A guide to greatness

I was once in a relationship. Four months in she decided we should get a cat. A little black fuzz-ball we dubbed Thelonious Gazpacho Jones. Here it is I thought, the start of much more.

My long held dream of being a cat handler could finally come to fruition. I pictured it. Our new cat would go on to win regional shows. Everything a cat ought to be. And on to districts. His likeness would become the Wikipedia entry for perfection, poise, and elegance. Then, dare I say it, Nationals. Eventually he's be studded out and sire champions. I pictured a small cottage by a lazy river all paid for by the cat food sponsorships. All this ran through my skull as we signed the papers in the beige lobby of the Humane Society.

Apparently raising winners is not as simple as high-quality food and words of encouragement. (Mom and Dad I see now what you were up against; a winner I did not become, but I was well fed.)

However my brief experience thus far in the competitive cut-throat world of Cat Pageants did teach me life lessons that I still use to this day. One, people who own more then 2 cats are slightly off. Two, that like learning to zip up the fly of your pants for the first time, failure hurts. It hurts bad. And three, again returning to my zipper/scarred-appendage metaphor/accident, I don't give up that easy.

As my relationship continued so did my desire to mold a champion. I poured my heart and soul into this simple animal. Did the rest of my life suffer because of this? Most likely. But fate has a way of bitch-slapping you when it feels it's necessary. Mine came just two weeks before the regional kitty expo. The front door was left opened and Theo, the scamp that he is, snuck out. Some say that's what animals do, his instinct were guiding him and when he saw an opening he went for it. Personally I feel that his flight was perhaps my fault. I pushed too hard. The expo was too soon. He wasn't ready. Either way, my little guy was out there on his own in this cold cruel world.

I would love to tell you that the story ends on a happy note. That Theo went on to greatness and proved to be extremely fertile and that his offspring are everywhere. Such is not the case.

We searched and searched for him but to no avail. We had just about given up hope when we got a call from a local Animal Hospital. Apparently the day he got out he was struck by a passing car. A neighbor boy found Theo and promptly took him there. He lived through the crash but was disfigured because of it. He lost the use of his right front paw and his right hip was thrown out of socket. They renamed him Bubba.

Although his experience in the "real world" was not a kind one he did make it. Although the possibility of amputation was there he managed to press-on without. His lumbering steps can be heard now echoing off our hardwood floors at all hours of day. He is the elder statesmen in our house, now filled with another feline and a shaggy dog. That girlfriend and I got married, had some offspring of our own and now reside in a full house, to say the least.