Slow down there, sailor.
Babs here. As usual, Meg begins the tale smack dab in the middle of the story.
Things started with the American Shelter Cat, Lucky Bunny.
Way back in the day, I used to volunteer at a local humane society. My official job was cat cuddler. So for a few hours each week, I'd spend time with the shelter cats, holding them if they would allow it and just talking with them through the bars of their crate if that was all they could handle. Most cats were somewhere in between - a little head scratching was was they needed.
One Saturday I met Lucky, a smelly, grubby, emaciated new arrival. You name it, Lucky had it: fleas, ears mites, skin sores, a highly contagious respiratory virus, and a newly missing rear foot. The wound was so fresh I could literally see the bone sticking out, surrounded by raw tissue, not yet closed up. Despite his obvious discomforts he immediately hobbled to the door of his crate to be picked up. I scooped him up in my arms and cradled him like a baby. He purred and held my gaze, never looking away. I rocked him and sang to him for a good half an hour, then explained to him that I had to spend some time with the other cats and would check in before I left. He grudgingly went back into his crate.
After I had done the rounds, visiting about 20 other shelter cats, I stopped by Lucky's cage to say goodbye. As I was there, one of the humane society vet techs came up to me and asked "What is he doing in here?" I asked what she meant. She replied "He has a contagious respiratory virus and was scheduled to be euthanized this morning."
You know the next part of the story. I promptly filled out the application, laid down my $80, had a long consult with the staff vet, and left with a stinky cat and a big bag of medications.
His recuperation took several weeks, but now he's as good as gold. He gets around just fine with three legs - although he hops instead of runs, hence the nickname Lucky Bunny.