Tailless Wonder Wilson

Since I mentioned it, I must tell the story of T.W. Wilson. I realize that not everyone will enjoy kitty stories, and you probably have a mental image of me as Crazy Cat Lady at this point. If so, fuck off. I like cats, they like me, it's just the way things go. And, since some people can't care for their cats or abandon them along the roadside because "they'll take care of themselves", there are those of us who must fill in, sometimes more than we want.

I was driving home on a frigid, dark November night on my usual route, down a backroad, when I saw a dark patch in the road that I knew had to be roadkill. Unexpectedly, the roadkill raised its head & looked at my oncoming vehicle. I passed it by & then circled back around. I didn't know what it was - raccoon, possum, cat or fox, but I can't leave any living creature in the road to die like that (this reminds me to relate the story of the raccoon....). As I approached the living road kill, it raised its head again to look, probably expecting a repeat of what had put it there in the first place, and I saw it was a cat. I stepped out of the truck & peeled off my Land's End coat and laid it on the road next to the cat. Then, gingerly, I gripped the poor thing by the nape of its neck to prevent any bites, and carefully slid it onto the warm fleece interior of the coat. Strangely, it made no attempt to bite & didn't even offer a complaint when I piled the bundle of coat & cat on the front seat & proceeded to drive home.

Since it was after hours at the vet, and this was not my cat & I was broke, I didn't know quite what to do, but I felt terrible expecting the unfortunate animal to hang out until I could get him into the vet the next morning. I pulled the top off a cat carrier & made a warm nest inside with a heating pad underneath & lay him (as he did indeed turn out to be very much a him) in it. I sat & stroked him for a few minutes & then shut the light off & closed the door. I visited him several more times that night & he meowled a couple times, but he didn't seem to be in incredible pain or anything, so I rested easier.

Bright & early the next morning I loaded him back into the truck & headed off to the vet aka my former employer. They kept him for a couple of days, x-rayed him & declared him to have a broken pelvis. When I called to check on him, Doc Judy uttered the ominous words, "You're going to have to make some decisions on this cat." He might not walk, might not pee, might not operate his bowels properly. This did sound grave indeed.

So, I made the decision to keep him. I think laying on the ice cold road for however long he did must've worked in his favor by reducing swelling. Once home, we never looked back. There were never litterbox issues and, altho' the broken pelvis slightly altered his movement, you'd never know this cat was formerly roadkill, tho' once glance at him will tell you his life hasn't been easy.

He's tailless, first of all. We (the vet & I) were unable to determine whether this was natural or if it had been chopped off in an accident of some sort. Being an old tom, his ears are tattered from countless fights & he's solid as a rock. He's a handsome fellow in his own way, a swirling tiger pattern and white, muscular & big. As for the injury, he gets around just fine, but he just looks like a demented tabby & white rabbit while he does it. My friend Stace calls him "Hippity Hop". He's not all there - I don't know if this a result of the accident or if he was this way before, but he's wacked. Sometimes he has to be calmed when he gets into the "Red Zone" & wants to bite & flip out, but usually a few soft words & head pats will get him back in line. He chatters constantly, and every hop & bound are accompanied by a "whirr" and "murr" - like the impact of his paws on the ground jar these noises loose. He's seriously deranged.

It took S some time to get used to him. T.W., as he came to be known, short for Tailless Wonder, had to live in a room by himself for some time, but then he was moved out with the general population where he's lived happily ever since. Now S will pat him until T.W. starts getting weird, and he enjoys his constant chatter from the kitchen chair while we're cooking. And then, S was the one who came up with his working name, Wilson, because of his resemblance to a soccer ball. So, Tailless Wonder Wilson he remains - it's his boxing name.

He's a trial at times, and altho' we had him neutered promptly (with much exclaiming & joy over his recovery from the vet folks), he still likes to bash the hell out of the other cats from time to time. The peculiar thing is, is that he won't mess with the smallest of the lot, a bitchy Himalayan named Bella who never has & never will take shit from anything. Nor will he fight with the lead cat, a brilliant beast named Vincent who is another story unto himself.

Several months ago he had to spend two weeks at the vet due to a urinary tract infection. A nerve that controlled his urination had been damaged & they weren't sure if he was going to make it thru it or not. I was beside myself at this news - after all the old warrior had been thru how could he be brought low because he couldn't pee properly? But, two weeks later, he was released much to my & the vet's & all the techs' relief. Turns out they had become quite attached to his talkative furriness while he was there & everyone was rooting for him.

I often wonder if he remembers his old life & if he wonders how he lucked into a warm house with a constant food supply & cozy fleece blankets to snooze on. He's my cat to be sure, and I have an overwhelming fondness for him & he for me. Altho' he's not much of a lap cat, something I think I prefer, he will snuggle up to my back, or leg, or whatever he can press himself against, and fall asleep. And, if I fall asleep on the floor, he will clamber up on me like I'm a giant pillow and nod off.

I think we'll keep the dumbass.