We never had cats growing up.  My sole experience with cats (beyond those of my friends) is the two barn cats – Fluffy and Baby Kitty.  I never considered myself a ‘cat person’. But I now have a cat in the house.  Meet Cupid.

On December 6th, St. Nicholas Day, I was leaving the farm and saw an animal smack in the middle of the road near Rt. 26.  A cat was standing over it, and for a second I thought it was rabbit road kill. It wasn’t – it was another cat, its body soaked in the freezing rain, and lying in it’s own excrement.  The upright cat took off as I got out of my car, and I saw the one on the ground raise his head.

Great.  I’d stopped thinking I was going to move the body of someone’s pet respectfully to the side of the road, and now I was going to have to face the gruesome scene and make a decision.  

The cat didn’t move beyond lifting its head.  I could tell he was in shock, and even though he didn’t have any visible injuries I was pretty sure he’d been hit and probably had internal bleeding and broken bones.  No one was around, the rain had turned to sleet, the cat dropped his head back to the pavement, and I made my decision.

I got my good hunting saddle pad out of the Beast, bundled the cat gently into my car and drove it to the emergency vet thinking that I’d drop it off and report it to Animal Control.  Well, guess what?  The people at the emergency vet were sympathetic.  They could call Animal Control and make the cat comfortable until they got there, or I could cover the cost of the cat’s care.  Just to be clear, emergency care isn’t cheap.  I’d shelled out enormous money for Rio this past year, and I knew how quickly things could add up.  But Animal Control was busy, and who knows how long it would take them to get here. So I made yet another decision.

Initial exam revealed that Male Gray Cat was tender, but could move all of his legs.  He was severely dehydrated and in shock, and had some rather alarming explosive diarrhea. He was also not micro-chipped, and intact.  Let me repeat – he was not neutered.

My heart sank.  I knew enough about cats to realize that the chances of his being someone’s pet were slim.  No one has adult male un-neutered cats in their house, so he was either a barn cat, or part of a litter than had been driven off once it reached adulthood. I cut a few things out of my Christmas budget and paid for the overnight stay, posting all over Facebook about the ‘lost cat’.  No one called.  No one messaged, so the next day I picked up the cat and faced another decision – do I take him to the shelter with a dozen other cats looking for  homes or take him home?  The staff at the shelter are wonderful, and I know they’d care for this cat and do everything in their power to find him a loving family, but. . .

I named him Cupid.  He’s now had all his shots, and just got back from his neutering surgery. I’m not a ‘cat person’, and I don’t know how this is going to play out, but the kids like him, Bones likes him, and I’m finding him the perfect combination of affectionate and independent. Three decisions and so far none of them have bit me in the ass – yet.  Welcome home, Cupid.