I stopped at Petco after work this evening. I had a coupon for $5 that expired today and I can't afford to throw $5 in the trash, so I hauled my fat ass over there this hot night and invested in a pair of new scratching posts.
Connie prefers a specific type of post -- it's sturdy and wrapped in rope. I couldn't find one in the row where most of the cat goodies are displayed and asked one of the employees for help. She directed me to the clearance bin at the front of the store. I never check that bin because it's off the doggie aisle and I assumed it was all canine items.
Beside the clearance bin was a series of cream colored carriers -- 9 in all -- filled with cats from the local shelter. Their ages and stories made me so sad. All were over 5, and given up for adoption because of allergies or because the owners moved to a "no pets" building. Imagine how confused and depressed these poor cats must be, having lived their lives in a household and now suddenly in a cage at the front of Petco. What had they done wrong? Where are their people? Breaks my heart.
Especially Bobby. I don't know why he particularly got under my skin, but he did. This good-sized cat looked so vulnerable and exposed, sleeping under the fluorescent lights in the petstore. His furry little plight touched me.
I admit I was tempted to adopt him. My feline roommates would adjust easily to a new addition. Reynaldo got along well with both Joey and Charlotte, no problem. Connie grew up in a hoarder situation so being surrounded by other cats is fine with her. I could get Bobby out of that cage and into a home where he could play and be cuddled. I could do that.
EXCEPT for FIP. The shelter that sends these cats to Petco doesn't screen for this virus -- most shelters in Chicagoland don't. But after Joey died, I paid to have the extensive bloodwork done to screen Rey and Connie and learned Connie has the infection and shared it with Rey. Neither cat has symptoms. Right now both are healthy. But they have it, and a third cat entering the house would likely get it.
Of course, it's possible Bobby already has FIP. As I say, shelters can't afford to screen for it. But it's just as likely he doesn't, and I think it would be irresponsible for me to adopt.
Besides, I can't save them all. That's really what this comes down to, isn't it? I hate the thought of any animal being unloved. But I can only do what I can do. Right now, keeping Rey and Connie healthy is my priority.
These are the thoughts and observations of me — a woman of a certain age. (Oh, my, God, I'm 65!) I'm single. I'm successful enough (independent, self supporting). I live just outside Chicago, the best city in the world. I'm an aunt and a friend. I feel that voices like mine are rather underrepresented online or in print. So here I am. If my musings resonate with you, please visit my blog again sometime.
I agree with you. We can't save them all. I've had as many as five cats at a time and now we have three. A co-worker is trying to find homes for three tuxedo kittens. The last two we lost were tuxies. I want all three of them but know I just can't. We're getting ready to downsize, preparing to live on a fixed income and that does not include three more cats. Sigh. I wish I could save them all too.
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