Tuesday, September 09, 2003
Well, some good news started my week off right. :) Remember how I mentioned that Lucky had a foster-kitty roommate for a week? His name is Spook, and he's this big, handsome four-year-old gray tabby/Seal Point mix. And when I say big, I mean HUGE. For those of you who have seen my cat, you know she's no petite little thing. But Spook dwarfed her by at least seven pounds. And that's a lot for a cat.
Anyway, he has these bright blue eyes (which are crossed, making it hard for him to focus easily) and the cutest little "roar" of a meow. And he sings like Pavarotti! No wonder Mike and I fell in love with him within 24 hours.
Lucky, however, did not. In fact, she became terrified of his scent, which the vet says is probably due to something in her past life (we got her when she was already nine months old). So terrified, in fact, that she barricaded herself behind quilts and comforters under the bed, refusing to come out for treats, food, bottle caps (don't ask) -- all of the usual lures. Wouldn't even let us pet her. So the vet recommended we take Spook back to the Leon County Humane Society and give Lucky some peace. It took her a few days to come around, but now she's back to normal.
As for Mike and me, it wasn't that easy. We now thought of ourselves as Spook's chief allies, the ones whom he trusted to find a home for him. It was a responsibility we didn't want to relinquish.
So we asked around. Got a lot of no's. Asked around some more. Got some more no's.
And then, last week, it happened.
A colleague of mine at the paper was looking for a settled, adult cat for her grandmother, who was eager to have a kitty to fuss over all day long. I sent her a photo of the Spookster, she called LCHS, she and Spook met -- and she, like the rest of us, fell in love.
So Spook went home yesterday -- to a real, permanent home, where he will be cuddled all day (something he will revel in) and his little pudgy belly will stay full of good food. And my heart is soaring with joy for him and for his new family. And for the empty cage at the Humane Society, which will surely soon be filled with another feline looking for a second chance.
Why am I relaying this to you? Because it gave me hope. This situation opened my eyes in a completely new way to the plight of homeless animals in this country and made me keenly aware of the struggles organizations have in placing them all. But it gave me a sense of potential, too; if we could get Spook adopted, then we can do it again. And again. As long as it takes to empty those cages and move on to another problem.
Speaking of, I'm not ignoring those other problems, like a lack of health care, or homelessness, or support for the elderly or disabled. But I think my recent experience with Spook can apply to those issues, too. Sometimes, we get so blindsided and overwhelmed by the tasks at hand -- and they are certainly huge -- that we don't take a step closer and look at individual cases: the senior citizen who was visited by Meals on Wheels today; the homeless man who had a bed to sleep in last night and is being trained to rejoin the work world; the children who are able to get immunized for free through community health programs. Our efforts, in whatever ways they manifest themselves, ARE making a difference.
One little Spook at a time.
Anyway, he has these bright blue eyes (which are crossed, making it hard for him to focus easily) and the cutest little "roar" of a meow. And he sings like Pavarotti! No wonder Mike and I fell in love with him within 24 hours.
Lucky, however, did not. In fact, she became terrified of his scent, which the vet says is probably due to something in her past life (we got her when she was already nine months old). So terrified, in fact, that she barricaded herself behind quilts and comforters under the bed, refusing to come out for treats, food, bottle caps (don't ask) -- all of the usual lures. Wouldn't even let us pet her. So the vet recommended we take Spook back to the Leon County Humane Society and give Lucky some peace. It took her a few days to come around, but now she's back to normal.
As for Mike and me, it wasn't that easy. We now thought of ourselves as Spook's chief allies, the ones whom he trusted to find a home for him. It was a responsibility we didn't want to relinquish.
So we asked around. Got a lot of no's. Asked around some more. Got some more no's.
And then, last week, it happened.
A colleague of mine at the paper was looking for a settled, adult cat for her grandmother, who was eager to have a kitty to fuss over all day long. I sent her a photo of the Spookster, she called LCHS, she and Spook met -- and she, like the rest of us, fell in love.
So Spook went home yesterday -- to a real, permanent home, where he will be cuddled all day (something he will revel in) and his little pudgy belly will stay full of good food. And my heart is soaring with joy for him and for his new family. And for the empty cage at the Humane Society, which will surely soon be filled with another feline looking for a second chance.
Why am I relaying this to you? Because it gave me hope. This situation opened my eyes in a completely new way to the plight of homeless animals in this country and made me keenly aware of the struggles organizations have in placing them all. But it gave me a sense of potential, too; if we could get Spook adopted, then we can do it again. And again. As long as it takes to empty those cages and move on to another problem.
Speaking of, I'm not ignoring those other problems, like a lack of health care, or homelessness, or support for the elderly or disabled. But I think my recent experience with Spook can apply to those issues, too. Sometimes, we get so blindsided and overwhelmed by the tasks at hand -- and they are certainly huge -- that we don't take a step closer and look at individual cases: the senior citizen who was visited by Meals on Wheels today; the homeless man who had a bed to sleep in last night and is being trained to rejoin the work world; the children who are able to get immunized for free through community health programs. Our efforts, in whatever ways they manifest themselves, ARE making a difference.
One little Spook at a time.
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