The Adventures of Paco the Service Cat 9

If you dont think every animal (or cat) has their own story, then you certainly do not know our cat Remy, who we lovingly call Kitten.

We found Remy as a two year old nervous and jittery feline at one of our local animal shelters. My wife took one look at those eyes and immediately fell in love. Her previous owners had named her Remington Steel, a name I found rediculous--she is a FEMALE cat after all. We started to call her Remy for short. Remy's problems became aparent from day one. She peed all over the bed. For years we struggled with Remy's compulsion to urinate on soft objects like couches, blankets, pillows, shirts, towels, etc. Just when we would find no smelly surprises for a week or a month or so, boom! Remy was back at it, peeing like a race horse on everything in site.

When our cat Froggy had to be put to sleep due to serious illness, Remy became restless and assertive in her desire to be an outdoor cat. We began by allowing her to roam the small patio of the apartment we were renting at the time. It had a eight foot high cinderblock wall surrounding it so we were sure she would be nice and safe. It did not take long for Remy to figure out how to scale that monstrous wall, and she was officially an outdoor cat. As a result, she was much happier than she had ever been before, and best of all--she stopped peeing on all our clothes and blankets!

In truth, the majority of outdoor cats I have owned have been the victims of some fairly horrific ends. Cinder the long haired black kitty was poisoned by a neighbor's rat traps. Linus our long haired orange and white cat was aparently mauled by some kind of large animal that tore up his face. And young Simba the orange tabby was snatched up by a rogue coyote.

For some reason, in Remy's case, I deluded myself as to the terrible possibilities. I told myself that she was smart and cautious and that she knew how to avoid trouble. She had sporatic fights with neighbor cats, but seemed to be the type to know when to call it quits. She also had a young admirer that we called Stripey for the thick black bands on his body. But it was an accidentally or maybe even intentional twist of fate that saved Remy from being torn in two by a couple of vicious stray dogs.

10AM on a Saturday morning as we are preparing for an outing to a local amusement park. James and I are watching TV as we wait for mommy to finish putting on her make-up. I hear a vague but eerie sound and I have no clue what it might be. My wife comes running from the bathroom, and as I try to ask her what is happening she is flying out the front door faster than I have ever seen her move in the 20 or so years I have known her. James and I fumble out the door after her. Remy is wobbling desperately toward us. It is clear that something is VERY wrong with her. My wife is hysterical and barely able to explain what she has just witnessed. Aparently Remy was in the mouths of two dogs who were intent on pulling her apart. We wrap her in a large blanket and rush to the nearest animal hospital.

12PM. We are in the animal hospital. We have been waiting over an hour to hear Remy's fate. Eventually we learn that she has no broken bones, and no aparent internal damage. The hospital wants to keep her overnight. It will cost no small fee for them to keep her.

A few days later. We have had Remy back for a couple of days. She has a very lengthy and difficult medicine regiment that keeps us busy throughout the day. Unfortunately she has taken a turn for the worse. She hides under blankets and does not come out at all, not even to eat or use the cat box. She is covered in urine, even on her stitches and sore spots. I honestly feel as if she is willing herself to die. My wife and I take turns carrying her to the cat box. Some times she uses it, mostly she doesn't. We take turns bring her to her food. She does not eat, but she does drink every once in a while.

About a month later. We have gone with a new vet. The animal hospital has already charged us several thousand dollars and has not been helpful in Remy's care. The vet gives her her third operation to drain the large wound on her knee, remove the dead tissue, and give her new stitches. He gives us a cone for Remy to wear, and a long recovery begins. Remy clearly does not like her cone. It takes her a long time to figure out how to get comfortable, how to eat, and how to use her box. Fortunately it seems as though she has no longer given up on living. She bundles up close to us under the blankets at night and spends her days sleeping and sleeping.

Three months. The vet has finally given the okay for us to remove her cone. The wound was a difficult one to manage. Remy reopened it several times, and eventually we had to force her to stay still for a few days in order to allow it to close up. The vet explains that the position of the wound on her knee makes it very difficult to heal. Remy is slow and methodical, as if she has been tapered by her ordeal. She expresses no desire to go outside, so we happily keep her inside with us.

Now Remy is back outside, despite my wishes to the contrary. We have a house, and Remy has a huge fenced in backyard so I suppose she is somewhat safe. Of course I know anything can happen, and I really wish she would chose to stay inside with us. But it's partly my fault that she does not want to. Remy must be close to seven or eight years old, and the last thing she wants is young kitties in her life. As much as I adore Paco and Trixie, Remy clearly dispises them. Let's just hope she comes around soon. The good news is that she is back to sleeping inside on her favorite blanky during the day. With cats, somethings never change.