Meet Pippin

So I fell off the radar for a little while. And yes, the Raisin Baby did in fact have a birthday last week, but I'm putting off any photos or a post about it till we do a joint celebration with The Godling this weekend. Instead of baby, I give you cat.

Sorry, I know that's not really a fair trade, especially for the grandmotherly types out there, but indulge me, for my newest project, which has been consuming the time I would otherwise use to, say, dust my furniture involves adopting and tending to a stray cat.

Last week a cute little stripey cat started hanging around our porch.

 

We are, to our very cores, cat people, and The Professor and I both agreed that he was pretty pathetic. He was skitterish and jumpy and hissed at you, but he also wolfed down turkey, cream, bread, muffins, and anything else we could find that might be palatable to felines. In the above picture I had the door open, bagels sitting on the entryway rug with an inviting blanket, in an attempt to lure him inside and get him to a vet. Because this cat needed a vet.

Eventually the "hanging around" stretched into several days worth of regular visitations. We'd open the door in the morning to find him huddled on the welcome mat, meowing for milk. Something had to be done, especially since we were confident he was a stray who was capable of making more baby strays, which of course no one wants. The Professor advocated for taking him to Animal Control, and while I'm by no means a rabid animal fanatic, I cannot let an animal placed in my path, who is so obviously adoptable, be pushed off on an already overwhelmed Animal Control that will likely need to euthanize it. I am capable of taking responsibility for animals. We've done it in the past; we could do it again.

(My opinion: In a perfect world, we wouldn't euthanize. But this world isn't perfect and we are overrun with unwanted animals because people are too stupid or lazy or both to neuter their animals. Euthanizing strays, even the adoptable ones, is not, in my opinion, inherently evil--it is a necessary service in a less-than-ideal world. As long as it's done with dignity and without pain, I can't hate on this practice. I can, however, do my part one animal at a time. Key to my opinion is the word animal. I think too often people who are very black-and-white on the animal rights issue afford animals too many rights, often elevating them to equal with people.)

(Last aside: Yes, we did have a cat a few years ago. We adopted Franklin, another stray, when we were first married, but made the decision to pass him on to a friend over two years ago when he reacted badly to the hustle and bustle of our busy home. Frank was always sensitive and skittish, and peeing in corners became his method of dealing with loud toddlers. We did all we could, based on the vet's advice, to combat this, to no avail. We finally admitted to ourselves that personalities weren't jiving, and Franklin was adopted by our friend, who is single and childless. It was a match made in heaven.)

ANYWAY. That was a lot of 'splaining. To sum up: The cat needed medical care, and I wouldn't let The Professor take him to Animal Control. We managed to lure him into a cat carrier, and we got him to the doctor, who pronounced him overall healthy and adoptable and in need of hundreds of dollars worth of procedures.

OF COURSE.

I think The Professor is pretty ticked off. He said that since H is a year old, of course I needed to find something to complicate his life and drain his money, and if I couldn't get a baby, then a cat would do.

And, as these things often end up, fostering this cat turned into possible adoption turned into he is now living in our downstairs bathroom.

This is the door of the bathroom:

We had the kids make signs to remind them not to use this bathroom. Can you read what they say?

Top: (rainbow kitty)

Middle: "PIPPINN PIPPIN"

Bottom: "PIPPINS ROOM ----> PIPPIN DO NOT ENTER"

Y'all, we have a cat. Named Pippin Spider Case. Name courtesy of our awesome kids.

Pippin is living in our bathroom until he sees the vet again on Monday, when he will get neutered and possibly have a couple of worrisome sores lanced and drained and stitched. The sores are one reason he's not allowed in the house. The diarrhea (sorry) he's experiencing due to the antibiotics he's on for the sores are another reason. He's also still very hesitant around people, and I'm the only person he'll cuddle up to. This is probably due to the fact that The Professor has nearly washed his hands of the affair; this cat is officially my responsibility. (Though he did build a scraching post the other day.) I clean out his box several times a day. I give him medicine twice a day. I clean him up. I attempt to acclimate him to a home. I sit on the bathroom floor and read Jane Austen to get him used to people.

He's around a year and a half, and he's stunted and super, super skinny. The wounds are due to cat fights, and he's staying inside for a while until he heals and gets used to a family. (He'll be indoor-outdoor eventually.) Basically, he's a mangy, jumpy, sick, cranky stray who wants to love us but just doesn't know how. He doesn't know how to be a people cat. He's learning, but it's slow going, and we're giving him a wide berth and lots of patience.

This is pretty much the look he gave me the other day when I presented him with a catnip mouse and a jangly cat ball. It was a clear WTF face (I'm so sorry, but this cat is not a Christian and he definitely swears), since he has no concept of what to do with a cute jangly ball. Poor guy. But I am pleased to admit that you can in fact buy his love with cat treats. Moist, savory cat treats. He must be a man, to be so easily won by food.

Except I am that way too, so NEVER MIND.

We are, of course, willing to concede defeat if he, like Franklin, finds our home overwhelming. However! We will stick to our principles and find him a happy, perfect home, if that be the case. I think my mom is already smitten. Mwahaha.

We are now, in 7 years of marriage, 3-0 for rescuing adorable stray animals, with bonus lifelong companion cat, Phoenix, thrown in for good measure.

Moral of the story: Dear animals, PLEASE STOP FINDING US.