Mo

Let me introduce you to Mo. Mo stands for No Mo Cats.  He is the third feline pet child, a youngster compared to Country and Jasmine who are both approaching 16. He is feral cat, a wild child, an independent soul. He was found in a junk stuffed old rundown, falling down chicken house on my dad's little place. I had family there trying to sort and clean so that we could sell the place after dad passed on. Dad was a keeper and saver, like many of our elderly who lived through the Great Depression. Dad saved everything because it might be useful someday for something. His little acreage had several buildings filled with stuff--junk--30 years of collecting, storing, stashing, saving. In his later years he had taken to feeding feral cats, so the population grew. Very poor cat management. So the kids were in the old building scrounging when they heard a sound. They dug around finding a tiny, wet mass of fur. Jen (yes, Jen again) brought this little guy to me in tears afraid that he was near death, insisting that we had to do something before it died. Luckily a vet lived next door. She gave the little guy a shot of B-12 and some warm milk, bringing life to the little cat. Jen's husband was wise enough to tell her not to come home with another cat (she already had 2), so I was charged with his care.

Today Mo thrives. He loves to be outside; in fact, he prefers to be outside. Despite all of the humanly love and affection as a baby,  he is a loner, aloof, and distant. While he has all of his house manners, he doesn't much like us. He tolerates us, barely. He is a bully to other cats. They fear him. While Country sleeps with the pet dad and Jasmine has her own little cat bed, Mo gets sent to the garage to sleep; otherwise, he spends the night terrorizing the elder cats. He has no respect.

Looks innocent enough, doesn't he? He was probably, according to the vet, only 4 weeks old, not old enough to be weaned, but I couldn't get him to nurse on a bottle, so he started on cat food early. But he also ate dog food. We had to laugh: a tiny little baby eating dog food while the big dog held back watching the baby eat the dog's food. Probably not the best diet for the little guy, but he was tough. Later he began napping on my clothing if it wasn't hung up. And while he slept, he chewed holes. He ruined some of my favorite clothes. Still, 7 years later he likes to sleep on my clothes. I'd like to think that he does consider me the mom, but he'd never let it be known that he is the least bit attached to anything or anyone. He may have outgrown the need to chew clothing, but I don't trust him. What makes cats eat fabric? Lord knows he has eaten enough polyester, wool, cotton, cotton blends, and nylon to rot his gut.

Perhaps the most endearing quality about this fat cat is his love for the dog. They are best buds. Max is the only creature here at the Garden Spot that Mo relates to. He follows the dog, plays with him, rubs up against him as other cats do their owners' legs. Max is his friend, his only friend by his choice. His pet dad tries to befriend him, tries to get him to accept kindness and affection, which is returned with claw and tooth. As I said, he's not a nice cat.

He is not the cute, cuddly, endearing little fuzz ball that purrs when his ears are scratched; none-the-less, we worry about him when stays out all night, we see to it that he has all of the amenities that the other cats enjoy (including his shots), we try to overlook his bad attitude, we even try to keep the secret that he is after all feral. He will never be the lap cat, he will never be loyal or loving, but he is a survivor and he is part of our pet family.

Tomorrow is Friday. TGIF in triple. I am quite exhausted by the end of the day. Tomorrow is a light day: office hours and tutoring. I'll swim after work, get groceries, and relax over the week-end. Maybe do some garden planning. Still a bit early here in Northern Colorado to get too excited about planting yet, but we can dream and plan. Hope everyone has a good week-end. Give the pets an extra treat and a hug.