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It was a Passover Seder and the time had come to open the door to allow the prophet Elijah to enter, should he choose to do so. My step-daughter opened the door and in walked our Elijah. He was a stray and of course he had to have that name. About 5 years old at that time, he lived with us for the next 15 years until a couple of months ago.
He and I were joined at the hip my wife said, I miss him so very much.
My wife and I found Tiger hiding under our car on a cold and drizzly Thanksgiving weekend, apparently dumped outside our apartment building. She was too shy and scared to let us approach her, but she returned to us every evening for feeding. By the third freezing night, we resolved to bring her inside with us. Our neighbors knew nothing about her and no one responded to our "Found" ads, so we adopted her. Tiger is now spayed and happy to watch the outside world while warm and cuddly with her cat buddies.
Fat Tom is my avatar. He is a fat British shorthair who started life as a kitten down a hole. One kid (vile little bastard) got hold of him and threw him, and his family, into a manhole,along with an assortment of bricks; Fat Tom came out scarred and with a crushed tail, broken jaw not much fur. The rest of the litter,and the mother, died. Fat Tom was turned in to the PDSA by a fireman who rescued the remains.
I got him.
I get woken up every morning by a fat, purring fish-smelling fatarse. Fat Tom has gone from a bit of string with a meow attached to the fine, huge-arsed feline he is today. That said, I have to share the gaff with another two cats. One of whom is female. And Tabby. And a bloody nag, even though she's a cat.
"We always try to encourage adoption, but in this case, he is a tough case," the shelter staff warned. "He is sick and has a bad cold and eye gunk and is depressed because his sister was adopted earlier and he's lonely." He was the only black cat in the shelter. Actually, he was the only kitten in the shelter, left there because he looked sick and mangy with his eyes full of gunk and scared of people. "We'll take him," we said, even after being warned "he may not make it through the first few days". We brought him home, he was scared in his unfamiliar surroundings, hiding behind the fridge, and the corners. I layed with him on the bathroom floor the first night. There, on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor, he came into my arms and began to purr. I knew this was something special.
Curtis has since come out of his shell, healthy and rambunctuous at 3 years old, especially with the help of his baby sister Abigail (black cat, 2 years old, also adopted from the Northeast Animal Shelter). We share a bond that has helped me through depression and mental anguish and he and Abigail both have given me love and affection when I can't muster it for myself. The power of animals is amazing in helping you through difficulties. Taking the chance on Curtis was one of the best things to have happened to me and my family.
Callie was found abandoned on the sidewalk of a tiny Alabama town in June of 1992. We were having a heat wave; the weather was so hot that you could literally fry an egg on the pavement. Callie was the egg. She was alone, her eyes had not opened, and her hip appeared deformed. My mother and I nursed her back to health. When my mother died at home ten years later, Callie and her other two faithful feline companions stayed on the bed with her until the end.
Callie is now 18 and a half, and has cancer of the kidneys. Because she has always loved the Christmas tree, I put the tree up in November this year just for her.It will be her last Christmas in this world.
I had moved from Pennsylvania to Connecticut a few years ago and was feeling depressed and severely missing my family. On my way to work one day I saw a billboard announcing a large shelter dog adoption event, so I decided to see if there was a dog out there for me that could be a new member of my family. There were hundreds of beautiful dogs there, but only one stood out to me. Unlike the other dogs, Charlie was dirty, smelly, his fur was matted, and his nails so long he cried when he walked. I knew he needed to be rescued. I brought him home that day and with a bath (three actually!), a hair cut, and lots of love, Charlie has become part of the family and helped rescue me from my depression. I am so lucky to have found him!
I live with five rescues which are two Shetland Sheepdogs and three cats. I have tried very hard to get a photo of the five of them together to no avail. Gemma, a sable sheltie is 5, she was born in rescue, Troy a bi-black Sheltie was six months when I got him 3 1/2 years ago. Last summer at the trailer a three week old kitten was found, somehow she made it to our trailer, Twila (Tweye-lah) is 13 months, Jaspurr was born out at the trailer park and he was three and a half months when we got him in August.
My friend has a farm and she finds kittens all over the place, she has a huge amount of cats now, 30. In June she found a cream bundle of fluff and I fell in love. When I went back in October I left with the cream bundle. Simon is Siamese and who knows what. My house is full of critters and I think hubby will kill me if I get anymore.
I love having these critters living with me but I have enough for now.
I have visited this site every day for the past few years and I enjoy the quizzes, it is my first computer action of the day.
I was looking to adopt an older dog when I saw a big, bright eyed, black pup on Petfinder. The word URGENT was printed next to his picture. When I inquired on line what the urgency was about I was told he was to be euthanized on Sunday because he had been at the shelter too long. This conversation occurred on Friday afternoon! Then I found out the pup was in Montreal, hours away from my home and I had no passport. I asked for time from the shelter but they refused all requests. Luckily, a young man who did chores on my farm occasionally had a passport and I paid him a handsome fee to go get the dog on Saturday. It was love at first site when the rescued dog jumped out of the truck after arriving at my farm. I immediately named him Lucky as it seemed very appropriate. He is now a happy, healthy and loving companion to me and all the other people and animals in his life.
I volunteer with a canine rescue group in Carson City, Nevada. After our much beloved Ginger passsed, our first poochie acquisition was the littlest Staffordshire Terrier, Sassi. She and two pups had been dumped in the desert and found by a shelter. She was then given to our group where the puppies were adopted out. She was a handful of energy and mischief, but she and we fell in love. A year later, Doc, our big Staffordshire, was found nearly starved to death (down to 35 lbs from 75 lbs now) and our group rescued him, plumped him up and we took him in as our foster boy. However, after three months, we couldn't part with him - he's such a sweet baby! They are now both our "kids" and we adore them and they adore each other. They are being properly spoiled and being properly trained and we are being properly entertained with their antics. We are a bit long in the tooth to have two energy balls like Sassi & Doc, but they keep us young.
One morning I opened my front door to get the newspaper, and there was a kitten small enough to fit into a wineglass, demanding to come in. He reconsidered when he saw one of my dogs. But when I came home from work and opened the door to get the mail, in he marched!
He had lots of fleas and earmites, but the vet helped me deal with those, and he needed no help dealing with the other cats and the dogs. He graces my lap morning and evening. I call him my "California Floppy" because, when picked up, he becomes boneless in my arms.