jay_moose

I don't..recall if I posted B's story on here, to be honest.

The original version has been worked to suit where it's been posted.

B came into my life is a puff of dirty black tail hidden away in a storage closet in my apartment complex.

My plans for him were a basic TNR (Trap, Neuter, Release). Feed him once a day to gain his trust, trap him, bring him to the vet to be neutered, and release him.

Well, you know what they say about the best laid plans...

we became pretty much inseparable....my cat, his human...to the point where my parents....the insanely allergic ones who couldn't be near me until i changed after i got out of Last hope (Cat shelter i worked at for 2 years in NY)- fell so totally, utterly in love with him that they wanted to keep him.

Wouldn't that have been a dream come true? We even had him in the apartment (well, on the terrace)....litter box trained, and gradually working him with the dog.

But we were moving, and i know thats not exactly the best time to bring in a new cat. Despite the fact that my parents allergies actually seemed to be contained with him, i went a bit adoption crazy- checking local non-kill shelters...making phone calls, posters, flyers. I needed to do what was best for B. Part of me always niggled about a fact from Last Hope...B had just turned 11 months...and it was a bit harder to adopt out a cat over a year, no matter how wonderful.

Then, a light in the dark. A classmate of mine, a woman i adored with 3 cats and teenage kids, touched my shoulder one day. "Lauren," she said. "You always talk about this cat...i recently lost one of mine, and i like a balance of power in my household." This woman was big on rescues, after all. All of her animals were. It was fate.

A few days later, after dropping B off, i left for New York. Couple of phone calls later, i hadn't received word from her. I chalked it up to the fact that it was Christmastime, then New Years.

One phone call later, after she'd been absent from school (which she never was) she said the cat had not come out of his hiding place, and nipped at her husband when he tried to get him out. My B? Nipping?

Very long story short...a few days later she called, clearly emotional, and confessed that B had gotten out one day, and was seen trolling the neighborhood. Despite the efforts of her kids and husband, B made it clear he wanted in no way to return to her home.

Mom was there to hear my side of the story, listening to me comfort and reassure my friend. She admits to leaving the room and crying, unable to understand how i was so calm.

Now...the part of the story that would go down in Chicken Soup for the Cat Lovers Soul history....

Mom comes into the room not a minute later. She tells me to get my shoes on, that we were driving to Glendale to troll the neighborhood where B was last seen. It was worth a shot,she said. We'd go once or twice a day, drive around, see what happens.

So i humored her, and we drove almost a half an hour from 7th avenue in Phoenix, to 89th in Glendale..

The fact that we weren't picked up by cops...a car moving at a snails pace through a residential area,,,,is amazing. Later, we found out that my friend's husband had seen us, and my friend laughed at him.

Suddenly, there was a black and white cat...enough for me to jump out of the car, before realizing the cat was large, and had too much black on his nose and legs.

Moving on, keeping an eye on the area that seemed to have a good deal of black and white strays, i finally froze.

"B! Mom..it's B its B its B!" Sure enough, about to duck into someone's backyard, was my B. Mom hit the brakes as i leapt out of the car. If he disappeared...that was it. Then i heard my mom yell from the car, "B!"

And that son of a gun froze, did a feline double take, and turned toward us. I headed toward the house, hand out, keeping low, and the cat that my friend said ran if approached, came toward me, slowly.

The closer he got, the more vocal his meows got, until he stopped in front of me, and rolled to his back. It was that move that broke me. He always did that upon seeing me, or wanting to play. He then got up, pushed his cheek against mine, and crawled into my arms.

I called my friend, only a block away, as she had his carrier, and the right to know. We arrived at her house, and she was besides herself. Her kids oggled at the sight of the cat who wanted nothing to do with them, curled and purring in my lap. It was the final straw for my mother. It was meant to be. Or rather, meant to 'B'.

Or was it? B was content on our outside terrace with food, water, a litterbox, toys...and a couch. Alternating between the dogs and letting B roam seemed to work. Dillon settled to the point where he and B could sit in harmony...as long as food was involved. Charlie proved to be a spitfire, a continuing concern.

B, being the cat he was, was in luxury no matter the situation.

I, however hard it was, had been covering the bases, continuing my contacts, including an amazing organization called Lost Our Home, dedicated to fostering and re-homing animals who were victims of foreclosure.

A family friend informed us that her neighbor was interested in meeting B..they had another cat, and recently lost a black and white male. They came over, and while i expected B to hide and shy away, he hammed it up. (I had also brough B to class one day. After expecting him to hide under the fridge all day, he proved me wrong by making his rounds, buddying up to other cats, and letting people hold him...swipe his ears for an ear cytology...and let me clip his nails!). An exchange of scents, and a plan to have the cats meet was made.

Till my mom texted me during class that their cat took one whiff of B's scent-toy and freaked out. Deal closed.

But what she didn't understand is why, when she picked me up, i was smiling at this news.

A man named Jon from 'Lost our Home' had informed me that he had an opening at a Petsmart adoption center. Unlike other centers, Lost Our Home worked with a rescue, and worked as Last Hope would have. Potential owners were screened, applications filled and debated, references called. I had a good rapport with Jon, who met us there, who encouraged me to fill out volunteer and job applications.

Jon assured us it was normal for new cats to sit in their little box for hours at a time in the cage.

Who said B was normal, anyway? He was stretched out at the front of the cage, cool, calm, collected, observing.

I left him there...bittersweet as it was...but Last Hope had instilled in me...always what was best for the cat. B was a learning experience...proving that you don't need to own a cat, to be owned.

Days later, as i was unpacking the last of my boxes from moving to Scottsdale, i received an email from Jon.

"Good news," he wrote. "B has been adopted."

My boy had worked his magic. A 23 year old college student spotted him...and went in. B apparently went easily into her arms, and curled up, purring. He left for his new home...$200 worth of food, toys, and supplies later

Also, reasons why computers SUCK: