We've had rain, sleet and snow in the past 24 hours with more expected. I am home alone. Gary has decided to stay in Illinois until he can see clear roads so I don't expect to see him until next week. It seems a good time to begin to tell the true tales of Jake, my beloved Australian shepherd, and the cats he lived with in this house. Eventually, I will turn those stories into a book, using the memories of friends, old newspaper columns, plus my journals and scrapbooks.
*****
The story begins twenty nine years ago in a house on Muehl Street, here in Seymour. It was a ramshackle old house but it was all Chris and I had. His father had left the year before, leaving us with no money and me with only a part time job at a library and occasional storytelling work. We got along somehow.
Chris is an only child and that can be lonely. He decided he wanted a pet and I understood that though I wasn't crazy about the cost. Unfortunately, he set out to solve the problem by picking up a stray. He came home with big old cat. We took the old guy to the Seymour veterinarian who examined him and gave him the required shots. We arranged a date to have him neutered then brought him home. Within a day or two, before the scheduled surgery, the tom cat escaped and went back to the wild to enjoy his time with the ladies. We never saw him again.
That happened twice leaving us with vet bills and no cat.
Around that time, I got a great offer on our old house. It was to be torn down for a parking lot. In return for my selling, I got to pick out a better house here on Lincoln Street. While we were in the process of moving, I told Chris to hold off on the cat.
As soon as we had unpacked, I took him to the Outagamie County Humane Society pound. We wandered around peering into cages at this cat and that one.
"What do those numbers mean on the cages," Chris asked.
"Those are dates. The older the date, the more likely the cat in it will have to be put to sleep. They can't keep the animals forever."
Tenderhearted Chris immediately went to the cage with the oldest date and without even looking in, told the attendant, "We'll take that one."
Inside was a big female, probably an older cat, but Chris insisted and I said "We'll take her."
We filled out the required form, but the attendant said we had to come back in a few days. I really didn't understand that, but we agreed.
When we returned, the director of the humane society called us into her office.
"You can't have the cat," she said. She said she had called our veterinarian in Seymour who said we had a record of bringing in cats that never came back. I did my best to explain about the tom cats, but the woman insisted we could not have a cat because we weren't considered responsible.
Chris cried all the way home. "They'll kill that cat instead of giving her to us."
I knew he was right. Later on I found out that others had had the same experience with that facility. They have a bad reputation to this day for their treatment of patrons.
I promised Chris he would have his cat and two days later we had Mean Old Ms. Baby Doll, the first cat in this story.
*****
The story begins twenty nine years ago in a house on Muehl Street, here in Seymour. It was a ramshackle old house but it was all Chris and I had. His father had left the year before, leaving us with no money and me with only a part time job at a library and occasional storytelling work. We got along somehow.
Chris is an only child and that can be lonely. He decided he wanted a pet and I understood that though I wasn't crazy about the cost. Unfortunately, he set out to solve the problem by picking up a stray. He came home with big old cat. We took the old guy to the Seymour veterinarian who examined him and gave him the required shots. We arranged a date to have him neutered then brought him home. Within a day or two, before the scheduled surgery, the tom cat escaped and went back to the wild to enjoy his time with the ladies. We never saw him again.
That happened twice leaving us with vet bills and no cat.
Around that time, I got a great offer on our old house. It was to be torn down for a parking lot. In return for my selling, I got to pick out a better house here on Lincoln Street. While we were in the process of moving, I told Chris to hold off on the cat.
As soon as we had unpacked, I took him to the Outagamie County Humane Society pound. We wandered around peering into cages at this cat and that one.
"What do those numbers mean on the cages," Chris asked.
"Those are dates. The older the date, the more likely the cat in it will have to be put to sleep. They can't keep the animals forever."
Tenderhearted Chris immediately went to the cage with the oldest date and without even looking in, told the attendant, "We'll take that one."
Inside was a big female, probably an older cat, but Chris insisted and I said "We'll take her."
We filled out the required form, but the attendant said we had to come back in a few days. I really didn't understand that, but we agreed.
When we returned, the director of the humane society called us into her office.
"You can't have the cat," she said. She said she had called our veterinarian in Seymour who said we had a record of bringing in cats that never came back. I did my best to explain about the tom cats, but the woman insisted we could not have a cat because we weren't considered responsible.
Chris cried all the way home. "They'll kill that cat instead of giving her to us."
I knew he was right. Later on I found out that others had had the same experience with that facility. They have a bad reputation to this day for their treatment of patrons.
I promised Chris he would have his cat and two days later we had Mean Old Ms. Baby Doll, the first cat in this story.
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