We’ve been caring for Stubby the stray black cat for several years, feeding him, bringing him into the house on the coldest of winter days and nights, and springing for shots and meds for worms, fleas, and whatever else befalls a community cat.
When he visited for breakfast on the last weekend in April, it was clear he’d been wounded. He was unable to lift his tail, and at first I thought it might be broken. He would not let us touch his lower back. A neighbour later told methat he believed Stubby had been bitten in the backside by a rival cat.
I called the vet on Monday, May 2, and made arrangements to bring in Stubby after I’d captured him during breakfast the next day.
But he didn’t show up the next day. Or the day after that. A week went by, two weeks, a month. Longer. We called and visited the humane society to see if someone had turned him in. I left my sweat-soaked gym T-shirts at the entrances to our back yard, hoping that my familiar scent would lure him back to us. I regularly checked the cat shelters on our property. I called his name every time I went outside, and kept an eye out for him during walks around the neighbourhood. Nothing.
I began to lose hope, imagining the worst. He’d succumbed to a painful infection, fallen prey to predators in his weakened condition, been hit by a car.
And then last night….
“Joan, you have to come downstairs,” said my husband. “I’m not sure, but I think Stubby is in the back yard.”
And there he was. Eight weeks had passed since I’d last seen him. Stubby took one look at me and yowled louder than I’ve ever heard him. We tentatively approached each other. He allowed me to stroke him; his protruding shoulder blades indicated how thin he’d become. One plate, two plates, three plates of food were presented, and he gobbled them up.
Last night I didn’t wait for the next day. Lesson learned. I gathered him up and placed him in a temporary safe place in our home, with a cat bed, food, water and litter box. He kneaded his bed, stretched out full on the floor, let me stroke his belly. Later he slept like the dead.
This morning I took him to the vet clinic. Except for an abscess under his tail, which was drained, he’s in good health and recuperating in his little room.
Stubby, where have you been? Wherever it was, whatever adventure you were on, I’m sure glad you came home.
And don’t you ever do that again.
