I stopped by to visit Frankie this morning. The vet tech brought him into the same little room where I had taken his picture. She set him down on the table and he started roaming to the edges of it, interested in me. His eye was sewn shut with some type of plastic suture, and little knots of plastic stuck out at the ends of the stitches. His other eye was big and green and lively. He had wiring on his lower jaw, which was making him a bit drooly, but somehow that added to his charm. The people at the clinic had given Frankie a bath and tied a cute little bandana with a ladybug print around his neck. He looked quite dashing. It was amazing how much difference a day could make in his overall appearance. The vet tech said she thought he looked like a "rapscallion", with one eye and a bandana, before she left us alone to visit together.
The amazing thing was his temperament. As soon as I put out my hand to pet him, he started butting his head into it for pets like he couldn't get enough. He looked like he wanted to come to me, so I stuck my head out and asked if I could have a towel to protect my lap from cat hair. Frankie eagerly stood in my lap and let me pet him all over. I plopped him onto his back and petted his white tummy, and he kneaded his paws against my knee like he was in heaven. I felt so glad at that moment that we had done the rescue. "You're just priceless, kitty," I told him. Eventually I got Frankie to settle down on my lap and relax, with his back curled and his front legs stretched out, one paw lying on top of the other. I stroked his clean, shiny black fur, admiring the way his white patches fanned out into delicate white hairs which were scattered among the black. He still felt bony under his fur - I could feel every verterbrae in his spine as he petted his back. But he just exuded happiness and enjoyment over all the attention he was getting. I felt committed to finding him a good home rather than keeping him as a driveway cat.
When I was ready to leave, Frankie jumped off the table and followed me to the door. "Mrack!" he said defiantly. "Mrack!" I replied. "Mrack!" he said. "Mrack!" I countered, wondering what exactly I was saying to him in cat language. This went on for a short while. I interpreted his "Mracks" to mean "Don't go yet," but I had things to do.
One of the things was to drop by and see my mother, because it was her birthday. I had been working on her to take Frankie in as a backyard cat, because my parents have a large, pleasant yard, and my mother had been very attached to a cat that we had kept outside while I was growing up. However, she was a little reluctant to commit to the responsibility. But when I got there, and told her I thought we would probably be able to find a home for Frankie with someone because he was so loving, she said that she thought she would take him after all. Although I worried a bit about his being an outdoor kitty, I knew that my mom would take good care of him, and that my husband and I could go visit him. We had both grown very attached to the game little guy. I was practically walking on a cloud when I called Gregg to tell him that my parents would give Frankie a home. (Frankie is now going to board at the vet's during his recuperation instead of coming to our apartment for a week).
The only down note to the whole day came this afternoon, when I got the estimate of the bill for Frankie's surgeries. Although I believe that the vet is being very helpful about working with us on prices because Frankie is a rescue cat, the bill is still far beyond anything my husband and I can shell out without a lot of pain. A few of my very kind workmates contributed to our "Frankie Fund," and my mom has said that she and my dad will contribute, too. Thanks, Mom. Happy Birthday! I got you a one-eyed stray cat.
Mom met Frankie this morning. Frankie was just as enthusiastically friendly today as he was on Thursday. He let Mom pet his cheeks and hold him in her lap. We both gave him lots of attention, and he decided it was great fun to jump from the table where she was petting him into my lap where I would pet him. Then he would jump from my lap back onto the table. His jumping was a little hesitant due to the change in his vision; he would eye the spot he wanted to jump to and then pause for a moment before launching. When I left the clinic he was sitting in Mom's lap with his eye closed, quietly enjoying being stroked. I think he is going to be happy and spoiled in his new home, living under the oak trees, chasing squirrels, and "helping" Mom do the laundry at the washer and dryer in their garage. The best part is that Gregg and I will still get to see him.
Other good news is that my friend Debbie, a serious cat lover, has said she would "work an hour for Frankie," and donate an hour's pay for his medical bills. What a nice friend. I think Frankie is going to have to host a little garden party to let all the people who have pitched in for his recovery get a chance to meet him and see what a sweetie he is.
When Frankie went to the Animal Emergency Clinic, the notes that the people there took when admitting him said "proptosed left eye." While browsing through a cat health book at the bookstore, I discover that prolapsed actually means "knocked out of the socket." (The eyelid still holds the eye close to the head). Poor kitty!
My grandmother has offered to contribute $25.00 towards Frankie's medical bills. This is especially charming to me since she didn't care much for animals until befriending a little dog at her assisted living home this year. (She feeds it crackers). She remembers playing with cats as a girl growing up on the Lower East Side in New York.
Gregg visited Frankie in the morning, and I stopped by to see him again in the afternoon. I have been getting the feeling that he knows me because he looks excited when he sees me, and when I visited him on Saturday with my mother she said, "He looks like he knows you." I thought maybe it was just wishful thinking on my part that he would remember me taking care of him when he was hurt, and petting his dirty fur in the bathroom. But today when the vet tech brought Frankie in to the little room where I was seated on a chair, she said, "Oh, he knows you!" I patted my knees, and Frankie jumped off the table and onto my lap. It's a great feeling being known by a cat! I held Frankie while he wriggled around, and then he sat on my knees and rested his little white paws on my arm. It was the cutest thing. He likes to roam around a lot, too - he climbed up on my shoulder.
I took the opportunity to invite the Adopt-A-Cat women who were there (they always have a cat who needs a home in a large cage in the West Alabama Animal Clinic's waiting room) to come in and meet my rescue kitty. They were nice enough to ooh and ahh over him, and particularly admired the unusual white markings which feather out over his back legs. It was a good opportunity for me to see how Frankie behaved around new people, in preparation for his garden party. He was a little nervous for a moment until he realized that these women were going to pet him, too. He sure laps it up!
Gregg and I stopped by my parents' house last night on an unrelated mission, and Gregg was really pleased as he looked at their backyard in terms of a home for a cat. There is lots of grass and flowers and big oak trees full of squirrels. The driveway leading from the street is long, my mom always drives about 5 miles per hour, and the street is quiet and residential without much through traffic. Gregg checked out the garage for any unsafe containers of chemicals, and found only tightly sealed paint cans, shelves for an enterprising cat to play on, and an old corduroy easy chair which we will try to make into his bed. (I dropped off an old quilt at the vet's during my visit, so it could get Frankie's scent on it in order for him to be able to recognize the smell of his bed when he goes to his new home). Our last cat lived back there for 18 years, so it ought to work out fine.
RESCUE . . .