Today is her birthday, her eighth birthday, so I thought I'd tell you the tale of the Stinky, Skinny, Sticky, Teensy-Weensy Kitty Cat and how she came to stay with me. It is quite the tale to tell and I wish I knew everything that happened to her before I came into the picture, but I can only imagine. So, to borrow a word from one of my favorite blogs, and also one of my favorite high school Enlgish teachers, who prepared us for the SATs, hyperbole shall be used a bit here.
It was 2003. I was living in an apartment complex that didn't allow dogs. I grew up with the most wonderful white Lhasa Apso name Princess Darcy of Montegue, or just... Darcy to those of us in her royal court. Darcy was a fabulous dog. I miss her terribly. In fact, I dreamt about her last night for the first time since she passed away in 1995. I think dreams about people and animals we love are their way of visiting us. So this was really lovely!!! I would have loved to have found a puppy in the pound and brought it home, but since I couldn't, I figured I would venture into the new and unexplored world of cats. My best friend had two cats and while one of them couldn't be bothered with the human race, the other one was just adorable, a total cuddle bug and I hoped I would find one with a similar personality.
I mentioned casually to a friend, N, that I was thinking of going to the shelter to look for a kitten. I wanted a black one, a grey one, or an orange and white "creamsicle" one. I was planning on going to the shelter in the next month or so. I wasn't in a big hurry. I figured my kitten would choose me. Well, she did!!!
That very night, N was visiting her in-laws in a town about two hours north of Indianapolis, where I was living. She called and was talking so quickly I could barely understand her. What I gathered was that there was a very sick, almost dead kitten on her in-laws' patio. It was black. Did I want it? Gee, sounded perfect.
But I did feel for the critter. I could hear it crying in the background. They were trying to get it to drink some water. It was so sick, it was trying, but apparently it was basically a bag of bones, all head, hardly any body, just tiny, and it was having a hard time. And they couldn't bring it inside because they had a tomcat who would eat it for dinner.
So they put it in a box and brought it to the all-night emergency vet. They called me from the vet's office and told me that it was probably going to make it and they would pay for the vet visit (wow!). I said if the kitten survived, I would, of course, give it a home.
The kitten survived. It was a girl! The vet said this little animal had a serious will to live. She had absolutely no reason to be alive and if N's in-laws hadn't brought her in for IV fluids and nutrients, she would have been dead within 24 hours. Poor little baby. The vet thought by her size that she was about two months old, but then he looked in her mouth and was shocked to see her six-month kitten teeth had come in. So she was a lot older than her malnurished little body portrayed! She stayed with the vet for a few days, then I got the okay to go pick up my new friend.
(Counting back from October, I chose April 1st as her birthday - it seemed like a good choice for such a lucky little black cat)
I asked N to drive up to Muncie with me, since I wasn't familiar with the area. Plus, she had a vested interest in the little feline. So we stopped by a pet store and picked up a cat carrier and hit the road.
It was an October evening, around 6:00pm. Dusky and rainy. The light above my parking space wasn't working and the parking lot was lightly flooded with muddy rain. As I stepped toward my door, my right foot went into a large, deep, tain-filled pothole and **crrrrrackkkk!** my ankle snapped. Before the message of pain and panic hit my brain, my left foot followed and **crrrrrackkkk!** my other ankle snapped as well.
I was down and my milkshake flew up, over the top, and all over my car. For the brief instant before the pain registered and I began to scream, I heard N laugh. I mean, it had to look pretty funny... until reality hit.
I started to scream in agony and N ran around the car, tossing her shake into the parking lot. My ankles were already swelling over my sneakers and N began to panic a little. She got up and ran inside the restaurant, leaving me screaming in the rain. The manager ran out in front of N with a phone. Seeing the state of my ankles, he dialed 911 and sent N back inside for some ice. A waiter came outside with bags of crushed ice and the manager untied my shoes, causing a new pitch of screams I didn't know I had in me.
Then N started crying. I tried to calm down a little for N. I didn't want to throw her into labor. TOO LATE!!!! That's why she was crying. I wondered! N was one of the most level-headed people I knew. I wouldn't have expected her to cry because I was freaking out. This is one time I would expect N to go into managerial mode. But the anxiety of the incident had set off contractions, which made me feel just horrible.
So I tried, I really tried. But the pain was absolutely horrific. I've had kidney stones, a lot of kidney stones. And this pain ranked right up there. If a kidney stone is a 9 on that ridiculous pain scale, this was an 8.5. BOTH ankles! BOTH of them!!! They were looking like huge, purple and black, deformed footballs. They were huge.
The manager dialed 911 again and ordered, you got it, a second ambulance. This was turning into a circus. In fact, we had gathered a little bit of an audience. I was screaming, N was crying, restaurant patrons were soothing, the manager was icing, sirens were blaring in the backround and my kitten was waiting for me an hour away. And wait she would.
We got to the ER and N and I were whisked in seperate directions. I was doused with pain meds and as soon as they kicked in, I got very worried for N and the baby. The nurses were so kind. Even in a fog of morphine, I remember them coming in and updating me on N's condition. They were able to stop the contractions and we ended up being discharged around the same time.
