I Have A Happy Story To Tell.
Okay, it doesn’t start out happy. But it gets there. And perhaps it’s a bit long and self-indulgent, but I am so thrilled by the unexpected success and the gift of this lovely little creature, that I can’t help but tell the story in proud and robust detail. Please enjoy. 🙂
That’s when something caught my eye. I turned to the movement on the pavement and saw him lying in the turn lane headed the other direction. A cat, obviously in big trouble. Lying there unable to move, but for his head up and pointed to the sky, his eyes shut, and his mouth wide open as if grasping for one last breath, begging for one last chance. My heart gave a really big thump and then stopped. I couldn’t even take in a breath. Usually, whenever I see animals in the road, they’ve already died, and I hold my hand out to the lifeless body as I pass by and say a prayer for the precious life that was extinguished, just to let its spirit know that someone here noticed, and someone cared. This time it would be different–very different.
The Rescue.
I slammed on the brakes, which everyone who drives in Phoenix traffic knows you should never do. But my heart and mind were racing now, and I sort of forgot my good-driver safety habits. I made the first u-turn i could and drove probably too fast back to the lane where the cat was still lying on the burning pavement–still motionless but for his head looking up to heaven, for breath or for mercy, probably both. It was very clear that he was only a heartbeat away from dying, and my senses were acutely aware how every moment would count now.
For a brief second, I questioned what I was doing, knowing that I could be a casualty of the mad traffic, too, and knowing that the cat might already be beyond saving. But, with the inherent heart of a rescuer, I put my hazard lights on and got out of the car anyway. Now I became focused, moving forward on auto-pilot and a boatload of adrenaline. This is who I am–this is how I am hard-wired. And none of the credit is my own. I simply am honoring the gift God put inside me. Sure, pet rescue has its downside–profound loss and heartbreak on a regular basis, and nervous breakdowns galore–but it’s a gift and a calling nonetheless, and I can only embrace it.
I always keep a “care bag” in my car to be prepared for moments like this. It contains everything I would need for an unexpected rescue–crate, blankets, gloves, treats, leash, fluids, etc. Well, apparently not always–for whatever reason I cannot recall, the care bag was not in my car today. As I knelt over the cat to figure out how I would get him into my car and transport him to the vet without a crate or blanket, several people from tire stores and auto repair shops on both sides of the street came running to help. What an inspiring relief! One fellow brought a box, another fellow came running with some rope, and several others brought whatever they could find. One guy came running with a really big board. I stopped short and looked at him with a question mark on my face, and he shrugged, indicating his own big question mark. It was obviously all he could think of in the urgency of the moment. I gave him a thumbs-up to let him know I appreciated him anyway, and we turned back to the emergency at hand.
At this point, I couldn’t tell if the cat was feral or domestic, because he was in too much physical distress to be frightened or to fight. Or so I thought. As soon as I reached for him, he made a valiant rush to hiss wildly at me and get away. Again, my poor heart pounded and then stopped, knowing he could easily have run right into the rush of traffic and die tragically before my eyes. But, by the grace of God, he stumbled under my car. He was just out of our reach now, and no amount of coaxing would bring him out. I was beginning to realize at that point that he probably was feral.
With my volunteers guiding me, I backed my car slowly away from the cat. I could see in his eyes he was terribly frightened and wanted very much to fight or flee, but clearly had no strength left in him for either. So we were finally able to lift him into the box and use the rope to secure it closed. It wasn’t a very strong box–chances were good he could get out if he wanted to. I just prayed he didn’t want to.
I thanked the folks who stepped up to help this little life – they were real champions and didn’t give up until we had the cat safely in my car. God bless them all. I got in my car, turned off the flashers, cranked up the air, and turned my car toward home. My whole body started shaking now as the adrenaline overload took its toll and then began to dissipate. Probably I wasn’t in the best condition to be driving at that point, but that didn’t even occur to me until a day or two later. All I knew was I had precious cargo that desperately needed help, and he didn’t have the luxury of time to wait while I pulled myself together. As I drove, I could hear him struggling to breathe, and moaning for his injuries. I cried most of the way.
