Tyler

My escort to the cattery was a shelter employee named Gayle.  Or Gail.  I never asked how she spelled it.  Anyway, she had 9 cats and was the resident expert on every cat. 

“What are you looking for?  Any specific color?” She asked, obviously expecting a snobby Long Island answer.  Apparently on Long Island (Lawn Guyland) people matched their pets to their decor.  That always pissed me off.  Match their PERSONALITY to your decor, not the color of their fur!

“I’m looking for a cool, friendly cat.  I still live at home with my parents, so we prefer one already declawed.”

“Oh, we have a few.  You would never declaw a cat would you?”

“Never, been there asked that.” I did not want to get into THAT again.

A short walk behind some barking dog kennels and we were at the front door of the aforementioned cattery.

“Now, don't expect them all to approach you.  Many have been here for years and are really unadoptable at this point.”

That made my heart sink a little for some reason.  Lifers.  I felt bad.

The first cat to greet me at the door was……Tyler. 

What a handsome cat he was!  A black and white cat, they call them tuxedo cats.  They always look sharply dressed, ready for a night out on the town. He had this look in his eyes like he just knew what you were thinking.  Like he was looking into your heart.  Your SOUL. He knew, even before I did, that I was the one he was going to come home with.

“Oh, that’s Tyler, I had him in mind for you.  He’s one of our declawed cats.” Gayle said.

I knelt down and he came right over, smelled me, rubbed me with his head, and rolled onto his back. 

“He has the longest tail and a very shiny coat. He’s got attitude but he's really a sweetheart.” She explained, already selling.

"How old is he?" I asked.  "About a year and a half."  The truth is they didn't actually know.  Apparently you can sort of guess the age of a cat by checking their teeth, sort of like checking the rings on a tree trunk.

“How did he end up here?”

“Apparently his old owner moved and abandoned him.”  Gayle explained.  Was that the truth?  At that point it didn't matter, I was pretty much hooked.

“He was adopted and brought back in October because he didn't get along with the other cats in the house" she cautioned. 

Sure enough, walking away from me Tyler was bickering with the other cats, many presumably with claws.  Yet he was holding his own.  He never got into a fight, no swinging, no scratching.  He would hiss or growl, and they would all back off. He had swagger, that’s for sure. He seemed to be ruling the place. He had a little Jimmy Cagney about him, or was it Edward G. Robinson?

To be safe, and to be sure I did my due diligence, I let Gayle show me the other cats.  There sure were plenty to look at.  I felt like I was in the Star Trek tribble episode.  Literally wall to wall cats.  Some cute, some less than cute.  I saw what she meant.  Many were never going to find homes.  They just gave you a look that said it all.  Come near me and I’ll scratch your damn eyes out.  I wished I could take them all home.  I truly did. Many were very sweet.  One in particular, Vincent, an all-white cat, sat on the small counter in the kitchen area where the staff would wash food bowls and prepare meals for the population.  He just sat there watching the staff, supervising, and head butting each and every visitor.  He also had no ears.  Being an all-white cat means being prone to cancer from too much sun, and that’s how he lost his ears.  Poor dude.  He was cool though, the greeter cat.

Throughout it all, Tyler never left my side.  Literally, he would walk either at my feet or up on a shelf or cubby or whatever they had set up and did his best to be at my eye level.  Whenever I would turn, there he was, head butting me and flipping onto his back to show me his white stomach.  It made me laugh every time.  He trusted me from literally the first second we met.  I never lost that trust.  NEVER.

Why was I looking at other cats?  I had found my cat.  Or rather my cat had found me.