N was fine, supposed to stay in bed and calm for a few days. I however, had two broken ankles and got to stay home from work (thank you to my company for being so lenient about FMLA at the time!!!) for three months. UGH! I was a prisoner of my apartment and on my couch and literally crawled everywhere in my apartment for the first month. It was rather pathetic.
N's in-laws felt bad for me and didn't want my kitten to wait any longer, so these amazingly generous people not only paid the (large) vet bill they'd promised, but paid to get the kitten fixed too. Then they drove her the two hours down to me so I had a playmate for the three months I was stuck at home!!!
Oh my GOD! She was cute!!!! She was this tiny ball of black fuzz with two luminous green eyes. She was a little overwhelmed at being inside. She'd been Little Miss Independence her whole long life so far. She'd made her way out in the wilderness of the farmlands of Indiana all alone. She'd had some close calls and been abused because the way she reacted sometimes to me indicated she'd been hit... a lot. But she stuck her tiny, skinny tail in the air and made like she was very confident and pranced around her new digs.
Since I was pretty much stuck in once place, I wasn't too scary to her, so she had ample time to make her peace with me... the lump on the couch. And I had ample time to figure out her personality and come up with a name that suited her.
But she was a sweet little thing and I kept telling her so and that she smelled like a daisy (not). So that's why I named her Daisy. And the way she came to me felt rather serendipitous. I'd said I wanted a black cat and she appeared. Thus her name became Daisy Serendipity. But I still call her my Stinky, Skinny, Sticky, Teensy-Weensy Kitty Cat. It's a term of endearment.
I was down and my milkshake flew up, over the top, and all over my car. For the brief instant before the pain registered and I began to scream, I heard N laugh. I mean, it had to look pretty funny... until reality hit.
I started to scream in agony and N ran around the car, tossing her shake into the parking lot. My ankles were already swelling over my sneakers and N began to panic a little. She got up and ran inside the restaurant, leaving me screaming in the rain. The manager ran out in front of N with a phone. Seeing the state of my ankles, he dialed 911 and sent N back inside for some ice. A waiter came outside with bags of crushed ice and the manager untied my shoes, causing a new pitch of screams I didn't know I had in me.
Then N started crying. I tried to calm down a little for N. I didn't want to throw her into labor. TOO LATE!!!! That's why she was crying. I wondered! N was one of the most level-headed people I knew. I wouldn't have expected her to cry because I was freaking out. This is one time I would expect N to go into managerial mode. But the anxiety of the incident had set off contractions, which made me feel just horrible.
So I tried, I really tried. But the pain was absolutely horrific. I've had kidney stones, a lot of kidney stones. And this pain ranked right up there. If a kidney stone is a 9 on that ridiculous pain scale, this was an 8.5. BOTH ankles! BOTH of them!!! They were looking like huge, purple and black, deformed footballs. They were huge.
The manager dialed 911 again and ordered, you got it, a second ambulance. This was turning into a circus. In fact, we had gathered a little bit of an audience. I was screaming, N was crying, restaurant patrons were soothing, the manager was icing, sirens were blaring in the backround and my kitten was waiting for me an hour away. And wait she would.
We got to the ER and N and I were whisked in seperate directions. I was doused with pain meds and as soon as they kicked in, I got very worried for N and the baby. The nurses were so kind. Even in a fog of morphine, I remember them coming in and updating me on N's condition. They were able to stop the contractions and we ended up being discharged around the same time.
N was fine, supposed to stay in bed and calm for a few days. I however, had two broken ankles and got to stay home from work (thank you to my company for being so lenient about FMLA at the time!!!) for three months. UGH! I was a prisoner of my apartment and on my couch and literally crawled everywhere in my apartment for the first month. It was rather pathetic.
N's in-laws felt bad for me and didn't want my kitten to wait any longer, so these amazingly generous people not only paid the (large) vet bill they'd promised, but paid to get the kitten fixed too. Then they drove her the two hours down to me so I had a playmate for the three months I was stuck at home!!!
Oh my GOD! She was cute!!!! She was this tiny ball of black fuzz with two luminous green eyes. She was a little overwhelmed at being inside. She'd been Little Miss Independence her whole long life so far. She'd made her way out in the wilderness of the farmlands of Indiana all alone. She'd had some close calls and been abused because the way she reacted sometimes to me indicated she'd been hit... a lot. But she stuck her tiny, skinny tail in the air and made like she was very confident and pranced around her new digs.
Since I was pretty much stuck in once place, I wasn't too scary to her, so she had ample time to make her peace with me... the lump on the couch. And I had ample time to figure out her personality and come up with a name that suited her.
Her favorite place, it turned out, was wrapped around my neck like a tiny little scarf. This was absolutely adorable. There was one little problem. She stunk!!!!! I mean, for an adorable little ball of fluff, she smelled like shit! And she was totally sticky, like she was covered in maple syrup. But then she would have smelled nice. The first place I drove, when I could drive was a groomer, who told me she'd been skunked and had gotten into tree sap. She turned out beautifully and has smelled like cinnamon ever since... I swear! Cinnamon!
But she was a sweet little thing and I kept telling her so and that she smelled like a daisy (not). So that's why I named her Daisy. And the way she came to me felt rather serendipitous. I'd said I wanted a black cat and she appeared. Thus her name became Daisy Serendipity. But I still call her my Stinky, Skinny, Sticky, Teensy-Weensy Kitty Cat. It's a term of endearment.
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