Me and Daniel

Me and Daniel
Me and my then 8 year old son, 20 years ago.

Sunday, 25 January 2015

Reggie, The Tattered Cat

On January 20th I had an unexpected visitor show up at the door. He was bedraggled, encrusted and painfully thin. He looked me dead in the eye and said,
"Man, thank god you're here. I need help. I've been wandering for days...weeks maybe. Please...I barely know who I am anymore."
At least that's what I imagine he would say, could he talk. Reggie is mute. He is also a cat. Probably the original
'Tattered Cat.'
I have never seen a cat in worse condition than this little waif. Luckily I am stocked with cat supplies and a large cat shaped hollow in my innards. 
Of course, I don't know if his name is Reggie....that's just a guess. 
Whatever his name, he's been roaming and neglected for a long time, that's obvious in his condition. He is so thin and weak that he wobbled when he walked...his balance is improving slowly. His fur is patchy and dull, and in places it's matted to his dried out, flaky skin. 
Over the last five days he's spent most of his time eating and sleeping. The poor guy. I doubt that anyone is looking for him. He seems as if he's been wandering, unattended in life since the beginning of time.
 In spite of it all, he has a definite feisty spirit and a will to play. He already has a favourite toy, a small blue, plush mouse that seems made for his flimsy grip. I don't think that Reggie is very old, I just think that he's had a long stretch of bad luck. 
He's going to see the vet next week. I don't know how long it takes a cat to recover from severe malnutrition, but I do know that I have the time to see him through this, if he has the time to recover.

I only wish Reggie could tell his story. What happened to him? How long has he been on his own, without care? Was he deliberately abandoned, or did he run away from a bad situation? 
You  know, I'm not even sure if he's a boy. What I am sure of is that his level of gratitude is off the charts. He tells me every day how thankful he is to have a place to hang out and recover. He is a member of one of those 'other nations' though, so he speaks through unbalanced butts of the head on my legs, silent meows, and roaringly loud purrs. As I write this he is fast asleep on the back of the couch, snoring contentedly, and hopefully, if his nation has the capacity, dreaming of better days to come.