Patrick

I had had two previous cats (Tiger and Rusty) when I was growing up, but they both "ran away" when they were quite young, so Patrick was technically the first cat I ever owned. I saved him from an animal shelter when he was allegedly 8 weeks old. I say "allegedly" because when the vet checked him out, he appeared to be only four to five weeks old and I had to syringe/bottle feed him the first week I had him because he still wasn't able to eat regular food. His estimated date of birth is May 17, 1996.

My mother took me to the animal shelter for my birthday to pick out a cat and, at first, I didn't know which cat I wanted. I was fascinated with this little black female kitten in a cage right at eye level and was reaching through the cage to pet her. I thought she was perfect. Patrick, however, disagreed and began gently pawing at me where I stood in front of his cage as he tried to get my attention. It worked and I reached into the cage to greet the little fellow so earnest for my attention. He immediately rubbed up against my hand and started purring so loud that it sounded like a motorcycle was driving by. I asked if I could hold him and the Shelter Technician looked at me as if I were insane. She said the only way she was taking that cat out is if I was serious about getting him. I asked her why and she pointed to the sign hanging in front of his cage that I hadn't noticed: "Warning! Do not touch! Danger! Will bite! Feral Cat! Cuidado!" I laughed and said that was ridiculous because the little guy was a total lover. She left for a moment and returned wearing these long, heavy duty, leather gloves that went all the way past her elbows, which I thought was her just being overly melodramatic. But when she opened the cage to take Patrick out for me, I saw exactly what she had warned about. The second she reached into the cage, it was as if he had become possessed and starting hissing and swiping at her and fighting her as she tried to pull him out. She held out the clawing, howling, growling cat at arms' length and asked if I really wanted to hold him and if I wanted a pair of gloves first. I simply reached out and took him and he immediately cuddled into my arms and started purring again, happy and content and peaceful. I knew in that moment it was meant to be.

I found out later that they had been planning on taking Patrick to the city pound the next day because he was so unadoptable due to his feral tendencies and the reason they lied about his age is because he was too young (less than 8 weeks old) for them to legally adopt him out at the time (not sure if this law has changed or if it's a county or state law). Either way, the only feral tendencies he retained once he came to live with me was that he never liked being around more than one person at a time.

Patrick and I had quite an adventure together during his life (more on that at a later date).

Hepatic Lipidosis when he was around three years old and I had to tube-feed him for a couple of months. His only symptoms were a horrendous head tilt and not eating. They thought at first it was his kidneys and opened him up to do exploratory surgery to confirm and that's when they saw his liver had turned completely white. Unknown to me, the vet had given him a 5% survival rate. Two months later, when he started eating on his own again on Thanksgiving day, no less, the vet called him their "miracle kitty."

Acute Kidney Failure of unknown origin (what he eventually passed from). I gave him subcutaneous fluids for the last month of his life, but we were fighting a losing battle and I eventually had to let him go.

Patrick journeyed to Rainbow Bridge on November 24, 2008 and I still cry over losing him to this day (in fact, I'm crying right now as I type this).