His first year is a mystery. He seems to have lived with people before he got lost or was abandoned. He gets along well with children. He was well fed. The edges of his ears are intact, indicating he probably didn't fight much during that first year. We'll never know where he was before July 2003, but we do know that he was hanging around an apartment building and had no discernible owner by midmonth, so the animal shelter took him in.
They named him Stubs, because of his short legs. He was playful and cute, but at about a year old, his chances of adoption were considerably less than those of the numerous kittens at the shelter. Would he adapt to a new home? Had he developed bad habits? Was he neutered too late? And biggest question of all: Would someone want to adopt an older cat?
Lucky me, I didn't want a kitten -- didn't want to have to train someone not to tear up the furniture. Didn't want someone who would be bounding over the 8-foot fence surrounding our yard.
It felt right to take a chance on the little guy. We had some bumps along the way -- it turns out he's not easily medicated; the first time I tried to give him a pill, he gagged, then hurled all over the kitchen.
On the bright side, however, he doesn't seem interested in hurtling the fence. He can barely jump up into the potted plants. He's a good wrestler, but not much of a long-jumper.
We haven't renamed him yet. "Stubs" is cute, but sounds like vital parts have been been...I donno...lopped off. It took me a year to name Critter, so I'm not in a rush. At this point, we're
having fun and setting the occasional boundary. (No, kitty, you can't cover the laundry room floor with dried fish flakes...)
It's impossible not to love a little guy who stands on the back of the sofa for a stare-down with a squirrel on the other side of the window.
For the record, Stubs won.