XPost: bc.general, can.general, vic.general   
   From: catscradle@ing.ca   
      
   "catscradle"  wrote in message   
   news:xbTXm.115443$rE5.76655@newsfe08.iad...   
   > Instead of buying a commercial product - like a million other commercial   
   > products - for someone special or for yourself, consider getting and   
   > giving a rescued animal a permanent home.   
   >   
   > Adopt a pet from your local shelter.  No 'gift' can give the pleasure that   
   > a rescued, grateful animal can - for life.   
                                                   ****************   
   **************************   
      
   >      The Homeless   
   >   
   >      A story about one out of thousands...   
   >   
   >   
   >     The cat was seven years old, but looked older. His once-glossy golden   
   > coat was now the color of dirty straw, matted, oily, and dull. One ear   
   > drooped, and he flicked it impatiently as he intently watched the field   
   > mouse going about its business in the tall, dry grass.   
   >   
   >      Truman (for that was his name in years past, when a human had cared   
   > enough to name him) crouched low, wiggled his scarred rump imperceptibly,   
   > then leapt at his prey. The mouse squeaked and disappeared into a hole in   
   > the earth. Truman growled in disgust and turned back to the dusty road   
   > that bisected the fields of dry weeds.   
   >   
   >   
   >      As he trudged along, he quickened his pace at the sounds of a motor   
   > approaching. He wasn't quick enough though.   
   >   
   >      "Cat!" a young male voice shouted, as the muscle car veered toward   
   > him. A blinding flash of pain shot through Truman's lower half, as he flew   
   > through the air, landing several feet away. Liquid spattered his dirty   
   > coat as a half-full beer can was lobbed at him. Through pain-filled eyes,   
   > Truman watched the car race away, and his thoughts travelled back to the   
   > other young man, the one who had pleaded with his father, tears streaming   
   > down his face, to let Truman come with them when they moved.   
   >   
   >      Driven by hunger, Truman dragged himself upright, and limped along   
   > the road, intent on making his way back to the food place. The white-hot   
   > sun matched the pain in his hind quarters as he doggedly moved onward.   
   >   
   >      Hours later, he approached a copse of trees thick with underlying   
   > bushes. The other cats were already there, waiting patiently: a ragged   
   > tortoiseshell herded her two remaining kits into the shelter of a brambly   
   > bush; the old gray tom glared balefully at Truman, but let him pass. Two   
   > new refugees had appeared, both gray tabby toms - possibly brothers, from   
   > the looks of them.   
   >      At first glance, the clearing would have appeared empty, to human   
   > eyes. Each cat sought out its own hiding place, respecting the personal   
   > space of the others. It hadn't always been that way. Strange cats would   
   > appear from time-to-time and the self-appointed alpha cat would battle the   
   > latest interloper until one or the other ceded, sometimes through death.   
   > Truman had uncomfortable memories of his own acceptance into the colony,   
   > following a violent engagement with a one-eyed black cat. One-eye had   
   > eventually slunk away in defeat, but not before doing considerable damage   
   > to Truman's ear, and to his pride.   
   >   
   >      Today, Truman carefully averted his eyes while cutting a wide berth   
   > around the brush where the two tabbies lay. He found an unclaimed spot in   
   > the shrubs about fifteen feet away, gave his matted fur a few swipes with   
   > his tongue, then crouched and expectantly watched the road   
   >   
   >      At length, the sound of an approaching car engine growled, then   
   > stopped abruptly. Two women alighted from their dusty car, arms full of   
   > bags of (food!) paper plates, bowls, and canteens of cool, clean water.   
   >   
   >      "Here, kitty, kitty, kitties," they softly called. "Here   
   > Micha...Ran-deee...Momma Kitteee... here's dinner, darlings."   
   >   
   >      "Oh, we have new ones! Look at those two big tabby guys, Eileen. Did   
   > you see Sunny, yet?"   
   >   
   >      One by one, the cats slunk out of their hiding places and hungrily   
   > approached the plates filled with a mixture of dry and wet food. The   
   > tortie, whom the women called, "Autumn," daintily nibbled while her   
   > kittens fought to nurse her.   
   >   
   >      Truman observed from a distance, his empty stomach growling, until   
   > his hunger won over, and he limped over to a plate of food, bowed by the   
   > weight of starvation.   
   >   
   >      "Oh look -- there's Sunny! He's back!"   
   >   
   >      "Oh, he's injured. Did you see him limping? We've got to get that big   
   > boy to Dr. Evans!"   
   >   
   >      The cats continued eating while the two women busied themselves with   
   > a box hidden away in some shrubbery several yards away. Finally, satisfied   
   > with whatever they were doing, they returned to their car and sat inside,   
   > sipping coffee from paper cups and talking quietly.   
   >   
   >      A couple of hours later, Truman awoke with renewed appetite. He   
   > dragged himself to the food area and saw that the paper plates had been   
   > removed. He thirstily lapped water from the remaining bowl, when his   
   > nostrils lifted, picking up a strong, delicious scent of -- fish!  The cat   
   > ignored the pain in his hip and followed the scent, gimping along on three   
   > legs. The odiferous trail led him to the back of a dark copse, where he   
   > found anchovies, a dimly remembered treat from his days with the boy. A   
   > cracking noise resounded, and Truman found himself -- trapped! He yowled   
   > in anger and frustration and threw himself against the walls of the box,   
   > until weakend and defeated, he slunk to a corner and crouched.   
   >   
   >      Soft voices comforted him, as he felt the box moving gently, then   
   > heard a door slam.   
   >   
   >      After an hour or more of jostling and bumping, Truman found himself   
   > on a shiny table in a room with soft peach-colored walls. He glared   
   > balefully at the man who was gently manuevering his back legs. One of the   
   > women held his front legs securely, while scratching between his ears,   
   > while she talked to the doctor.   
   >   
   >      "I don't know, Susie. This leg will have to be pinned, and there are   
   > no guarantees. It might be kinder to just euthanize this one. He's   
   > probably too old to be adopted and with a gimpy leg, he won't have much of   
   > a chance to defend himself out there."   
   >   
   >      "Pin the leg, Doc. There's something special about this little guy.   
   > I'm going to keep him for myself. I have a feeling about him."   
   >      As the veterinarian busied himself with a needle, Truman was startled   
   > to recognize the sound of his own purring, a long-forgotten sensation.   
   >   
   >      Truman was going home.   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)