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This last week when I was so worried about Boots' health, I found myself thinking about how he came into my life. I've been meaning to tell this story to the group for a while, and I guess now is the time.
Boots moved in with a new neighbor in about 1991. I have a large, fenced yard that is popular with all the urban wildlife, but especially with cats, so Boots and his buddy Kim Chee found my yard as soon as they were allowed outside. They had ID tags, and I let the neighbor know that they were spending lots of time in my yard, in case she ever wondered where they were. Kim Chee was a gutsy cat - the kind that will walk right into a strange house. Boots was shyer, and definitely my favorite. Over the next couple of years, we got to know each other, and one day I discovered him sleeping in my basement. He had taught himself to use the cat door, and was apparently hanging out at my place during the day. Eventually, he got up the nerve to come upstairs. After that, he spent most days and even nights at my house, although I didn't feed him, and he always went home for breakfast. He acted like my cat, and seemed to not find it strange that he had to eat elsewhere.
One day in the spring of 1994 I saw a "for sale" sign on his house, so I got up the nerve to ask the neighbor if there was a chance I could have him. She said no, and I began to dread the day he'd be leaving. On the day they moved, he spent the whole day in my yard, ignoring her calls. I hated to do it, but I phoned her and told her he was in my yard, and she said she'd be by to get him in the evening. I was out when she came, and Boots was in the house, looking out at her, but of course not interested in going out through the cat door to get to her. So she left, and phoned saying she'd be back early the next morning. Although Boots normally slept on the bed with me, he spent that night at his post near the front window. The next morning, he would not eat (I'd started feeding him in the last few weeks). Neither of us had slept very well. When she came to take him away, it was a very dark day for both of us, but I resigned myself to his leaving.
About two weeks later, on a Wednesday night, the phone rang. It was my neighbor, saying that Boots was not doing well: he was depressed, not eating, spending all his time in the basement alone and ... would I like to have him after all! Of course I said, "Yes. When?" And she said "How about right now?" So I cancelled my plans for the evening and she brought him over. She opened the cardboard cat carrier in my living room, he looked out, realized where he was and went into overdrive - meowing, rubbing my legs, standing up on his hind legs to rub against my knees - absolutely not a depressed cat. It was a great moment for Boots and me, and must have been a very sad one for her. I'm still amazed that she could make such a selfless decision. But she was absolutely right about what he wanted. And he's never wanted to be anywhere else since.
Editor's note:
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