For this edition of Let Sleeping Dogs Lie & Napping Cats Nap we are celebrating.
Not just any normal everyday thing but celebrating the acquisition of a cat. And not just any cat. Nope, this is one special cat.
His name is Hastings and he survived the “mean streets of the Metroplex.” Maybe just one street. Hastings Street in Duncanville. On October 4, 2021, I lifted him off the asphalt in the southbound lane of Hastings Street in Duncanville and he settled in my heart like he belongs there. I guess he does.
There was no human yelling, “Hey, Mister! GIMME BACK MY KITTEN!” I looked around. Nobody had a cat bed on a front porch, nobody had a feeding bowl You know what it’s like. Unwanted kitten unattended and, if gone, well, somebody says, “Gee, that’s just too bad. I told that Momma not to get herself pregnant. Let’s go get a dog.”
This kitten was probably 4 weeks old when we met. I’d parked in the lot belonging to my favorite pharmacy, The Ben Franklin Apothecary, and as I stepped away from my car, I saw a little bundle frozen in the middle of the southbound lane. A tiny bundle. (That opening photo was taken right after he’d gotten all cleaned up. Why did he need to be “all cleaned up”?
Each of his eyes was covered by a blueberry-sized gob of “stuff” that blinded him.
Still, as I'd approached, he'd skittered across the next lane and tried to jump up on the curb and run toward some shrubbery. Sometimes kittens are too short to jump up onto a curb.
But I can move like lighting if the distance I have to cross is no farther than from my dinner chair to the refrigerator. (That’s a heftyman joke.) So I caught him as he blindly ran for Lord knows what.
The bottom line is, I immediately took the kitten to the Pet Medical Center of Duncanville and those good folks cleaned him up, gave me some directions for his care and sent us on the way that day — we revisited several times to make sure Hastings, named after the street he was crossing, was healthy enough to live with our other cats. [That's Martha feeding him in the early days of the Kitten Challenge Experience. He wasn't our first hand-fed kitten, but he was maybe the wiggliest.]
Things worked out just fine — he lived in isolation (in a big crate in Martha’s bathroom. Yet, somehow, this immunity-compromised kitten developed ringworm. You don’t think these foundlings come into your life completely healthy every time, do you?
Mysteriously, our oldest girl cat Deputy Chief Kittie Leigh Johnson also developed ringworm — right between her ears atop her noggin. To our knowledge, she and Hastings had never been in the same room together. Never met. Never nuzzled. Never breathed the same air. Ringworm, the Mystery Pest.
Nobody else — no dog, no cat — came down with it. (In that photo, long after treatments, Hast' and KLJ sack out on the big bed one afternoon.)
A proper number of months later, we transferred Hastings Streetboy’s vet care to Dr. Robert Norris and the good folks at Bridge Street Animal Clinic in Fort Worth. Fewer freeway miles between the cat and his vet. There, Hastings got his “key surgery.”
[LARRY ASIDE: Kittie Leigh was cured of second-hand ringworm. She never scratches and Hastings hasn’t had a single anxious moment about dating since his surgery and he never has “that special itch” that affects too many little boy cats in Dallas/Fort Worth.]
To the left you see Hastings asleep in my office -- I'm not sure, but I believe he was dreaming of being an Olympic diver and had curled up in that position before stretching out to enter the water without a splash. I don't know what he was thinking when he crawled into my laundry basket with a pair of socks and a couple of wash cloths -- but he was out like a light. Kind of cute. He got a lot bigger than that baby kitten, didn't he!
Hastings is the youngest cat on our staff, but he’s got a little way to go before he’s declared “the sweetest.” He’s working on it, but I keep a box of BandAids handy because he’s still trying to grasp the concept of “put the claws away” when you want to play. I’ve given him a copy of “The Cat’s Claws and Peace in Our Time.”
He has the fluffiest tail we’ve ever had in on a cat in our more than three decades of rescuing and adopting the rascals.
So, you may ask, looking at this cat with the blue eyes and the fluffy tail, “What kind of cat is this?” And I will tell you. Free. He was a free cat. Now he’s a housecat. Foundlings rarely carry their official papers.
He sleeps where he wants — except the bedroom. Has to be invited. Deputy Chief Kittie Leigh Johnson owns it.
Cured, she is once again my nocturnal comfort cat. We both are insomniacs, but while she’s trying to sleep, she can still purr. I cannot purr — while I’m awake, anyway. I say I purr in my sleep; my funspouse Martha argues that it’s snoring.
Even at the age of a year, Hasting will not get involved in that discussion. And Deputy Chief Kittie Leigh Johnson, asked about snoring, shakes her head and walks over to the window, flops down and watches squirrels play in the yard.
So, happy birthday, year and a couple-of-weeks old Hasting Streetboy. You’re one swell cat.
[DEAR READERS: Please send photos and bios of your slumbering critters — dogs, cats, whatever— to [email protected] and we’ll post them in our long-running weekend feature, Let Sleeping Dogs Lie & Napping Cats Nap. We love showing off your animals. We think it helps people decide to adopt dogs and cats. And it helps insomniacs believe they, too can get some sleep if they can figure out how to flop ’n’ purr/snore.]
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