A Shout-Out to Pet Rescuers.
This is the life and heart of pet rescuers. God put it in you to step up without thinking, without hesitating, and without worrying if it’s convenient or wise or will get you fired for not showing up to work on time. You honor that gift by doing, and worrying about all the details later. So, let me stop at this point and send a shout out and warm wishes and love to everyone who lives this life. You are heroes, and I pray God’s blessings on every one of you. 🙂
First Assessment and Care.
On the drive home, I planned my next steps. First things first. I needed to stabilize the cat before racing off to the vet where we surely would have to sit in the waiting room awhile, and those were critical moments he could not afford to lose. I had to get his body temperature down and give him sub-q fluids. There was no way to know how long he had been lying in the merciless sun on that scorching asphalt. That alone could have killed him, regardless his injuries. Finally at home, I lifted the box from my car–he was lying quietly inside, and I was fearful he had passed on the drive home. But as I peeked inside the box, he looked up at me through fading eyes–barely alive, but alive. So there’s hope.
I took the poor little fellow to my guest bathroom and closed the door to prevent my other pets from getting close while I did a visual assessment. I needed to give the veterinarian a heads-up report. It was apparent he had a head injury–bleeding from both nostrils, the right side of his face swollen and disfigured. His tail had a crook in it, but there appeared to be no other broken bones. He was obviously a feral or a castoff that had been living on the streets for a very long time, probably all of his short life. He was critically underweight and bony, totally dehydrated–I couldn’t even pinch a bit of skin, and covered head-to-toe with fleas, mites, and asphalt dirt. So dirty, in fact, I didn’t even realize that some of his fur was white. In all my decades of rescue, this cat would be one of my biggest challenges. Recovery and rehabilitation was going to be long and difficult at best, with no promise that he would survive it.
I gave him sub-q fluids first–lots of sub-q fluids. His thirsty, broken body drank it as fast as I could give it to him. He didn’t fight the needle. He didn’t even resist my handling him. He just laid there quietly in complete resignation. He was, after all, barely conscious at this point and could no longer even hold his head up. I’d like to think he knew at this point that help had come. He may not make it through this, but at least he wouldn’t die alone, unnoticed. If he dies, it will be in the arms of someone who did notice, and who cares about him. I spoke that promise to him out loud.
Once I got him hydrated and his poor overheated body cooled down, I was able to call the vet to say I was bringing him in. Trevor, one of the technicians, answered. I gave Trevor the information I had gathered so far and told him I was on my way. Then he asked me the million-dollar question–what is the cat’s name. Excuse me, I said? He asked me again–what is his name? I thought to myself “Well how do I know? I’ve had him all of 5 minutes and it’s been a little hectic so far.” Still, Trevor waited quietly on the line for an answer. As the clock was ticking and the adrenaline was beginning to flow again, I quickly searched my scattered thoughts and, finding nothing in the moment, blurted out “SpeedBump.” I was on the spot and that’s what came out. Anyway, it stuck. Several times in the following weeks I tried to change it to something more elegant and dignified, like Samuel, but it always came back to SpeedBump. And then we got in the car again and began our race to the clinic.
The Treatment.
When the veterinarian walked into the exam room and took her first look at SpeedBump, she turned to me and asked if I was crazy. I said probably. She said SpeedBump was too far gone to make it. I asked her to humor me and get started saving his life. Fortunately, my vet is as devoted to going the distance as me in situations like this, so she gave me no argument, just a wink that said “Let’s do this.” SpeedBump had definitely lived his life on the streets. Whether he was hit by a car or beaten by a person or animal, we’ll never know. But he had a long road back to healthy if he was going to make it at all. The vet said his spleen was damaged, his jaw broken, and he had suffered some type of head injury that would reveal its severity over time.
After a full exam, full blood panel, xrays, iv antibiotics to jump-start his healing, and of course a good toenail trim, SpeedBump and I headed back home. He would stay with me, even though I hadn’t a clue how to handle a feral cat, let alone treat its injuries. It was an hour’s drive home, and I prayed earnestly all the way. God, please help me do right by this little life that you’ve put into my hands.
