After two and a half years, guess who has finally melted my heart and won entry into our house?
Wheezer. The dirty stray the came, free of charge, with our house. Many of you might not know this but our part of the city is stray kitty central, just ask the eccentric Greek man who lives up the street. He is convinced they named Kittridge Street after all the kittens around here. And he is certainly right about kittens, as we live just two blocks from a house we have lovingly named The Kitten Farm.
But the Wheez is no kitten. She is an old scrapper. Most likely an indoor cat at some point and abandoned, only to have the old lady we bought this house from suckered into feeding her. Oh wait, we were suckered too. While there was no mention of getting this cat with our closing papers, we quickly realized that this cat wasn't going anywhere. She seldom left the yard. But she also seldom tried to come in. She was content to just sit in our kitchen window and wait for food each morning and evening.
I was less than psyched to have this dirty cat around my new, clean, beautiful babies; what with her running eyes and pronounced breathing problems. She seemed like a walking disease. Yet, we kept feeding her. Plus, she was so friendly, so starved for a little love and attention. She wasn't some feral mess, but a cat that was down on her luck. Each year she worked me over a little more. She'd follow me while I gardened, sleeping lazily just a few feet from me while I weeded. She would circle the girls, purring affectionately. She was like our crooked house's guardian angel. And so, with the summer coming to its end, I realized that I couldn't bear another winter of watching her sink into the snow and shiver around the yard. We took her to the vet, who gave her a clean bill of health (hilarious, but true), and she has spent the last few nights inside, on our laps, purring and wheezing loudly, in total cat ecstasy.
And there you go: A very long post about our newly recycled cat, Wheezer, the sweetest and luckiest stray around.
