A Crash course

I don't know if this look of irritation has always been there or if he developed it over the last year and a half as the result of becoming second fiddle in this household. All I know is that I'm already being bossed around by a tiny tyrant in diapers and pleasing this sour puss is the last thing on my mind these days.

It wasn't always like this though. We used to be close, Crash and I.

Our vetrinarian Dr. Jen saved him from a close call with death when Animal Control found him on the side of the road mangled, bloody and barely breathing. She said that they were ready to euthanize him when they heard the tiniest little "mew". Dr Jen and her team felt compelled to at least try to save him but didn't hold much hope assessing from his condition that he had to be at least 12 years old and in very bad shape.

But thank goodness they did because within the next few months this old and battered feline healed into a vibrant, gorgeous and feisty cat. Dr Jen realized that her estimation of his age was far off and that he was only two or three years old. They named him Crash not only for what he had already endured but also because of the havoc he began to wreak in the clinic - running into walls chasing balls, demanding his needs in clear and articulate meouws, tormenting the patients there on short visits.

At the time, Shaune or I had been making weekly stops at the Vet's office to pick up insulin for our old pup Judge who had been diagnosed with serious diabetes a few months prior. And each week, Dr Jen would have a different rescued animal (almost always cats) in the display crate in the front lobby of the clinic in hopes that an adoption or two would take place. A few times Shaune would come home and mention this one cat. It bothered him that this cat seemed to have been there longer than any of the others that were up for adoption.

Well I guess you know where this story is going. It bothered Shaune more and more and weirdly, I never saw this particular cat on my trips to the clinic. I would ask Shaune - is it the one with the orange stripes? No. The odd grey cat with the stitched up eye? Nope.

Finally, I said, well lets ask about him. We did. Dr Jen and her staff were thrilled that we were interested. They knew us well - our dog Judge had been their patient for the past 9 years and he had singlehandedly probably paid Dr Jen's mortgage for at least a full year - with his knee replacement, X-rays and ultrasounds, yearly shots and insulin, not to mention several one or two week stays at Hotel-So-Expensive-We-Considered-Selling-The-Shirts-Off-Our-Backs-Just-To-Pay for his recovery.

Anyway, they couldn't be happier that we wanted to take Crash home. He'd been with the clinic for almost five months most likely because people were looking for kittens.

That was two and a half years ago.

These days I grumble and complain about the attention he demands of me. I threaten him when he's using my furniture as a scratching post. I hover close by when Deaglan is smothering him with kisses and bear-hugs. But at the end of the day, I have to admit he's been a pretty good sport about becoming second fiddle.