Welcome to the Island of Misfit Pets

October 27, 2009 -

For a long time now, we’ve referred to our home as The Island of Misfit Pets.  It’s a take-off from the 1960-something Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer movie and its Island of Misfit Toys, a place for not-so-perfect playthings.  Instead of a “Charlie-in-the-box” or goofy elephant with spots, our Island is the lifelong, loving home for cats and dogs who have quirky behaviors, health imperfections or (how do I put this nicely) … might be perceived as “aesthetically challenging.”

The most recent arrival to the Island is little Daisy Moo.  She’s so named because 1) I’ve always wanted a kitty named Daisy and 2) with her black-and-white spotted coat, my son thinks she looks like a Holstein cow.  Everyone’s best guess is that she was born in June of this year.  I met her in August – a skinny, dehydrated, filthy and most unhappy stray who’d somehow survived the hottest July in Phoenix history.

She showed up at my workplace on a Friday, wrought with fear and smelling of motor oil and poop. The first thing she did when she met me was hiss.  Then she growled, hissed again and bit me.  I put her into a temporary kennel where she had a bout of horrendous diarrhea.  Her encore was a brazen, crazy-eyed escape attempt.  I tried to give her some yummy wet kitten food.  She just stared at me, her angry black eyes burning a hole in my soul.

I wasn’t in the market for another cat, especially one who I thought might be feral or, at least, needed long-term socialization help.  I already had eight cats, plus Tinkerbelle the dog, and of course my husband and son.  Yet something about this pathetic, homeless kitten captivated me.  Surely there was a reason why our paths crossed on this otherwise typical day.

For reasons perhaps only a licensed therapist would understand, I’ve always had a soft spot for the Daisy Moo’s the world. So, I committed to keeping her on the Island of Misfit Pets temporarily -- just a few weeks for her to be fully vaccinated, gain some weight and be spayed.  I wasn’t sure if she was just scared or truly feral, or what I’d do if the latter was the case.  Task 1 was to get her healthy.

I kept her confined to a kennel on the first night.  She had a cozy bed, food and water, and some toys.  She was sequestered in a quiet room.  I dimmed the lights and turned on soft jazz.  “We have a busy day tomorrow,” I told her.  “Relax.  You’re safe here.”

Morning came and my son and I crept into her room to check on her.  She looked different.  She was still scared of us, but appeared visibly calmer.  Her muscles weren’t rigid anymore.  Her eyes had changed from jet-black to emerald green.  She looked … cute.

We went to the vet.  She had a complete health exam and was tested for dangerous diseases such as feline leukemia and FIV.  “What’s kitty’s name?” the receptionist asked.  “She doesn’t have a name,” my son answered.  “She’s a stray.  My mom is just taking care of her.”  And so it was on her chart:  STRAY.  I warned them to be careful when handling her.  “She’s OK,” the vet tech told me.  “Looks like she decided to be nice today.”

Smart choice, I thought.  This also meant she wasn’t feral.

With a clean bill of health and some newfound confidence, STRAY began to settle in slowly.  Every day she made more progress, coming out of her shell little by little, eventually letting us pet her and even pick her up. 
One day she found her purr.  On another day, she started to play with toys. 

After a two-week sequestering period and confirmation from the veterinarian that STRAY harbored no diseases, she began to meet the resident Island cats and Tinkerbelle.  STRAY was delighted to make their acquaintances.  Tinkerbelle was thrilled to meet a cat who was smaller than she was, and the two of them became fast friends.  They played chase around the coffee table, then slept side-by-side on an oversized pillow.  She glommed onto Dora who’d been the baby cat of the house until now.  Whatever Dora did, STRAY did.  She was Dora’s apprentice, and Dora seemed to enjoy having a little shadow.

I loved how a small stuffed animal, a dropped pen, wayward Lego piece or one of my son’s plastic Army men provided hours of fun for STRAY.  Every new thing she saw was totally amazing to her – a bird outside the window, a football game on TV, clothes tumbling in the dryer.  STRAY would stare with eyes as big as nickels, then turn to look at me and make sure I also saw this most wonderful thing. 

After one particularly stressful day at work I dragged myself through the front door and collapsed on the couch in a heap of gloom.  My head hurt.  I closed my eyes and the awful day began replaying itself inside my aching head.  Seconds later, I felt something small and warm jump up very daintily, and carefully climb onto my chest.  It was STRAY, with her face just inches from mine.  She closed her eyes and began to purr.  Together we dozed off for just a few moments … the most relaxing moments I’d known all day.

At 10 weeks, I had her spayed.  My veterinarian used to work in a shelter and is highly skilled at pediatric spay surgery.  Even so, I found myself worrying all day – relaxing only when I got the call that STRAY was out of surgery and recovering just fine.  “By the way,” the receptionist asked.  “Does she have a name yet so we can update her chart?”  “Well …my son’s been calling her Daisy Moo,” I replied.

Now spayed, Daisy Moo’s stay on the Island was about to end.  I called several shelters.  They were full.  A couple of them offered to take her, but quickly informed me that because they were so crowded, there were no guarantees that she’d be placed with a family.  “Not an option,” I thought.  I also heard a steady stream of “No, sorry” from my family, friends and co-workers.  I posted her photo and bio on some social networking sites.  No takers.  It seemed that no one in the world could, or would, take in this helpless little cat.

That’s when I realized that the only thing worse than not finding her a home would’ve been finding one … and having to say goodbye.

Our paths crossed for a reason on that fateful Friday.  With her adorable antics, she’d infused some newfound joy on the Island.  As cliché as it sounds, she was an inspiration – inspiration for choosing to be happy instead of angry or sad; overcoming adversity; making new friends and reveling in their company; finding wonder in the world around you; and helping other people feel better at the end of a long, hard day.

Daisy Moo is about 5 months old now, and blossoming into a very pretty little cat. She’s an official inhabitant of the Island of Misfit Pets -- a place for not-so-perfect people and the precious pets who make them feel special.