We wouldn’t get the results of his bloodwork back for a few days, so it was critical that I keep SpeedBump quarantined. I couldn’t afford my cat family becoming infected with any virus he might be carrying, not to mention all the fleas and parasites. So SpeedBump moved into my guest bathroom where he would convalesce and recover for the next several months. Each day I wondered about his future–if he would even have one. Would he be okay here with us, or was he too wild to keep indoors and would I have to return him to the streets. The latter went against everything within me. I would do all that I could to teach him how to be an indoor pet–assuming he lives.
The Recovery.
Two things I instinctively knew–I needed him to trust me, and he needed a safe place that was his alone. So I set up a wire crate in the guest bathroom with bedding, food, water, and pee pads. And I covered the crate with a sheet so he had privacy and a sense of safety. For the first few weeks, SpeedBump couldn’t care less where he was or what was going on. He was that messed up. By laying a hand towel over his face, I was able to lift him in and out of the crate to clean it and freshen his water and give him meds and sub-q fluids. I fed him Hill’s a/d mixed with Pedialyte through an eye dropper. He didn’t fight or object at all. The covered crate was his entire world for the first several weeks.
But, as the weeks went on and SpeedBump started regaining strength and becoming more alert to his surroundings, his fear of humans became apparent. He was completely frightened by my presence, and giving him meds and sub-q fluids became a real challenge. I admit being worried that he might lash out and shred me. But eventually I realized he was only fearful, not dangerous. He gave me very clear warnings, but never tried to hurt me. A good sign.
After a long while, he seemed to be feeling a little better and started eating dry kibble on his own. I wanted to begin enlarging his world bit by bit. So I uncovered just one side of the crate so he could peek out and see me from the safety of his crate. I knew the introduction would be a slow process, and it was critical that I let SpeedBump decide the pace. There would be no pushing him if I was to earn his trust. Over the next couple of weeks, I uncovered another side, then another. Finally, only the top was covered, and one day, without fanfare, I quietly opened the crate’s door. He wasn’t nuts about the idea, and hovered near the back of the crate as he thought about it, but tolerated it overall without objection.
I always sat on the floor nearby, facing sideways from him, still not reaching for him. I would talk softly to myself, play Mahjong on my Kindle, or pretend to doze, to make sure my presence was not threatening to him. Little by little, he moved to the doorway of his crate, checking me out. I discovered that I could wiggle my toes, change seating position, scratch my leg, stand up and sit back down, and he was okay with all those movements. But I was not allowed to make hand gestures or to reach for him. Seemed there was just something about my hands. He had his reasons, so I complied.
On the upside, he was embracing his safe space. During the day, while I was at work, I would leave his crate door open so he could explore the guest bathroom on his terms. Whenever he heard me opening the door to the guest bathroom, he would move cautiously back into his crate. That part of my plan was working out beautifully. I spent hours with SpeedBump each morning before work and again in the evening and again before bedtime, just sitting quietly on the floor next to his open crate. Not talking, not even looking at him. Just quietly being there and letting him get used to my presence, my scent, my intentions, my energy, all on his own terms and in his own time. For weeks and weeks I never even reached for him. I knew he would let me know when he was ready. Until then, I sat quietly and just kept him company. He accepted my presence but, as he grew in strength and confidence, he also began giving me warnings in the form of hisses and growls and swipes with his feet. I would close my eyes and stay still, and pray he would not shred me. He never laid a toenail or tooth on me–I didn’t give him reason to.
By now, SpeedBump had visited the veterinarian several times. He was now neutered, vaccinated, treated for parasites, and micro-chipped, and gaining weight quickly. The vet asked if I wanted her to “tip” his ear when she neutered him, which would tell anyone who encountered him that he was a feral and already neutered. I said definitely no. If, God forbid, he got out of the house, or I had to let him go back to the streets (wasn’t going to happen-no way), and someone did find him, I wanted them to check him for a chip so he could find his way back to me. If his ear were tipped, they would rightly assume he’s feral and no one would think to scan him for a chip. He would be lost to me forever.
The Introductions.
