Tupac

I’ve never been a cat person. Growing up we had dogs—once three at a time. I didn’t get my first cat until I moved into my brother’s house with him for my last year of college. I wanted a dog. But he already had 2 and was strongly opposed to me having my own. So, I said I’d get a cat. No way! He was convinced it would find itself in the ventilation. 

Um… 

But I got one anyway. He was a blackish-brownish boy that a friend of mine gave me as a kitten. Her cat had babies and these ones needed homes. I named him Jean-Claude. He was a great cat—full of personality. We got along great. Until I moved to Kansas City. I was sure it would be a bad idea for him not to have a roommate. I found another friend who’s cat had kittens and Oberon was brought home. Let me just say these two gents never really got along. We had occasion to rescue other cats in Phoenix. Someone had left 4 of them outside our daycare center—in July—in Arizona—with no food or water. Luckily one of the moms worked for a veterinarian so she took the cats to work with her. They were severely malnourished, had parasites, did NOT like people, and were—at that moment—unadoptable.

We offered to take all four—whatever the veterinary office could not find homes for. After a few weeks of good food, sterilization surgery, and plenty of TLC, 2 of them were adopted out. That left us with Linus and Lucy. They were not friendly kitties but seemed to be much calmer when they were together. We took them home and they were never apart again… 

Until our sweet Lucy died very suddenly in May. She was the friendly one—the cat who would climb into my lap at night or follow me into a baby’s room when one of them would wake up in the middle of the night. She slept ON me and seemed to not like it very much when Nick was home—he would kick her out of the bed. I was shocked when she died—we will never know what happened. I was certain that Linus would not live long after she passed. He was a grumpy cat in every sense. He saw you coming and would run the other way. He would hiss and growl if you got too close. He’d hide under the bed during the day and would prowl around the house at night. He would occasionally present his bum to you for scritching but move too fast or dare to pick him up and you’d be sorry. He seemed to tolerate us at best. But something happened to him after his sister was gone. He became MY cat. He now regularly climbs up onto the sofa at night for snuggles. I don’t dare try to pick him up but at night I can not seem to get him off of me. He will sleep on my stomach, my legs, my neck if it’s all that’s available. Heaven forbid I should turn over and he can’t find my hands to nudge into petting him. I’ve been bit for not petting him enough. 

But I’m still not a cat person. We are not in a position to get a dog. We don’t have a secure yard or fence. Someday, we keep telling the girls. Someday. 

But there is a dog in my life. His name is Tupac. I met him on my second day of work at the farm animal sanctuary. He came from India and only has 3 legs. No one is sure what happened to him. That missing leg is of no concern to him. He seems perfectly happy and bounds around like any puppy would. He looks like some kind of Labrador mix but really, I have no idea. I just know he seems to like me very much. On days when I work at the sanctuary, I mostly sit on the front porch of the house on the property. Tupac sees me coming and gives me a proper greeting—barking and wagging his tail, jumping up on the fence, barely letting me get through the gate before latching his teeth onto my forearm. “No teeth!” I’ve learned to say. Eventually, he agrees and stops but I had better give him some love before getting down to business. When he’s not sneaking cat food from the dozen or so special needs cats who loiter about the porch, he sits calmly at my feet, alerting us to any strange (or familiar) men who might show up. Construction crews, delivery people, Johnny (our creative director who spends far more time at the sanctuary that I do). 

The last time I visited, I never made it up to the house. I spent my day in our Art barn—a work in progress but a great place to get a few things done. At the end of the workday, I ventured up to visit the animals in their respective pastures and homes—the mini-pigs, Chandra and Mazzie, the big pig, Duncan and his BFF’s Sandy the alpaca and Rosie and Sunita the sheep, and all of the cows and goats and sheep that call Indraloka home. While I was there, I was informed that Tupac had come to see me. How did he even know I was there that day? But he seemed to. And he even pushed his way through the sheep pens to get to me (something he KNEW would get him a scolding). 

 Tupac is a sweetheart, a fierce protector of whatever he deems “his”. And for the moment, anyway, I seem to fit that category. It is something I somehow feel unworthy of but honored by just the same.