Steve the Cat

The last cat I brought home was supposed to balance out the clique of girl cats; the previous owner of the job, Martian, had succumbed to respiratory failure after a long life of girl cat adoration.  Min loved him with every whisker, and had followed him in to become a housecat after a year of advertising herself around on my old back porch.  She called and called for him once he had gone, and I know her heart was broken.  This turned into a clobbering of the other three girl cats who responded with girl cat hissy fits and sneak attacks.  No one liked anyone else, clumps of different colored fuzz left in the hall would tell who did what to who during the wee hours.

What could I do?  Four cats for me was enough, but to bring stabilization to a cracked foundation, I needed a boy cat to ignore the females and thus cause frantic bids for attention from him; no deliberate searches, but I had taken Tulip for shots and my vet always always has a cat or two on the premises available for adoption.  Sitting on the white linoleum in the back room was a large grey and white fellow, watching in a nonchalant manner.  Unfazed by dogs, humans or other cats, this cat appeared as meh as anything.  I walked over to him and he offered his head, still in a take it or leave it way.

"This is the most mellow cat I have ever seen," said the vet tech who I admire in that he adopted a crazed cat from my son and reformed the animal into a babysitter of his three year old daughter.  They now pal around everywhere together with the golden retriever.  I trusted him not to steer me wrong.  "He's only got some issues with being picked up, but that should disappear."  Dokey.  More of the story from the vet herself revealed that this once housecat, whose paws show a crummy, lumpy job of declawing, had been abandoned.  He became almost a feral, but some neighbors looked after him, feeding him and making sure he was okay.  Named him Mr. Pickles, I guess from the comic strip character who also has a white mustache.  They brought him to the vet's for adopting out, and left him with a cat bed and a one hundred dollar fund for care; this must be some cat to generate that sort of kindness.  I took him home.

He never hid, but was wary of me and of course the hissing Furies that let him know who was what.  His boy cat charms were not apparent to them, and I hoped time would engender some interest.  Not overly affectionate, this is a cat who needed to trust something first and lucky him, I am a patient person.
He learned to enjoy petting and brushing and now he leans into me and cackles with joy.  Still not overly affectionate with anyone, the girls did begin to tease and paw at his dignity.  He ignores them, but the balance has been returned to a horizontal level and there is less snottiness between the girls.  

He now has the first name of Stevie after a favorite cousin, and has boundaries.  Being declawed, he has become a biter, and will put his teeth on an unwanted hand.  He had to go in to have some maintenance work done; Stevie, the aforementioned Mr. Mellow, is a terror with intent to rip out tendons when faced with an examination.  The vet tech was called in to pin him with ninja cat-hold moves and was taught; eventually with exhaustion all around, the tornado was tranquilized.  After administering the pill, you wait for the cat to vomit, indicating that things are winding down.  It took him longer than usual to go under, but chemistry finally won and the examination proceeded.  His royal pain vomited for three days after.

Here he is, a year later, and has announced his arrival into the living room with a trill.  He knows where the catnip is and how to get me to dispense it.  Really quite smart, he will lead me to what he wants, talking away like we are old chums and has become much more comfortable with touch, to his surprise.  I am pleased to have him here.

He yodels up and down the hallway in a pleasant tone, not overly loud, and I sometimes hear him in the night.  It has become a familiar sound to me, this chatter, and brings a sense of normalcy.  The girls are happier, too.  There is to be an ice storm in the early hours of night, and I wonder what sounds will accompany the falling rain as it ices.   I am tired, it has been a hell of a week at work, and turning out the lights is looking really good to me.  Maybe put an extra blanket at the end of the bed tonight, the wind is kicking up a bit and the cold may seep into the crevices of the house later.  Stay warm, stay bundled, let the night people do their jobs so that you can do yours during the day.  Rest those bones and wish them well as they sweep and repair, guide and watch.  Sleep well, good night.