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Re: Critter Corey

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A lovely story, makes my day!

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Critter Corey

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Critter Corey is a seven-year-old ginger and white cat.  He suffered terribly as a kitten when someone threw him out of a car while driving down a highway.  The little kitty was road-rashed on his left side from skidding along the hot pavement at speed.  And he was very sick as well. 

 

I met him when I went to the local animal shelter to drop off some donations.  He was at the end of the main hall, lying in a cage and looking miserable.  They'd isolated him because of his illness and he looked half past dead.  He was about five weeks old.  His ears were skinned up, his nose was crusted over, his eyes were almost glued shut, he was dehydrated, and patches of raw skin checkerboarded his left side.  He could barely hold up his head. 

 

One of the women working at the shelter came in and I asked her about him.  She told me someone had just found him a couple of hours earlier and brought him in.  She also said the shelter staff was about to have a meeting to decide his fate. I asked what she thought and she shook her head.  She said their budget had been cut so much that, unless they knew for sure that he would be adopted, she didn't think he had much chance. 

 

As she talked, the little kitty just looked at me out of gritty eyes, not moving at all.  He looked so defeated.  I looked at him, quoted Archy (wothehell, wothehell), and assured this woman that this little kitten did, indeed, have an adopter.  I offered to take him right then and there and get him to my vet. But I knew the law required the shelter to hold all 'strays' for a week before putting them up for adoption.  So I offered to pay for his medical care.  This woman instantly perked up, assured me that they were happy to pay for his care as long as they knew he wasn't going to be a lifer there, and we got the paperwork together.

 

A week later, the kitten was doing somewhat better. Still, I made an appointment with my vet.  I went to the shelter, grabbed the little guy, and we went right to the vet's office.  Then I brought him home, set him up in one of my bathrooms, and put him on a regular schedule for feeding, cleaning, medications, and lots of love.  I had to keep him isolated from the other cats until he was over his cold so I spent a lot of time sitting in that bathroom!

 

What a sweet lil boy he turned out to be.  He was still weak and sore, but the sneezing and runny eyes were improving and his injuries were healing.  But he was a pretty broken little guy.  It took about four weeks to get him to where I could let him out with the others.  He started slowly, and it took a long time for him to gain confidence.  For a whole year, that cat never spoke--not one meow out of him.  But his big brother, Sigurd Handsome (a former gas station dumpster-diver), took him under his paw and helped him a long.

 

Fast-forward to today, almost seven years later.  Sig and Corey are buds and I couldn't shut Corey up if I tried.  He climbs on everything and knocks things to the floor.  He races through the house, turning corners so fast he sometimes skids across the floor.  He eats any plant I bring into the house.  He wrestles Sig on the floor and on his climbing gym.  He runs up my back to perch on my shoulder, which is fine during the winter when I usually wear three or more layers.  During the summer...well, not so much.  I have the holes in my back to prove it.  He retrieves toys. His favorite toys are sweet banana peppers, green beans, and Qtips.  He sleeps on top of me at night.  He spends a lot of the rest of the day in my lap.  And he's the love of my life.

 

I don't know what possessed someone to treat this wonderful guy so cruelly.  He should never have suffered like that.  But this is one happy little guy today.  And he makes me happy every day (in between all the acts of mischief and ensuing clean-ups).

 

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