To be perfectly honest, I didn’t want to adopt Putting. When he came to us, he was the opposite of the ideal cat. He couldn't be touched, his temper was fierce, and frankly, he was dirty and smelled awful. But he was also a life, one that had just clawed its way back from the brink of death. Knowing he had spent his life without love or care stirred a deep ache in my heart. I couldn't turn my back on him. I had to give him the love he never had.
So, I took him home. The first three days, he was a ghost in my apartment, a shadow hiding under the bed. Then, slowly, he began to patrol his new territory. My first major battle was his matted fur. It took me a full week of patient work, snipping away clumps and navigating his defenses. My hands were covered in bites and scratches, but his coat was finally clean.
The next war was at the dinner table. Kidney failure is irreversible; our goal was simply to maintain his health. But he refused to eat. He’d take a few licks of his prescription food and immediately start "burying" it—a cat's clear signal for "I'm done." Only a nutrient treat would tempt him. So our grueling routine began. Three times a day, I would mash his food with warm water and feed him, bite by bite, while he tried every trick to escape or spit it out. But in his focus on fleeing, he seemed to forget to bite me. Perhaps he was finally realizing I meant him no harm.
Slowly, we reached a truce. When I picked him up for mealtime and tied on his little bib, he would sit still and let me feed him until he was full. In those quiet moments, as he’d start grooming himself right there at the table, my heart would swell with pride and affection.
The final frontier was medication. Giving a cat injections is a war many pet owners know well. The first time I had to give Putting his subcutaneous fluids, my whole body was trembling. He was so engrossed in his food he didn't even notice. That was a one-time miracle. After that, it took all my strength and creativity to get the needle in.
Today, however, that war is also won. I can hold him in my arms, giving him his injection with one hand while feeding him a treat with the other.
Five months have passed. The terrified, aggressive cat is gone. In his place is a lively, proud, and loving companion who trusts me and our team at Catsvillas completely. He rolls over for belly rubs and bunts his head against my hand for affection. At his last check-up, the vet couldn't believe his transformation, saying he doesn't look like a sick cat at all.
Looking at him now, I know that every bite, every struggle, every moment of frustration was worth it. We didn’t just save his life; we gave him a life worth living. And in return, he taught me about the incredible power of patience and unconditional love.
