They Call Me Mo . . .Chapurr One

I have no idea what my given name was. I do know, I had a mother and father, although he was a stray, just cutting through the yard, when I was conceived, never to be seen or heard from again. My mother fed and protected me for the first four weeks of my first life, until the day I was scooped up, placed into a cardboard box, driven to the country to an isolated ditch, abandoned by the water, and left for dead.

O.K., O.K., dry your eyes, the truth is, that I don't actually know the real story, but, this one sounds compelling, promotes sympathy. . . it's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Where was I? Oh, yeah . . .the next thing I clearly remember (for real this time) is the scrawny little fuzzy headed blond girl that plucked me out of the box and brought me to her home.

For several hours, she coddled me, fed me all kinds of interesting treats and let me play on her fluffy bed. All of a sudden, there was a loud thudding moving toward her room. The door swung open and a huge burly man appeared. I don't know what was said. (I wasn't able to meow. at the time, I could barely mew and could only muster a slight purr, and didn't understand a word of English.) I do know that it was very loud, not so kind sounding and a lot of pointing. (Some of which was directed at me, I might add!)

I was promptly toted into the bathroom, along with a makeshift litter box , water and food dishes. It is there, that I existed for the next few days, in a cold, lonely, often dark tiny room, with the door kept closed. Left only to hear the faint echo's of my mew, alone in my darkness, alright, alright, it's only mere shades of truth, but, I did in fact have to reside in the bathroom. The door was always kept closed because they had what they called a "Pit Bull" named "Munch", need I say more? And yes, it's true, the little fuzz head spent as much time with me as she could, and even snuck me into that warm fluffy bed the first night, however, I did wake up in the bathroom the following morning. And, for reasons unknown to me, she never brought me there again.

By then, I understood some of their words such as when, milk, food, get rid of, new home, I mean it, and gunny sack. I also learned that I was a CAT. Everyone called me "Kitty." (They must not have realized that I was of male gender.) Hey, at least I had my own identity.

This time, I was gently placed into a box with a soft blanket and what I considered a poor imitation of a mouse. No, I've never seen a mouse, I instinctively know what they are and know they are definitely not purple with pink felt ears. They took me for a drive into a city they called "Duluth." Evidentially, some old lady cat lover from their Church, who already had two older female cats, offered her home to me. She named me, "MOSES" Suiting, don't you think, given the trauma of my early childhood ?

So much of the year and a half that I lived there is ONE BIG BLUR. . . I remember there were a lot of things to get into, onto and two unfriendly felines to chase about. From time to time this younger lady would visit with her man. I remember her well because she would always play chase and hide "n" seek with me. She used to take her long curly hair and swish it in my face. I'd paw at it, try to grab the curls, sometimes I'd succeed and bite them. To be quite frank, it bothered me a bit, made my nose itch, and smelled different than my long hair. I think they called her "Dear."

I thought of myself as well behaved. I didn't put up a fuss when "Lady" brought me to this place that ripped all of the claws out from my front paws, or when that same place shaved and sliced open my stomach area for only God knows why. Come to think of it, I have felt very differently, since that day. Never once, did I complain about the jam packed litter box.

So what if I have a tendency to chew anything made of wood, or mistakenly eat a plant or two. Is it really my fault if those lazy cats cant beat me to the food dish? Or that I'm three times their size??? Common sense will tell you which two of the three of us will get hurt. In my opinion, this shouldn't have been such a big deal.

Lady must have thought it was a very big deal. I discovered that Lady was trying to pawn me off on everyone she spoke to. It was then that I realized that I was being kicked out of the second foster home, and in the process of being placed into a third. Do you feel the least bit sorry for me yet? You have no idea what this felling is like. It's so cold, lonely, often dark, no, wait a minute, I mean, oh, never mind. Lets just say my furry little heart felt shattered, each piece twice. I could practically feel each piece as they plummeted into the pit of my saddened soul, one by one . . .

One day, Lady called this one woman , named Ritta, or something like that. Lady said so many nice things about me, I couldn't believe my ears. I certainly couldn't understand why I was being kicked out. Why couldn't I just stay there, if I was so lovable and wonderful? So what if the other cats hid as I came around a corner. None of it made any sense.

This time I was placed into a portable kennel and Lady gave me a nice wicker basket that I often chewed on, filled with colorful toys. She couldn't get me to her car fast enough. It was such a long ride, my curiosity excused me so, that I must have fallen asleep.

I was let out the moment we entered what I had to assume was my new temporary home. The first thing I noticed was a healthy sized, yummy looking gray bird, in a huge, white wrought Iron cage, cool! The second thing I noticed was that I detected no other animal smells. And then I saw "Dear" and realized her name must be DearRitta. Soon after, the nice looking man that was always with her came home. I can't describe the expression on his face when he noticed me. I smiled at him, but, his face remained unchanged . . . I do believe I've seen that look before. A look so cold, lonely , often dark, oh my gosh, look at the time . . . I'd better get off DearRitta's computer before they return from the store . . .TO BE CONTINUED. . . .