Tough Guy by Pamela Jenkins
When I saw the tangled mass of hair and listless expression of the cat, I knew
I had to do something.
The black cat had been seen around our barn for about two weeks. Always
shy, he would slink away when he saw me doing chores. On this morning,
however, he paused and looked back over his shoulder at me. In that
brief instant that we stared at each other, I felt his mixture of distrust and
hope.
I went to the tack room of the barn and pulled out the Have-A-Hart trap. That
night I left it by the barn door with an open can of sardines inside.
The next morning I found the trap door sprung. Inside sat the cat, and I
was finally able to get a better look at him. He seemed to be a Persian
cat with big eyes and a flat nose, but unfortunately his lower jaw stuck out
far enough that his bottom teeth showed. He had a funny, bulldog face.
It reminded me of a tough guy in an old gangster movie. Since the cat
seemed to be having a hard time surviving on his own, we decided to give him a
"tough guy" name. We called him Bullet.
That morning, Bullet rode with me to the veterinary clinic where I work. He
didn't seem at all frightened by the car ride. In fact, he didn't seem
to care one way or the other what we did with him. It was as if all
Over the next few days, Bullet got a complete make over. He was tested
negative for feline diseases, received his vaccinations and was neutered, and
was put on a healthy diet. His ears were cleaned of mites and his many
wounds from cat fights were medicated. The biggest change he received
was being relieved of years' worth of neglected hair coat. The only
choice we had was to completely shave him. All we left were his whiskers
and a tuft on the end of his tail.
Even with a new hairdo, Bullet looked rough. His body was covered with
scars from parasites and injuries. His ears were notched from cat
fights.
Bullet took all our ministrations with patience and grace. He obviously
had been someone's pet at one time. No feral cat would have tolerated
the grooming we put him through.
In spite of all the attention lavished on him, he remained aloof and shy.
In an attempt to make him feel more at ease, I gave him a cardboard box.
Lined with a soft baby blanket, it was just what he wanted, a safe and
comfortable den away from the world which had been so unkind to him.
When Bullet came home with me, the box came also. He would step out long
enough to eat or drink, then hurry back to his sanctuary. The other cats
seemed to understand that the box was Bullet's "space" and let him
be. He seemed content to spend his time alone.
Several weeks went by with little change. Bullet continued to heal and
his hair grew back with a lustrous shine. His frame filled out and he
settled into our home. Still, our new cat remained quiet as a mouse and
stayed out of sight.
One day I was sitting in my rocking chair in front of the French doors. I had
just been through a stressful week and was feeling low. There were times
when feelings of depression were overwhelming, and it's a battle I face every
day. My family was out of the house at the moment and I found myself
alone with my thoughts. As I watched the busy birds outside on the
feeder, I wiped away a tear.
I saw a movement off to my side. Bullet was standing in the living room.
He was looking back at his tail, where the tuft was waving slowly back and
forth. He suddenly spun around and swatted at it, chasing his tail in a
circle as if he had found his own personal toy to bat. I held my breath
as I watched. After a while he seemed to lose interest. He slowly
walked over to me and sat down, looking up into my eyes.
"Hey, Bullet," I said softly. "You've come out to play
today, huh?"
In the next instant, Bullet had launched himself onto my lap. He curled
up in a ball, and for the first time I heard his deep rumbling purr of
contentment. Just what I needed today, I thought as I stroked his soft
coat. Bullet swiveled his bulldog face to look up at me, and slowly
winked his eyes.
I will never know what happened in Bullet's life before he came into mine.
Whatever his traumatic history may have been, Bullet was slowly overcoming his
fears and reservations. He was beginning to forget his past hurts and
live again. He had overcome being abandoned and unloved, one of the
biggest obstacles to be faced.
As I rubbed the spot behind his ears, Bullet's purring grew even louder.
Suddenly my own problems didn't seem so insurmountable after all.
There have been many times that Bullet has snuggled up beside me when I'm
feeling down. Somehow he knows when his presence is most needed.
He may have needed a helping hand on that day long ago, but the old tough guy
has paid me back a thousand times over with his love.
Pamela Jenkins Dec.2003 [email protected]