There’s a feral cat in my garden. He’s stripy all over (except for his white paws) and has the most beautiful light green eyes I’ve ever seen.
We met around a year ago and, as I started feeding him, he decided to visit me on a daily basis.
I named him Tiger for… obvious reasons. And here I was, in love with this kitty. Me, the lady who had never been a cat person. Or an animal person for that matter.
As we only live here at the weekend, Tiger decided he had to do something to survive. He found a way to get into the space under the house where we keep the cat food and made a hole in the bag. Most convenient.
At the weekend, we would treat him like a king: cheese, bread with butter, cat food galore…
He’s a trusting little thing and he even comes into the house sometimes. One day, I took a picture of him sitting on an armchair in the living room.
Not long ago, my husband was sitting in the garden at night when he heard the noises of a violent cat fight. The next time we saw Tiger, he was limping.
We didn’t know what to do, as he was obviously in pain. My neighbor and namesake, who is an assistant vet and knows a lot about animals, suggested we should take him to the vet.
She lent me a cage to catch him and the next morning I put a can of cat food inside.
Tiger ate the food, but the cage was too small and his hind legs were outside, so when he finished, he left. I felt frustrated and shaken, as I had tried to push him inside several times. Unsuccessfully.
A few days later, I tried again with a bigger cage also provided by my neighbour. This time I succeeded at the third try or so. Tiger meowed and my heart broke. He sounded so very sad…
I covered the cage with a couple of towels as Maria Jose had told me it would calm him down, but he kept on meowing and trying to get out.
At the vet’s, Tiger had his wound disinfected and was given antibiotic.
He was also neutered to stop him from getting into fights in the future.
As he’s quite thin and Maria Jose suspected something might be wrong, he had a blood test as well. Fortunately the test was negative for leukemia, but it seems he’s immunodeficient.
In the afternoon, we brought him home and I was afraid he might hate me, but his little face is still the first thing I see when I open the window in the morning. He’s always outside the door, waiting for his breakfast.
Now he doesn’t limp anymore and is as hungry as ever.