This is a new blog and site so I guess some background information is required.

Perhaps number one, I should mention that I'm an animal lover and that I enjoy the company of cats more than other animals.

I haven't experienced many other animals so I guess that limits the impact of my impressions.  My cats have always been loving, friending, intriguing characters, animals who prompt my wonder about what's going on in their tiny heads.  I think they wonder in the same manner about me.

I've had a lot of great cats.  I lost two last year.  Both were rescues.  One was known as Scheckter, aka The Gingerbear King, sweet, smart and orange.  Scheckter had something to say about everything but his expressions and comments made you laugh.  The other one was Lady, a tiny gray cat from the streets.  She was less social and more wary, giving in eventually to the concept that people love her, won't harm her and can be trusted.  

Both passed away last year from several illnesses, including kidney failure and cancer, after some fighting and denial on our part, especially me.  The challenge eviscerated my soul and sucked out my energy, leaving me hollow at year's end.  In the midst of the war came a worn out black and white cat, injured and dirty, with an injured eye, seeking food and shelter.  We decided to call him Tucker as we sought his people.  I created posters and put them on utility poles and traveled the circuit of vets and shelters while perusing missing cat ads.  We were sure he was someone's misplaced pet.  Sweet but wary, worn out by being betrayed, he came to stay with us, bonding with me.

Tucker had problems, though.  Foremost was bad breath, I mean, foul  breath, and eating issues.  I knew he had something going on in his mouth.  I knew he needed to go to the vet.  But I held off.  I was afraid. I didn't want to fall in love again and discover I had another dying animal on my hands.  I didn't want to get too close or spend the money or invest the emotions.  

But above all else, I'm a sucker and a fool, caring for others despite myself, with a stubborn determination to make a difference.  Never tell me the odds, right?  Just makes me tighten my grip and shift my position, the better to fight back.  

Yet....

A light burned in the back of my mind.  Tucker was suffering and by taking him into my house, I'd agreed to help him.  We had a contract.  I'd help him in exchange for him being my companion.  It's odd how that relationship works out but cats and animals provide comfort and energy that exceeds being measured by cash and time.   He was suffering and I had to find out what was troubling him and what I could to do ease his problems.  

So we went to the vet.  First, it was a battle getting Tucker into the kennel.  He fought.  I felt terrible forcing him in while resisting his attempts to claw me to death in protest.  Once in the car and underway, he cried quite plaintively for a few miles before...shutting up.  

His silence worried me.  But at the vet, he turned out to be okay.  Actually, once he was out of the kennel, he was fine, even happy.  Thermometer up his rear, shots, prodding, none of that bothered him as long as he was out of his cage.  We had a physical done, along with blood work.  Yes, we found he had some plaque build up and gingivitis.  Anti inflammatory meds and anti bacterial shots were given.  Dental work is being scheduled.  

He's doing well, this black and white cow cat of uncertain origins, getting on my lap to reassure me that everything will be okay, sometimes purring, because he knows I like it.  I think it's a good investment.  

I think it's time to move on from my losses and my fear of what might happen.