We adopted our three cats as six-week-old kittens. Their poor mother was killed by a coyote right after they were born, wild, near the corner of someone's house. The people heard the mother being dragged away and rescued the littler of kittens. They were so tiny! We couldn't even bring them home for another two weeks, as they needed certain shots and to be neutered first, plus they had to be able to eat dry kitten food regularly. We drove 50 miles round trip every single day for those two weeks to visit them, hold and play with them, and learn how to cleanse their ears to treat the ear mites they'd gotten from being at the kitten rescue center. (And that was quite a production, let me tell you--it lasted four months before they finally determined the mites were gone, and probably had been for MONTHS, but they then had a fungal infection that cleared up in a matter of days once we had the right medication. Ack.)
That was almost five years ago. Today, they are great big cats who run the house like the kings they
are. Captain Jack is an enormous, long-haired black-and-white tuxedo cat. Commodore Norrington is a sleek tabby, and Mr. Gibbs is a smaller, fluffy tabby. They've destroyed most of the furniture, eaten the carpet, and run us ragged, but we adore them. How could we not? They're our babies.
I do complain about them occasionally, especially after they've torn apart another section of the sofa, but I could not imagine our lives without them. We are cat people. Dog people, too, though we don't have one right now. I miss having a dog, but Jack is bigger than a lot of dogs, so he sort of does double-duty, fur-baby-wise.
What about you? Who are your fur-babies? Share in the comments!
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