I was thrilled to watch SpeedBump grow in strength. But, at the same time, I was feeling more and more discouraged about the chances of being able to keep him as a pet. It seemed he wasn’t ever going to agree to live life indoors as part of a family. But still I kept vigil sitting next to him, and I continued to pray for a happy outcome. As Halloween came around, I decided to let him see the other pets who would hopefully become his family. I started leaving the bathroom door open while he was inside his crate, and left the sheet covering only two sides. As my pets randomly filed in and out of the bathroom satisfying their curiosity about this elusive visitor, SpeedBump accepted it all very very well. Surprisingly, he stayed quiet and calm and watched with interest as they all passed his crate. He felt safe. I felt encouraged. A promising turn.
After a week of these casual encounters, I decided to pull his crate out of the bathroom so he could see and feel the rest of the house, the rhythm of our home, still from his safe space. I pushed his crate out to the middle of the living room, leaving the sheet covering only three sides so he could feel hidden and safe while still beginning to interact with his new family members. It went so much better than I had expected. He was curious and seemed to enjoy the company, so I uncovered all but the top of the crate. We kept this up for several more weeks. I moved SpeedBump in his crate with us to whatever room we all were in. I wanted him to know that he’s part of a group now–where we go, he goes. He even slept in my room with us at night, still in the safety of his crate.
The only time I put him and his crate back in the guest room now was when I had to work. When I was at home, SpeedBump and his crate were in the same room with us. To my happy surprise, he was enjoying being a part of the family. He was fully engaged and watching every little thing. He even started playing with his toys. And then he meowed his first meow. My heart sang when I heard that meow–it was my first real sign that there was hope after all for SpeedBump to become a member of our family. The only time SpeedBump would meow was when he was not with us. He was quiet and content as long as he was in the same room. He even began meowing his objection in the mornings when I moved him back to the guest bathroom so I could leave for work.
I filled the guest bathroom with toys and a big paper grocery bag, and in the beginning he was indifferent and ignored them. One evening when I got home from work and opened the bathroom door, I discovered the paper grocery bag shredded into little bits of confetti and covering every corner of the bathroom. SpeedBump had had a heyday. After that, I gave him a fresh paper bag every day, and every night when I returned home, it was shredded like confetti. SpeedBump was learning to have fun. And another very special thing was happening as well–when I opened the bathroom door, SpeedBump was greeting me up close and personal. He didn’t run to his crate and hide anymore. My heart was over-the-moon happy and hopeful. I still was not allowed to reach for him, tho. We were still on his terms and still on his time frame. But that was okay–we were already leaps and bounds past where I thought we would ever get. He was rubbing up against my legs and sniffing me and purring up a storm. I couldn’t have asked for more. He would walk across my feet and tell me all about his day. He’s a very talkative boy. And I very politely and happily listened to it all. 🙂
The Blending.
It had been four months that SpeedBump lived in his safe space, the crate. Staying mindful that he sets the pace, not me, I decided to push just a little and start blending him with us. I put the dogs out in the kennel and closed all my cats in the pet room where they couldn’t be seen. I walked over to SpeedBump’s crate in the middle of the living room and opened the door … and walked away. It was up to SpeedBump what he wanted to do next. I moved to the bar between my dining room and living room so as not to intimidate him from venturing out. It took only a moment, when this little black and white kitty wandered curiously by. SpeedBump was exploring. 🙂
He was already familiar with the sounds of the home, and he already knew all the rooms by sight now, so there was really nothing to surprise or frighten him. He had a blast! He tiptoed at first, looking in corners and behind furniture, probably wondering where everyone was, and then he started running boldly from room to room, even batting some of the toys around. At one point, he jumped up on the sofa and stopped to look out the window with wonder, as if seeing the world for the first time. And now the world was a happy place. He had a new life, and I could tell he knew it. Prayers were being answered. Tears were flowing. 🙂
SpeedBump’s New Life ~ Our New Life.
