DANA'S HOSPICE FOR CATS
I don't like cats.
I had one for a few months when my daughter was young but had to return it to the veterinarian, that gave it to me when the cat started peeing on my new carpet. He later told me that the cat went to live with a sweet elderly woman living on a farm. I'm not sure if that's true, but the truth would probably kill me.
Almost a year ago, I bought a townhouse in the Texas Hill Country and learned that everyone here treasured the numerous feral cats calling our community "home." Most of my neighbors are here only occasionally, as these are their second homes. A handful lives here only during the winter months. And one of the Winter Texans, Bruce, is the kind man who feeds the cats in the winter.
I'm here year-round, so my moral duty was to ensure the cats were fed during the six months the Winter Texans were in Minnesota. I started with approximately 11 cats in May.
When the Winter Texans returned to their homes in Minnesota in May, a cat dying of cancer found her way to my patio. I fed her until she could no longer eat and prayed that she wasn't suffering. One day, she wandered off. When her time came, I'm hoping she spent her last breath under a big tree overlooking the hills and the lake.
It's closing in on winter now. A couple of the Winter Texans are back, and only 6 or 7 cats are left. It saddens me to think the others might have died violently from a coyote or mountain lion attack.
One of the friendliest cats would greet me every morning this summer. I'd cheerfully bid her "good morning," pick her up while petting her and place her on the counter surrounding my patio. She also got in the habit of coming to my patio door in the late afternoons. I usually gave her a small can of cat food. She loved it and was gradually getting fatter. Her portion was always waiting for her in the corner and far away from the other cats.
She stopped coming to my patio for about a week recently. When I gave up on her, she suddenly appeared in the chair I had modified for her by placing towels and a pillow. It had started getting significantly colder at night, so it helped keep her warm.
She has hardly moved from the chair since her return. When I placed food next to her, she wouldn't eat. I had this strong sense that she was dying. I've been mumbling a prayer for her every time I saw her and asked Bruce to pray for her. It's been like that for the past week until today. She slowly jumped off the chair and gingerly walked next door. One of her back paws looks like it has been injured, with some dried blood on the top of it. The entire leg is swollen, and she walks with a noticeable limp. We're going to treat her leg with polysporin tomorrow.
Bruce told me yesterday that she was approximately 14 years old. I'm pulling for her to live a few more years. Perhaps she's just recovering from hurting her leg. There's no telling what mischief wild cats get into when it's dark outside, and no one is watching.
Really– I don't like cats..png)
I had one for a few months when my daughter was young but had to return it to the veterinarian, that gave it to me when the cat started peeing on my new carpet. He later told me that the cat went to live with a sweet elderly woman living on a farm. I'm not sure if that's true, but the truth would probably kill me.
Almost a year ago, I bought a townhouse in the Texas Hill Country and learned that everyone here treasured the numerous feral cats calling our community "home." Most of my neighbors are here only occasionally, as these are their second homes. A handful lives here only during the winter months. And one of the Winter Texans, Bruce, is the kind man who feeds the cats in the winter.
I'm here year-round, so my moral duty was to ensure the cats were fed during the six months the Winter Texans were in Minnesota. I started with approximately 11 cats in May.
When the Winter Texans returned to their homes in Minnesota in May, a cat dying of cancer found her way to my patio. I fed her until she could no longer eat and prayed that she wasn't suffering. One day, she wandered off. When her time came, I'm hoping she spent her last breath under a big tree overlooking the hills and the lake.
It's closing in on winter now. A couple of the Winter Texans are back, and only 6 or 7 cats are left. It saddens me to think the others might have died violently from a coyote or mountain lion attack.
One of the friendliest cats would greet me every morning this summer. I'd cheerfully bid her "good morning," pick her up while petting her and place her on the counter surrounding my patio. She also got in the habit of coming to my patio door in the late afternoons. I usually gave her a small can of cat food. She loved it and was gradually getting fatter. Her portion was always waiting for her in the corner and far away from the other cats.
She stopped coming to my patio for about a week recently. When I gave up on her, she suddenly appeared in the chair I had modified for her by placing towels and a pillow. It had started getting significantly colder at night, so it helped keep her warm.
She has hardly moved from the chair since her return. When I placed food next to her, she wouldn't eat. I had this strong sense that she was dying. I've been mumbling a prayer for her every time I saw her and asked Bruce to pray for her. It's been like that for the past week until today. She slowly jumped off the chair and gingerly walked next door. One of her back paws looks like it has been injured, with some dried blood on the top of it. The entire leg is swollen, and she walks with a noticeable limp. We're going to treat her leg with polysporin tomorrow.
Bruce told me yesterday that she was approximately 14 years old. I'm pulling for her to live a few more years. Perhaps she's just recovering from hurting her leg. There's no telling what mischief wild cats get into when it's dark outside, and no one is watching.
Really– I don't like cats.
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