Cat Tales

So Dave and I have this cat, little Diego. He's about 1 1/2 years old. We also have a cat named Trick Daddy. He's about seven, short-haired, and black. But this isn't about him. This is about Diego.

We found Diego in the back of Ocean Palms Hotel in Carlsbad, CA in September 2008. In fact, he woke us up. On the last day of our vacation. There we were, snoozing to the sounds of the ocean breeze, when his high-pitched screams cut through our laissez-faire dreams. For atleast a half-hour, we let him whimper and whine outside our window. We put pillows over our heads, willing it to go away.

Dave and I are both kind of suckers for cats. Me, because I'm a bleeding heart wet blanket. Dave, because of that too, but probably more so because he grew up on a makeshift farm, where his mother and father raised horses, sheep, cows, chickens, and the like. Dave, born of this creature-friendly stock, is genetically predisposed.

He especially likes cats, maybe more so than any other animal. I love this about him. Lots of guys like dogs better. I love that Dave doesn't. He prefers cats. Not that he hates dogs. That would be weird. I don't hate dogs. Neither does he.

You should always be wary of anybody who hates cats OR dogs. But ladies, be especially wary of the boy who hates cats. NEVER date a guy who hates cats.

Here's a list of proverbs from around the world:

"A house without a dog or cat is the house of a scoundrel." --Portugal
"Beware of people who dislike cats." -- Ireland
"The man who loves cats will love his wife." -- Russia

Or, how bout some famous people who HATED cats?
Adolf Hitler, Benito Mussolini, & Napolean Bonaparte

Got it? Good.

Soooooo, finally, Dave and I creek out of bed to investigate what all the ruckus is about. Behind the bushes, we find our little scraggly buddy, a ball of black fur, wandering around in the mud with about three of his siblings. The tykes are no bigger than my palm. Their eyes are barely opened. They're perhaps three weeks old.

We manage to follow one wobbly wee one to a dark vent underneath the hotel. Peering out from the wet darkness is mama cat, a skinny black beggar cat that we fed hamburger scraps to the other day! Mama cat, distressed by our presence, eventually ventures out of her soggy cave, grabs each kitten by the neck and totes them home.

The problem is: she leaves one out in the wild. She abandons our screaming wake-up call, who is still cying like the world is ending. Our hearts break as he wobbles aimlessly in the mud, searching for home. We leave for awhile, hoping mama will save him when we're gone. She doesn't.

When we return, we find our miniature fur ball even further from home. We are desperate. Sadly though, I didn't think we could take this one home (even though I wanted to). Dave is allergic, and it took tears and humidifiers to convince him to let me keep our first stray. Plus, we've had our other cat, Trick, for six years. He's not typically described as "nice." While deeply devoted to us, he doesn't take well to strangers. Cats included.

Luckily, something in Dave snapped. He marched back into the hotel room and grabbed a small towel. He went behind the bushes and arose with the little guy clutched in his towel. He shoved him into my arms and said, "Let's go."

Shocked (and elated), I said, "Are we going to keep him?" And he said gruffly, "Well, I'm not going to just leave him here to die." And that was that.

On the car ride back to our then-home in Phoenix, we picked up kitty formula and learned how to bottle-feed. The kitty slept in my hand. Convinced it was a girl, we named her "Maybe."

At the vet, our veteranarian reveals to us that our little short-haired girl cat is actually a long-haired boy cat. And health-wise, a fungus is eating his foot. Also, his entire tiny body is infested with fleas.

While the anti-fungals save his foot, he's too young to treat with regular flea meds. So, after three rounds of Dawn dish soap and hours of dutifully picking stubborn fleas off his back one by one, he's finally clean.

Dave was frequently in charge of bottle-feeding him and wiping his ass, as I was working long hours at the time. Now, a full 18 months later, his allergies seem o.k., and they have a special bond.

Diego is quite the charmer. I can't imagine him living on the street; he would of never made it. He loves people more than any other cat I've met. Are you a complete stranger? Great, you're his friend.

His stray cat, homeless ancestry makes him completely mannerless though. He eats like a loud hog. He drinks from the toilet. He digs in the garbage. He'll eat watermelon straight off your plate.

Him and Trick have grown, much to our surprise, to be kinda sorta friends. I even caught Trick bathing him recently.

Bottom line is: we love Diego and can't imagine life without the little buggar.

(This long story was originally intended to tell you how we had Diego professionally groomed the other day. Have you ever shaved and bathed a cat? It was a really funny story, I promise. But alas, I'm whooped. For now, just know, he's trimmed and handsome :-).

Deep thought: Sometimes our plans get all muddled up in between the beginning and the end.)