Cat Rescue Story- Finora

Cat Rescue Story- Finora

The most patient cat ever.  I got a call to my rescue organization from a veterinarian's office.  It was hard to believe they were saying what they were saying.  They said they had a cat there, that they had been using for a blood donor, but for some reason they didn't want her anymore.  They said if I did not pick her up in one day, they were going to take her out of her cage and toss her in the street.  A vet!

At the time, all I had was a motorcyle (this was before I got hit by a car on that motorcycle and got lifelong chronic pain from that- but that's a different story).
I went to the vet's office, and there was Finora ( I did not name her- that's the name they had for her) in her cage.  They let her out, and she practically leapt into my arms.  I drove her home inside my jacket on my motorcycle.  I never understood that- she was so sweet and good natured, and rode home on a motorcycle- had spent (according to them) several years in a cage doing nothing but giving blood for the other cat patients.  She was a saint.

I did try to find a home for her, but at the time my rescue organization had only a few foster homes.  One lady wanted her really badly, but when I visited her home, she had plastic on all the furniture (that's actually clean)- because she had four cats over the age of 20 with various stages of cancer.  I understood why she wanted a younger cat, especially since the vet had said Finora had cancer, but Finora was so much younger, and that house was so depressing, I just couldn't leave her there.  All in all, I had Finora for a good 10 years after that.

I had her for about 10 years after that, and brought her to Ghosthouse, so she was a very old cat.  She was funny.  She'd be all quiet, and then all of the sudden get a hair up her ass and start skitterbugging all over the house.  She was awfully polite.  Sadly, she was one of the first cats that were killed by my psychotic drug-abusing ex-military next-door-neighbor who decided he hated my cats.  She disappeared, and years later, after he'd gotten off the drugs, he admitted he trapped her and took her up into the mountains and dumped her.  To this day, it breaks my heart thinking about her all lost and hungry and dying up in the mountains all alone.

I hated that neighbor for years.  He didn't just kill her, he killed many cats, and not just mine.  Once he got off the drugs (after I threatened to call his military superiors), he came home one day with a kitten.  It creeped me out.  He'd seen someone toss her out the window on Kearney street, and he picked her up.  You'd have thought she was made of gold.  After that, all of the sudden, he just loved cats.  So weird.  I'm glad that he is now nice to cats, but that doesn't give me back all the cats he killed. Sad.

I think of Finora often, and not just because I have a painting of her on my wall.  She was a very sweet cat who had a hard life, and deserved to have died with some love and dignity.

I know the picture is bad.  The wording on it says- 'Only a small black angel could get into heaven now-a-days'.

Funny thing- I learned when I started that rescue group that it is easy to find people willing to throw 10 bucks your way each month to keep rescuing animals- but very few people were willing to actually take an animal in and care for them themselves.  Eventually it overwhelmed me, and when I moved away from Santa Barbara, I didn't try to run another rescue organization.

Cat Story- Bunny

BUNNY- THE SOFTEST CAT IN THE WORLD

After Pistachio died, my parents didn't let me have another cat for years. One night when I was 15, I went to my high-school football game, and as I was standing near the snack stand, I heard a little 'mew'. It was coming from a garbage can. I dug through all the garbage and wrappers and found several dead kittens. Then I came across Bunny. She was so little, and young- her eyes were barely open.

I was only a teenager, and didn't know the first thing about kitten-care, so I just tucked her into my jacket while I watched the game. When I got home I got a pie-pan out of the kitchen and put some dirt in it, and was very surprised when Bunny crawled over to it and peed. Just then, my mother came into the kitchen and said.. oh, no, no. But then she saw that Bunny had used the pie tin and said 'That's the smartest kitten I've ever seen'. Not too sure what to think of that, since it's doubtful she'd seen very many kittens before.

Didn't matter. What mattered is that she let me keep her. I don't know how she survived, since I didn't bottle feed her. I fed her what my mother told me to- raw eggs and milk. She didn't like that I chose 'Bunny' for a name, and insisted on calling her 'Casey Tibbs' for some reason. Oh, this is horrible- I just got the idea to Google 'Casey Tibbs', and found out he was some famous Rodeo guy that was born in the '20s. That makes no sense that she wanted to call my fluffy, grey, sweet girl kitten after a rodeo guy. Whatever. She really liked being petted, and she slept in my bed with her head on my pillow.

I had Bunny for about a year and a half. One day she started acting really weird, trying to crawl under my furniture and not wanting to be petted. I got my mom to take her to the vet, and in the car she peed on my fake suede skirt. Don't ask how I remember all these details, I just do. I remember she looked really sorry for having peed on me, and I felt bad for her. The vet couldn't figure out what was wrong. Over the years, my experience with vets has been that they can rarely figure out what is wrong with cats.

He gave her some shots, and some re-hydration and sent us home. The next day she seemed ok, but the day after she was acting weird again. I thought maybe giving her some Tylenol would help. This was before the internet. She died the next day. If the internet had existed, I could have looked it up and found out that Tylenol is toxic to cats. I've felt bad ever since, because I'll never know if she died because she was sick, or if it was because I gave her Tylenol.