Bill the Cat
I hate cats. I'm crazy allergic to them and I think they are stupid animals. Dogs, now that is different. They will do things for you. They are smart. But cats, shit. They suck.
That being said, for the first two-and-a-half years of my undergraduate education, I was convinced I was going to be a veterinarian. And I think I would have been a good one. Thus, I am imbued with a love of animals. Specific animals get to me, even if I hate them in the abstract.
So, let's go back to when I was in Texas. After 9/11 I picked up the bad habit of smoking (sorry, Mom, I lied to you), of which I have since quit. But back then, I would go out on the patio of my apartment in Austin to smoke a cig. One night, this cat showed up. He was a black and white cat that hopped up on my patio fence, which was about waist high. It was pretty clear he was a domestic cat that had been abandoned by his family (and it was a he). That wasn't that unusual in my neighborhood, as there were a lot of people that would buy pets, just to figure out they didn't want to take care of them. Well, I don't know what came over me, but instead of shooing him away, I found myself stroking him. Love of animals, you see.
Anywasys, the next day I went out for a smoke and the same cat came back and jumped up on my fence and I stroked it again. There was a relationship growing there, though I didn't know it at the time. This happened again and again for a week or so. Then I got attached. I gave the cat a name: Bill. As in Bill the Cat from the old Bloom County cartoons. I wish it was original, but back when I was at Kansas State, my roommate had a cat named Bill for the same reasons. I think my cat shared similar features and that is why I chose to call him that.
Bill and I struck up the most unlikely friendship. We would usually see each other once a day when I went out for a smoke. After a while, I started worrying about the guy's being and I found myself going to the store and buying cat food, which I would put out in a bowl for him. Bill was very happy with that.
There came a time when I needed to go to a good friend's wedding. I would be gone for three days, and I was worried about Bill. I went to a pet shop and bought a feeder. A resevoir of water and a bowl for food. I have no idea if that was sufficient for Bill, or if other strays copped from it. But I was worried. Worried! For a cat. Dumb me.
Bill survived just fine, and was glad to see me when I came back. Our relationship lasted another couple of months. One day, I left for work only to find a dead pidgeon on my doorstep. It was completely gross and I had to immediately dispose of it. But I hear that cats like to do that to show their appreciation of you, and so it must have been Bill.
Then, one night, I was out and Bill showed up. His face had the most ugly gouge on it I have ever seen. Maybe he had gotten into another scrap with a pidgeon and the bird got the better deal. I don't know. But it was an ugly wound. I tried to put some antibiotic ointment in the wound, but Bill would have none of it. He would come back the next couple of days and again, I tried to treat him. I called the animal shelter center to see if they could help, but they couldn't without me capturing Bill. That was pretty much out of the question. Then, one day, he stopped coming around. My guess is that he got an infection, though I never saw one; or, he could have gotten into another fight and lost. But he never came back.
Even though I hate cats, I had made a bond with Bill. And I was worried when he didn't come back. But I knew enough about stray cats to know that this happens. So, after about a week, I knew I had lost Bill. It was a deep sadness, and a guilt that I hadn't just taken him in, even though I knew that was impossible.
God bless, Bill. Wherever you are.
That being said, for the first two-and-a-half years of my undergraduate education, I was convinced I was going to be a veterinarian. And I think I would have been a good one. Thus, I am imbued with a love of animals. Specific animals get to me, even if I hate them in the abstract.
So, let's go back to when I was in Texas. After 9/11 I picked up the bad habit of smoking (sorry, Mom, I lied to you), of which I have since quit. But back then, I would go out on the patio of my apartment in Austin to smoke a cig. One night, this cat showed up. He was a black and white cat that hopped up on my patio fence, which was about waist high. It was pretty clear he was a domestic cat that had been abandoned by his family (and it was a he). That wasn't that unusual in my neighborhood, as there were a lot of people that would buy pets, just to figure out they didn't want to take care of them. Well, I don't know what came over me, but instead of shooing him away, I found myself stroking him. Love of animals, you see.
Anywasys, the next day I went out for a smoke and the same cat came back and jumped up on my fence and I stroked it again. There was a relationship growing there, though I didn't know it at the time. This happened again and again for a week or so. Then I got attached. I gave the cat a name: Bill. As in Bill the Cat from the old Bloom County cartoons. I wish it was original, but back when I was at Kansas State, my roommate had a cat named Bill for the same reasons. I think my cat shared similar features and that is why I chose to call him that.
Bill and I struck up the most unlikely friendship. We would usually see each other once a day when I went out for a smoke. After a while, I started worrying about the guy's being and I found myself going to the store and buying cat food, which I would put out in a bowl for him. Bill was very happy with that.
There came a time when I needed to go to a good friend's wedding. I would be gone for three days, and I was worried about Bill. I went to a pet shop and bought a feeder. A resevoir of water and a bowl for food. I have no idea if that was sufficient for Bill, or if other strays copped from it. But I was worried. Worried! For a cat. Dumb me.
Bill survived just fine, and was glad to see me when I came back. Our relationship lasted another couple of months. One day, I left for work only to find a dead pidgeon on my doorstep. It was completely gross and I had to immediately dispose of it. But I hear that cats like to do that to show their appreciation of you, and so it must have been Bill.
Then, one night, I was out and Bill showed up. His face had the most ugly gouge on it I have ever seen. Maybe he had gotten into another scrap with a pidgeon and the bird got the better deal. I don't know. But it was an ugly wound. I tried to put some antibiotic ointment in the wound, but Bill would have none of it. He would come back the next couple of days and again, I tried to treat him. I called the animal shelter center to see if they could help, but they couldn't without me capturing Bill. That was pretty much out of the question. Then, one day, he stopped coming around. My guess is that he got an infection, though I never saw one; or, he could have gotten into another fight and lost. But he never came back.
Even though I hate cats, I had made a bond with Bill. And I was worried when he didn't come back. But I knew enough about stray cats to know that this happens. So, after about a week, I knew I had lost Bill. It was a deep sadness, and a guilt that I hadn't just taken him in, even though I knew that was impossible.
God bless, Bill. Wherever you are.
posted by cc at
9:30 PM
1 Comments:
I remember hearing about this cat from you, but I never knew his name. Here's to Bill.
--Lisa
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