If there were a perfect outcome, this was it. SpeedBump was thrilled to be here and eager to meet the other pets face-to-face. I brought them out to meet him one at a time. I wanted to see the one-on-one dynamics before just throwing them all together. Most of them welcomed SpeedBump graciously. We were, after all, a family that rescues. Many pets have come and gone before SpeedBump, so my pets already knew the drill and were happy to make it a pleasant experience for newcomers. SpeedBump was tickled to be making new friends. He had no issues with any of them. It was all positive, even with Chelsea, my big black cat, who was pretty cranky about the new guy and complained rather loudly. But SpeedBump hardly noticed her orneriness. He surprised me by sitting down next to her, turning sideways and putting his head down to let her sniff him and know that he was not a threat. He stayed that way until Chelsea walked away. It was as if he was communicating kindness to her the same way I communicated kindness to him in the guest bathroom back in the beginning. I marveled at this and wondered if it was intentional. He has been completely respectful of Chelsea since that introduction, and she continues warming up to him.
Mikimoto is my blind Himalayan. SpeedBump approached him gently and sniffed him up and down and has been very tender and caring toward Mikimoto from the moment they met. It has now been almost a month since the blending, and this is the happiest my pet family has ever been. Even the dogs like SpeedBump, and he likes them! Chelsea used to be a bit of a bully and always intimidated the other cats, but even she is losing her general grumpiness and not picking on them anymore, probably because SpeedBump comes running and gently intervenes, just by being present. He doesn’t hit or hiss or threaten. He just shows up and steps between. It’s mind-blowing to watch.
So now we have a nearly complete recovery, and a successful introduction with all of my pets. The only thing left is to encourage SpeedBump to let me touch him. For some reason, he has always warned me off trying to pet him. And I have remained respectful of his wishes. Over Thanksgiving weekend, when I had several days off work, I decided to test his feelings about it now. As he was rubbing up against my legs one morning, feeling all lovey dovey like he does, I leaned down and touched him. He jumped and pulled away. I held my position quietly with my hand out, and he studied me for a couple of minutes. Then I wiggled my fingers and spoke quietly to him. He thought about it a minute. And then he thought about it another minute. Then, like the light switch that flips on in a New York minute, he came back to me and started rubbing my hands, then laid on his back and asked for tickles. I started rubbing him head to toe, and he just let go of all his fears. In that split second, he said okay, we’re good now. He and I have been inseparable ever since. This cat is the biggest, most gentle, most loving and affectionate teddybear kitty I’ve ever had. All of my cats are very very loving, but this guy is crazy affectionate–as if he’s making up for lost years! He’s over the moon affectionate, like addicted and obsessive! It’s amazing to watch. We got our miracle! 🙂
SpeedBump sleeps on my bed with me every night, nestled happily among the other kitties. He’s always by my side loving on me. He can’t get enough loving, and he loves loves loves to cuddle and play with me. And he has never once used tooth or claw, not even in play. He and Gabriel chase through the house like adolescent boys do. He weighs twice what he weighed on the day I found him. He is strong and healthy and has a gloriously lush full coat. He is loving and gentle, just a big teddybear, and he is a most unexpected gift.
I’m typically a real photo taker but I did not photograph SpeedBump as he was in the beginning. It never felt right. And I’m glad now that I have only happy photos of him. That’s as it should be.
The head injury left SpeedBump with some slight cognitive damage. He shakes his head a lot and walks with a tilt. His veterinarian has checked him periodically and says he’s doing fine in spite of it. He’s not as quick as Gabriel to follow a laser pointer or a toy tossed at him, but it doesn’t seem to slow him down or cause him any distress. He’s just a happy happy boy. He’s MY happy boy. Thank you, Jesus. 🙂
** My heartfelt thanks to Dr. Burdick for your tender heart and diligent care that brought SpeedBump back from the brink, against the odds. You didn’t have to back me up on what appeared at first to be a lost cause, but you did. You’re a rock star! 🙂
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God Bless and Happy Pet Parenting!
With love and good wishes,
jeannie. ?
About jeannie: I’ve been pro-actively involved in pet rescue all of my life. I founded Milagro Senior Pet Refuge© (Phoenix) in 1998, and BareFootPets (TM) in 2008. Animal welfare has always been and will always be my heart’s work. If my only legacy is that I save a handful of precious souls that would not survive otherwise, I’m good with that.