my bathroom, where we shut the door and opened the cat carrier so it could get out again.
While this cat emerged I told Vincent that we were not keeping it. "We already have one cat and one dog, Dot and Henry respectively, and we can't keep another one". It was simply out of the question. "People in these apartments are not allowed to keep more than two pets, and we are at our limit."
The cat that emerged from the carrier was not a bad looking cat. It had long hair the color of mashed prunes, a slender build, mackerel tabby markings, a slightly pugged face that made it look like it was annoyed at everything, and golden eyes. It came out slowly, sniffed around, and leaped up on the counter. It was obvious that he/she was someone's pet because it didn't have any shyness to it at all. It liked being stroked, scritched behind the ears, and fussed over, so it was well socialized.
"We will keep him or her until tomorrow, maybe the day after, until I can get him/her to the Humane Society. This cat needs a good home, but we cannot be it. We already have our pets."
My son agreed, but was touched by it's affection. He or she was quite nice, considering. There was no collar and no microchip. No way to tell who had belonged to it at all.
We set up my bathroom as a temporary spot for it to be. Small cat box, food and water dishes were set out, and the cat first drank and then feasted, after which it used the litter box and settled down for a nap under my sewing machine.
Vincent stayed with it for quite some time, petting and reassuring it. When he came back out again he announced that he had given the cat the name of Sean Connery. Like the actor. I asked why, and he said "Because he looks like a Sean Connery."
Okay, that's as good a reason as any.
"But what if he is a she?" I asked?
"Then we'll call her Connie."
I tried that first night to determine gender on the cat, but he/she would have none of it. It hissed, swatted, and made it plain that there were certain things that a cat holds dear and this was one of them. I desisted, but kept on feeling the cat's whole body to be sure there were no broken bones or other problems. I did find several mats, so the scissors came out and did their work. All in all, it was in pretty good shape, but it was quite obvious that this cat had been without a home for more than a week. It was covered in fleas and scratched a lot. There was fur missing from the base of the tail, probably due to the cat's efforts to groom all the fleas out. It was rather skinny, and it's ribs could be easily felt beneath the fur.
I concluded that this cat, like a few others I had seen and dealt with in the complex, had been abandoned.
I then left the room with the light on.
Within two weeks I allowed the cat out of the bathroom and into the rest of the apartment. No sense in keeping it cooped up like that.
Over the next few weeks I tried again several times to get a view of this cat's nether regions, but it would not allow such an indignity.
Not a possibility. Keep away from what's under the tail, lady, and I'll let you keep your hands.
After observing it's behavior I decided that it was a she, so we morphed the name to Connie. Then, finally, about mid November, I had enough of this and had Vincent hold the cat gently but firmly on it's back while I did the examination. She was definitely a him.
Neutered, to be sure, and quite scandalized by the examination process, but a male cat, nonetheless.
It was at that time that I finally decided that it was time to find Connery a new home.
The scabs he had come with were gone. The fur on his tail had all grown back, and then some, and the rest of his coat was long and shiny. He was a happy, well adjusted cat, playful and affectionate, and liked to sleep on my bed whether I was in it or not.
All in all, he would make someone else a capital companion.
The process has been started to find him a home. I have posted him on Freecycle. I will also put him up on Craig's list so that there is a greater chance he will find a good forever home. If, in two weeks time, no one wants him yet, he will go to the Humane Society. He is a good candidate for adoption.
It is the only right thing to do with a cat like this. Abandonment is a horrible thing to do to any pet, and Connery has been rescued, reassured, and rehabilitated. It's time he had a good, forever home.
Now, if you will excuse me, I have to go pretty myself up a bit. Vincent, my oldest son, Ian, my youngest son, and I have an appointment with Papa Murphy's Headquarters. We are going to taste test some of their new pizza ideas, and it's going to be fun!
Later!
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