Oscar

Oscar was actually in existence before The Cat Spa ever was.

She — yes, she — was born in my bedroom when I was 12 years old, on May 12, 1983 (thus, she was a Taurus). We had taken in a pregnant black momma cat who gave birth to four all-black kittens one afternoon. It was a lot of fun living with all those kittens for a while, but the time came when my mom decided it was time for most of them to find new homes. I’m not sure how we came to keep Oscar, of all the kittens, but she was the lucky one…in more ways than one.

When Oscar was about one year old, she got out (or fell, we’ll never know) a screened window for her first and only venture into the outside world. It did not go well. All of us were gone to school or work, so we had no idea trouble was underfoot. A kindly neighbor was home and happened to see a German Shepard and a Doberman tossing around what appeared to be a small, black toy. Upon closer inspection, the neighbor realized the toy was actually a cat! She was able, somehow, to free Oscar from the dogs and took her into her home. Later that afternoon, my brother Tommy came home from work and the neighbor was coming over to ask Tommy if he knew who this cat belonged to, when Oscar shot out of the neighbor’s house straight across to ours — that was her answer.

But poor Tommy had to deal with the mess he was greeted with. It was painfully obvious that Oscar needed to get to a vet quickly, so Tommy dropped everything he was going, put Oscar in a box, and began driving her to our regular vet. Unfortunately, on the way his car broke down and he had to carry Oscar, in the box, and walk the rest of the way to the vet’s office. What an ordeal!

But it wasn’t over yet. Oscar had a collapsed lung, a broken leg, and lots of sores. The vet told my mom that Oscar was in bad shape, so we should just take her home to let her die in peace. But just in case, she gave us medication to give her twice a day, advised to feed her baby food, and to keep her separate from the other pets in the house.

So Oscar moved into my bedroom where I nursed her back to health. I diligently gave her the medications each day and hand fed her the baby food when I needed to. And when the vet called a week later to see what had happened, she was surprised to hear that My Oscar had survived.

So obviously Oscar became “my” cat; we had bonded. She tucked me into bed every night and was my girl until I grew up and moved away. My boyfriend was allergic to cats, so she couldn’t move with me. I was heartbroken, but knew she was in good hands staying with my mom.

Time passed. I found a new boyfriend who was not allergic to cats. Miles and Boris had found their way into our home. And my mom’s living situation was changing, so it was time for My Oscar to come live with us at The Cat Spa. Although it was a bit of a challenge for Oscar adjusting to life with two young boy cats…it was so nice having her back in my life! Eventually everyone worked out their differences and life at The Cat Spy fell into a comfortable routine.

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Boris

About nine months after we let Miles into our lives (and after we moved into a pet-friendly condo), another kitty was trying to wiggle his way into our household although he didn’t know it!

I worked with and was friends with a woman who had come across a small black kitten in the marina where she lives. She lived on a boat with her husband, very young daughter and a German Shepard – and there was just no way she could bring this little guy into her home. She’d been telling me about this kitten for a couple of weeks, his energy, his sweet personality, his persistence in following her to her boat. Of course my friend began feeding him and actively began trying to recruit me to become this kitten’s new mommy.

After some serious discussions with Rob… and consulting Miles, we decided to give it a try. Miles was probably just about a year old at this point and needless to say had a lot of energy and tended to “get into trouble”. We thought maybe giving Miles a little brother, a playmate, would solve some of the problems.

So my friend scooped up the little black kitten and brought him to us. We put him in the spare bedroom for a couple of days so he and Miles could get used to each other’s scents and then we gradually integrated the little black kitten into the house. However, no matter how careful we tried to be, Miles didn’t want any part of the black kitten! Oh, he growled and swatted and carried on like it was the end of the world. He even stopped “talking” to me because he knew it was all my fault that little kitten was in his house.

Meanwhile, the black kitten was given a name. Rob came up with Boris because of his completely black coat (with just three white hairs on his head) in honor of Boris Karloff or Boris Badenov. As far as Miles was concerned, Boris the Bad Guy was a perfect name for this intruder. However, it was quickly apparently Boris was no bad guy! He was very sweet and lovable and affectionate. All he wanted was to be loved or to play games with his new big brother. Boris was very happy to do what he was told…as long as he was to be accepted.

However, being the “ignorant humans” we were, after just a week or so, we decided it wasn’t going to work, that Miles was never going to get used to and be nice to Boris. We needed to find Boris a new home. So we took Polaroid photos of him and wrote “Free to Good Home” and posted them in the local grocery store and Wal-Mart (oh, what fools we were back then!). Soon a young man called who wanted to adopt the cute black kitten and we agreed to meet in the parking lot of the grocery store… I was to look for a guy on a bicycle with a basket. Fortunately, Rob saw the red flags and we took his truck to meet this person instead of my car. When we saw the guy (actually, not much more than a teenager) standing next to his bike with a milk crate attached to the handlebars… Rob kept on driving and said “It looks like Boris will be staying with us.” It was one of the best decisions we ever made.

Miles seemed to instinctively know that Boris was staying, and suddenly they became friends. Go figure.

Over time, Miles and Boris became inseparable. Miles was the King of the house and Boris was perfectly happy being the Prince. Wherever Miles went, Boris was close behind. As Miles learned the English language, he taught it to Boris. And as time went on and the rules of The Cat House were being implemented by Miles, he most certainly accepted some input from Boris.

Boris ended up being one of the most loveable cats we ever had, he was the most well behaved (eventually) and very courteous. A perfect gentleman!

Ah, yes, the site is coming along nicely. Hang in there a bit longer and you’ll see major changes take place over the next few days. Stay tuned!

This will be the location for my newest endeavor… to put into words and share pictures of the passion I have followed on some level my whole life… cat rescue.