Ruth J. Hartman

I’d always fed our outside feral cats every day. One of them, a solid black male we called “Bart”, was always lurking around. He, like the others, would never let me get close. He’d run as soon as I opened the door to leave the house.

But one day, he didn’t. As I crept closer to the shed where I fed the cats, he just sat there. Or so I thought. The closer I got, the more confused I was. This had never happened with Bart before. My husband and I usually only watched him through the window when he thought no one was looking.

When I was able to get a couple of feet away, I noticed there was no notch in his ear. I live-trap the wild cats, take them to the vet to be spayed/neutered, and release them back in my shed afterward. The vet always notches their ears so if they’re ever re-trapped, and taken back to the vet, they would immediately know the deed had already been done.

We had yet another stray cat! I was already feeding about a dozen of them. This one, however, was extremely friendly. It was easy to take to the vet, because it allowed me to pick it up and pet it. Off to the vet we went.

When the beautiful cat was examined, one of the assistants said, “It seems awfully tame. Are you sure it doesn’t belong to someone?”

“Well, no, ” I said. “We live out in the country and people are always dumping cats in front of our house. I never know where they come from.”

“It’s a female,” she said. “It’s possible she’s already been spayed.”

“How would you know for sure?”

“We could try shaving her tummy first. Sometimes a scar is still visible if they’ve had a hysterectomy.”

I was a little nervous. What if she was someone’s pet, and she arrived back home with a naked tummy? But I had to know. If she hadn’t been previously spayed, she needed to be. As much as I love cats, I didn’t want anymore stray kittens born in my shed.

“Go ahead,” I said. “Maybe then we’ll know.”

They took her into another room. A few minutes later, the assistant returned. “There’s no scar. And this cat is really tame. She actually purred when we shaved her. That’s never happened before! Do you still want us to do the surgery? It’s possible she could still have been spayed. We won’t know now until we open her up. Even if she’s already had the surgery, we’d still have to charge you, of course.”

“Of course,” I said. Hmmm. What to do? I needed to know for sure. I made the decision. “Do the surgery.” I left her there and returned home. A few hours later, I got a phone call.

“Well,” she said, “the cat had never been spayed.”

I was so relieved. I’d made the right decision.

“And actually,” she went on, “there’s evidence she’d previously had at least one litter of kittens. Poor thing. We’re estimating she’s only eight months old now. She was a very young mom.”

After Roxy and I returned home (I’d named her after I found out she was indeed a “she,”) I took her to the shed. She followed me out.. I put her back. She followed me to the house. Great, I thought. Now what? It was obvious she wanted to be more than mere acquaintances. We already had two indoor cats. I didn’t think my husband would go for a third.

“Bring her in,” he said, when I called him. He was on a hunting trip with all the men in my family. They were several states away.

“Are you kidding?” I said. “With three cats in the house, everyone will call me the ‘crazy cat lady‘.”

He laughed. “Honey, they already do. Bring her in. You know you’re going to.”

That’s how Roxy became my third furry child. But that’s okay... My boys needed a sister.

Ruth J. Hartman is a dental hygienist/author living in rural Indiana with her husband and a cornucopia of cats. Information about previously published works can be found at: www.ruthjhartman.blogspot.com.

Ruth J. Hartman
Author of My Life in Mental Chains
Email Ruth here
Buy My Life in Mental Chains: http://www.supamasu.co.uk/glos.html

"If you think you're crazy, then you're not. People who actually are crazy think they're normal." (excerpt from My Life in Mental Chains)