Cat Musings - The Story of Fynn - Part II

A man’s treatment of a dog is no indication of the man’s nature, but his treatment of a cat is. It is the crucial test. None but the humane treat a cat well. - "Mark Twain, "Winter-end Excursion to the Sutherd" (1902)

Part II - Rescue

What is a cat’s perception of the passage of time, the onset of illness, or the effects of starvation? I suppose no one knows. But this one had been in the woods long enough for the tiny puncture wound in his neck to fester into an abscess the size of a large marble. Of course, he couldn’t know that the infected wound, a result of one of the broken chicken wires stabbing into his neck as he struggled to free himself from the carrier, was swollen and inflamed. It had also produced an intense itch and pain. He lifted his back paw to scratch at it as gently as he could, but it throbbed and bled if he wasn’t careful.

He had other issues as well that made it especially difficult for him to manage without human help. The problems may even have intensified the hatred the man who abandoned him felt for him. He was clumsy and wobbled a bit when he ran and when he jumped. He wasn’t as fast or nimble as other cats either. Perhaps it was a genetic disorder of some kind, neurological in nature. Maybe it was a result of mistreatment. There was really no way to know.

He didn’t wander far from the carrier. The woods were dense and filled with sounds and smells he didn’t recognize. Before he found himself in the woods, he had always been an indoor cat. Food, water, and a litter box were provided for him. Now when he had to do his business, he followed his instincts to carefully cover his scent to prevent a predator from finding him as easily. As for finding food, he didn’t have the hunting skills of cats that were accustomed to being outside. He wasn’t picky about bugs and ate what he could catch, mostly crickets and worms. A few times, he spied small lizards clinging to the trunk of a tree, bobbing their heads up and down or hopping from one slender reed to another, but he wasn’t fast or agile enough to catch one. It was the same with birds.

The humid nights in the forest provided a meager source of moisture in the form of dew on the blades of grass and leafy shrubs, but it wasn’t enough. As the days and nights passed, he grew weaker and weaker. Fever from the infected wound made his efforts to find water more arduous. But he still had his voice, and he could cry for help. It was risky because his cries might attract an unwanted predator, but if he were to survive, it might be his only chance.

One morning, as he lay in the grass near his carrier, he heard the sound of a human voice, as he often did, carried from the direction of the traffic sounds. With all the remaining strength he could muster, he cried, “Mrrrr-owwww! Mrrrrroowwwww! Mrrr-oowwwww!” Over and over, he cried for as long as his strength held out. His head bobbed a little as it slowly drooped and he closed his eyes. Did anyone hear him?

Along the sidewalk that ran the length of the wooded area and beyond, a woman was enjoying her morning walk. It was part of a route she routinely walked when the weather permitted. Lately it had been far too hot and humid, but this day dawned a little cooler. Traffic was lighter than usual as well; otherwise, she might not have heard the faint sound in the distance of an animal in distress. She stopped and turned towards the woods to listen. There it was again, a little stronger as the breeze blew the sound waves through the thick arbor of trees. Was that a cat?, she wondered. It sounded mournful, as though it might be injured or incapacitated somehow. It was a distressing sound, but it wasn’t enough to cause her to want to bolt into the woods and find the crying animal. Maybe she had an important appointment that day. Maybe she just didn’t want to deal with a sick or injured animal. Perhaps she thought the time and expense would be more than she was willing to invest. Whatever the reason, she continued to walk and instead decided that as soon as she got home, she would post a message about it on Facebook. Maybe someone who saw it would come investigate the crying animal in the woods.

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On 29 August, someone did see the woman’s post. That someone was Shandy Baker Smith, an ardent animal lover who also happened to be a volunteer board member for a local rescue called Sunshine State Animal Rescue. As soon as she read the post about an animal crying in the woods along Highway 87, something in her gut told her that she had to go there and try to find him. SSAR primarily rescued and rehomed dogs, but all that mattered to Shandy was that an animal needed help. She had rescued cats before,

including a very special one named PatPat, a sweet gray and white cat with beautiful almond-shaped green eyes that her daughter Ella found lying emaciated, starving, and near death at a storage facility some five years earlier. Ella had the same tender heart for animals that her mother had, and together with the rest of their family, they nursed PatPat back to health and made her a permanent part of their family.

Another of the most extraordinary testimonies of Shandy’s heart for animals was that she was actually allergic to cats. In spite of that, she didn’t mind that PatPat climbed onto her shoulder every evening and gave her kitty hugs, purring while she rubbed her heard against Shandy’s in an act of pure love, affection, and, one might venture to suggest, gratitude for saving her life.

Now, Shandy and Ella climbed into their car together and drove to the wooded stretch the woman described in her post, not knowing what they might find. Would they get there in time? It took some searching through the dense trees and brush, but they eventually came upon the dilapidated carrier, and there, lying in the grass nearby, was a neglected and forgotten creature, barely clinging to life. As the two approached cautiously so as not to frighten the cat away, Shandy realized immediately that he was far too weak to flee. He peered up at Ella and opened his mouth as if to meow, but there was no sound.

