The Rescue Story

So, I decided to do something a bit new.  Being home and unemployed, my one companion is a beautiful 14 pound American short hair named Sunny.  He's been keeping me sane.  I decided in the world of internet fame, that he is just as deserving as any other feline, so he should have his own blog too.

Sunny is a shelter adoptee.  I had been forced to put down my previous cat, Nala, a few months before.  I couldn't stand the quiet anymore.  Nala had belonged to a friend.  When the friend married and her husband was allergic, I volunteered to take her on.  I had two years with a sweet, mouthy girl who was insanely affectionate.  

When I went to the shelter, I told them I was looking for an adult female.  I walked around a corner and this beautiful white and orange tabby stood up and stuck his nose between the bars.  As I pet him he purred like crazy, nearly falling over in his efforts to get my attention.  He looked at me with his big yellow eyes and I could hear him in my head asking, "Are you the one?  Will you be the one who gets me out of this prison, please?"  That was it.  I was a goner.

I found out later that Sunny had spent two years at that shelter.  He had appeared in a pack of feral cats and a woman who tracked the pack caught him and brought him to a vet to be altered.  He was altered and his ear was clipped.  Dealing with him in recovery though, the vet realized he wasn't feral and told the woman that he wouldn't survive in the wild.  She brought him to Pet Adoption Through Caring Hands (PATCH) in Pompton Lakes, NJ.  It's a wonderful, cat-only, no-kill shelter.  Unfortunately his time with the feral pack had taught him to be highly aggressive with other cats.  He could not be let out unsupervised and spent a great deal of time in his cage.  In short, he was miserable.  As wonderful as the volunteers are, he was terribly unhappy.

I brought him home and set him loose in my basement with a litter box and food.  I left him alone most of the day, checking on him occasionally.  He found a place under a set of storage shelves to hide, but whenever I came down, he would come out, looking for attention.  The next morning, I came down from my bedroom to find him under an end-table in my living room.  That night, when I was stretched out on my bed I heard a meow.  I called out to let him know where I was.  He came running up the stairs to find me.  He explored the second floor, meowing every few moments to check where I was.  He came back into my room and looked at me questioningly.  I patted the bed next me.  He jumped up, curled up and never looked back.  My bed is his safe place, where he comes begging for treats and affection.  

He's not the cuddle beast Nala was.  He is the Lord of the Manor who deigns to share his home with me (never mind that I pay the mortgage).  He is smart and knows how to get what he wants from me.  He can be silly and funny; arrogant and imperious; or lazy and languid.  

In short, he's a cat.  What makes him special is that he's mine.