Triple Play, Not Played

Several days ago I had a marvellous idea for my newest blah blah blah. Oh, it was clever, I was pleased! Then I drew a blank on most of it, remembered some, not all. Woke up this morning and Bango-Presto! There it was! Woot! Woot! … and gone.

My second choice was scratched on one of my notepads. Scratched and undecipherable. It looked like it was written by someone who had been drinking. Drunk, even.

Third choice, and only third because it’s bigger than just a blah blah blah here, is my new cat! I got a new cat! When I moved here from Toronto, I brought my beloved Jango with me. About six weeks ago we got a new roommate. We met like many do, on line. Through Facebook. Like that!

A few months back my friend was having a little rant on her wall and almost as an afterthought she added that to top off the already crappy day, someone had just brought her cat who had been attacked by a drunk with a machete. My friends have several foster dogs and several more of their own. People in their barrio take their wounded or sick animals to them because they think they will help. The people of the barrio are not wrong.

I tried really hard to put it all out of my mind and did so until they posted a picture of him coming home from the vet. There he was. As soon as I saw that tiny, scared, curious, wonderful pointy little bastard face it just poked a hole right through my heart. I fought it but I knew resistance was futile. I was a goner.

He had to have his back left leg removed. After a few days at the vet my friends took him home, but he ended up with an infection and had to return to the vets for an extended stay. I saw a picture of him in this tiny concrete cage and started to mentally prepare myself for the new family member. Can you ever? Not really.

He came in like a hurricane, tasmanian devil, whirling and running and wrecking stuff. He had some pretty hardcore but understandably severe food issues. I started giving my Jango wet food in the morning. It was our little bit of dinner theatre. More theatre than dinner, mind. Jango liked the show more than the food. I get the bowl down, do a bit of a dance, few good strokes down the back, some cooing and oohing and then we’re all set. He eats about half, maybe, then has a 45 minute bath and off to snooze.

The new one, once he understood what was happening, would lose it. Crying, attacking my feet and legs, (kitten-style) and then wolf the whole thing back without breathing. I was worried about the whole pecking order thing, but not to worry. This worked itself out, thanks to my dear heart Jango. He saw the desperation in him and just sat back, knock yourself out, dude.

It’s much better now. He only dances with a few plaintive mews and after a few gulps, can walk away. Jango sits out until it’s his turn, so he gets his own bowl and a new flavour, cuz that’s how we roll here, yeah we do. Jango made me so proud, while he waits, I love the bejabbers out of him.

When he was in foster care he was called Tripod, but we call him Chance. He lost his leg taking a chance trying to find food. We took a chance on bring him home. That’s a chance that was win-win!


Chance 3.jpg
His first day with us!

2 thoughts on “Triple Play, Not Played

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