“Oh, my goodness,” Ella said. “Do you think he’s going to be okay?”

“I don’t know, honey,” Shandy told her worried daughter. “He’s in pretty bad shape, but we’re going to do everything we can. Let’s see if we can get him into the carrier.”

Shandy had brought one of her own, clean and much larger than the dilapidated one the man had left him in. Moving as slowly and carefully as she could, she wrapped the weak and helpless cat in a towel and slid him inside the carrier. He made no attempt to resist; there simply was no fight left in him. As they made their way back to their car, Shandy didn’t say so to Ella but she honestly thought that had they not appeared when they did, he would likely have died that night. Even now, she felt his chances were doubtful. As she lifted the carrier with the sick and dying animal into her car, she felt an angry indignation for the degenerate who had left the cat to die a slow, agonizing death.

As if reading her mother’s mind, Ella said, “What’s the matter with people, Mom? Why would someone do that...leave a poor animal like that?

“I wish I knew, honey. But I don’t understand it either.”

It was late in the day, and Shandy knew the veterinary hospital would be closing soon. She would have to hurry if they were going to get the cat help that day. She arrived just before closing, but thankfully, the staff knew her. They handled veterinary care for all of SSAR’s rescues. They were just as shocked as Shandy and Ella to see the condition of the cat. The vet drew blood as a first step in evaluating the cat’s condition. The blood count would reveal how extensive the infection from the abscess was as well as his level of dehydration. He also tested for feline immunodeficiency virus (FIV) and feline leukemia virus (FeLV), tests that are done when an animal’s background is unknown. Both are infectious diseases that can lead to serious illness and even death. While an IV of fluids was prepared, the doctor weighed and examined the malnourished animal. He appeared to be an adult male, and considering his build, he should have weighed at least 10 to 12 lbs. He was barely 4. The vertebrae of his spine protruded along his back, and his ribs and hip bones were visible as well. He was too weak to stand up on his own. If he did survive, it would be a slow process and would take time for him to regain his normal weight. The doctor noted the bulge on his neck under his right jaw and knew the abscess would require surgery, but the first order of business was rehydration and antibiotics. He needed to rest and recover a bit before he went under the knife to drain the abscess, remove the dead tissue, and thoroughly flush the wound. One couldn’t help but wonder how much more the poor cat could take, but he seemed to sense that he had been rescued and that he was in good hands with a new chance at life. His round blue eyes seemed to brighten as soon as the precious fluids began to flow into his body.

Over the next several days, the veterinary staff as well as Shandy were amazed at the cat’s spirit. He never hissed or otherwise seemed to protest but took everything in stride. He was quite talkative and amazingly trusting, especially considering all he’d been through. No one knew how many days he’d spent in the woods waiting for rescue, struggling to survive. No one could know what his life was like before he was abandoned and left to die. Some things are as unknowable as they are unfathomable, and the treatment of this sweet cat was definitely one of those things.

Shandy later wrote in one of her initial posts about the rescue, “...in honor of my husband, who loves me very much and puts up with my crazy animal rescue hijinks, I have

named the kitty Smitty.”

Smitty remained at the hospital for several days before he was well enough to go home with Shandy. During that time, she continued to post pictures of him along with updates. Many people who saw the posts were moved by Smitty’s story and donated to help cover his medical expenses. I was one of them, and from the get-go, I knew I wanted to give Smitty a forever home with my clowder.

In the meantime, Shandy and her family welcomed Smitty into their home. Fortunately for him, another advantage of Shandy’s experience was wound care. The abscess on Smitty’s neck had left a sizable wound that would need to be flushed at least twice a day and bandaged with fresh dressings. It was a two-person job, and Ella was more than up to the task. Abscesses can form in just a few days, but as wasted away as Smitty’s body had become, it seemed obvious he’d survived in the woods for many days, if not a matter of weeks before someone finally heard his cries. He was definitely a lucky cat.

He was also unusual in many ways. It wasn’t just his exotic appearance with his blue eyes the color of the sky on a crystal-clear day, and his creamy-colored coat with a mix of uncommon patterns. It was also his calm, sweet nature. When he was lying down, he loved pats to his head and chin scratches and strokes along the length of his back. But try to touch him when he was standing, and he would crouch low to the ground to quickly slink out from under your hand. He never hissed or behaved aggressively. He simply didn’t want to be touched when he was on his feet.

Sometimes, things aren’t what they seem. If Smitty appeared timid from his behavior in the forest and even as he convalesced under Shandy and Ella’s doting attention, he needed only time and a constant environment where he felt completely secure and free to be himself for his true nature to be revealed.

To be continued...