Kitties!
Rupert here, looking all Mysterious and stuff.
A commenter yesterday wondered where I got my name.
Settle in and I'll tell you the story!
Once upon a time, there was a young gray mancat who didn't have a home. He grew up with humans around, because he wasn't feral; only wary, and he knew more than anything that he wanted to have a Home of His Own, someday. Wandering the neighborhood (where he was most likely dumped) he came to a house that had a fine cat vibe--there was spilled kibble on the porch from another cat's feeding bowl, and water in the birdbaths--something to stave off starvation, for at least a little while.
After a few days of careful observation, the young gray mancat got braver and started peering in the patio door at the people inside the house. They were watching a show whose characters were in a situation much like his: "Survivor", and there was one colorful contestant that the people particularly liked--he was a burly man who wore tie dye shirts and had a beard--just like the man who lived in the house! (No wonder he was a favorite, right?) His name was Rupert.
It didn't take long for the cats inside the house to notice the gray one on the outside, and naturally the people noticed too, and they put out a whole bowl of food and a real water dish for the newcomer. This was the most food the young mancat had seen in a long time, and he ate and ate and ate, it was so nice to have a full tummy. Over the next few weeks, the people decided to call him "Rupert", after the intrepid character on the TV show--they both had had to get by on their wits to survive.
The young gray mancat, of course, was me.
The lady spent lots of time with me out on the patio that summer, talking to me and feeding me deli meat, and one day I got brave enough to allow her to stroke me...and it felt wonderful. I head-butted her hand for more pets and chittered at her for the first time ever. Things continued well until one day when the lady was stroking me I hissed!, so she stopped and gave me a look-over and saw that I had a huge swelling at the base of my tail. She marched inside and told the man "that's it, Rupert needs to go to the vet" so they got a carrier ready--and the lady put on a leather coat and oven mitts to load me in it. She had never picked me up before and wasn't sure how I'd react, but I was a wet noodle in her arms. I'm pretty sure that's the moment I knew she was my Mommy, and that I'd found my Forever Home.
Anyhoo, after I had two huge abscesses drained, got shot, and a couple of "ping-pongs" removed, Mommy and Daddy picked me up from the vet and brought me Home to a private room to recover. Within a week I was exploring the entire house, and although I now go out onto the Catio I've never asked to go outside again. Life is too good indoors, even if my name does occasionally devolve into "Poopert", "Roopster", or (worst of all) "Poop-a-Doop", it's totally worth it.
The End.
Happy Tuesday!
XX Rupert XX
