Blackjack

“You're new here,” I said to the little black cat in the bottom cage. I'd started cleaning the cat room at the Humane Society and noticed a small black cat in one of the bottom cages. A lack of paper work indicated that he was a new arrival and hadn't been checked in yet. A gentle nudge to my hand told me that this kitty was friendly, but shy. I spent a few minutes offering reassurance before returning to my cleaning duties.

The cat's long, black fur was sticky and matted, as though he'd gotten into something greasy. Apparently, he wandered into a machine shop, and a kind-hearted worker had brought him into the shelter. The little cat appeared to be about 6 months old. I gave him the name Tar because of the condition of his coat.

After we tested Tar for leukemia and vaccinated him, the kennel manager and I decided that the only way to get rid of those mats was to shave him. When we finished, the poor thing looked like he had a Mohawk; both sides were shaved, but the fur on his back remained. He still needed a bath, so we sedated him and I washed all of the grease out of his fur. Tar had a bit of a rough wakeup from the sedation, so I stayed at the shelter to make sure that he was alright. Although I was becoming attached, I knew that once his fur grew back, he be a beautiful cat and would have no problem finding a home. I kept telling myself that if I was going to add another charge, it should be one who was less adoptable.

The next morning, Tar was in a top cage, and when I went to open it, he put his arms around my neck, as if to give me a hug. This continued every time I opened his cage door, and I was the sole recipient of his hugs. I started seriously considering adopting Tar, yet telling myself tat he would have no problem finding a home when his fur grew back. I casually mentioned Tar my husband, only to hear “we don't need another cat!” I decided to be nonchalant about it, and mentioned that although I thought Tar would get adopted once he was better, Bob should come and see him ; I of course included the part about getting hugs. My lack of trying to convince Bob that we should adopt him lead to his caving in, and he went with me to the shelter. When we got there, Tar had been moved to the sick room because of an upper respiratory infection. Apparently, he had been in a big cage in the front lobby, and the wintry blasts that came in every time the front door was opened took their toll.

We went to the sick room to visit him, and as soon as a opened his cage door, Tar jumped onto my shoulder and wrapped his arms tightly around my neck, as if to say, “I choose you!” Bob had a resigned look on his face, and I put a hold on Tar's paperwork.

I continued to visit Tar, each time receiving the same hug, each time bonding even more. After his second course of antibiotics, I convinced the kennel manager to let me take him home, even though he was not quite over his infection. I knew that I could keep him isolated from my other cats, and I also knew that Tar would recover more quickly away from the shelter environment. We took him home, and changed his name to Blackjack.

Blackjack has grown into an exceptionally beautiful cat, with long, black fur with the texture of angel hair. His bright green eyes have just a hint of blue, and his tiny meow sounds almost feminine in nature. It doesn't surprise me, as Blackjack is our prissiest cat :) He's fit in very well with the other cats, and has formed a particularly strong bond with Uno, our 14 pound one-eyed bruiser. He loves to sit on my lap, and sleep next to me on the bed. And he still gives me hugs, each one telling me, “I choose you!”


Ellen 4/21/07