I got our cat Oscar from the SPCA in Whitehorse, Yukon. When I picked him out his name was “Jerry” and he was being mauled by girl guides. Clearly, someone had to put a stop to it. At least that’s what I told myself. My husband, Geoff, will tell you I grabbed him in a hormone-induced blackout caused by a early-thirties-internal-clock-need to cuddle something small.
He may have been partly (almost entirely) right, because while acting on this strong instinct, I did very little to prepare for our life with a cat. Growing up I had a lovely lady cat who lived for 23 years. She was polite and cuddly, didn’t scratch stuff and ate only what she needed. We let her out. She did cat things. She came back. Cats, I had learned, were a wonderful, independent companion.
I quickly realized that Oscar was different…..Read full blog post here.