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A Life



 
 
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  #1  
Old September 24th 03, 05:58 AM
John Kimmel
external usenet poster
 
Posts: n/a
Default A Life

I spent this evening waiting for Forty-two to come and get his dinner. I
didn't expect him to show up, which is why I was waiting, I guess.
Yesterday morning at 4 am I awoke to a cat screaming as my neighbor's dog
killed it. I think it was Forty-two since the other strays are all
accounted for.

I became a cat owner for the first time four years ago when a friend's cat
had kittens. I took two, Flinx and Pip. That changed me, I started
noticing other cats in the neighborhood, and then realized to my surprise
that most of them were strays. (Most of them are from a cat colony behind
the crazy old lady's house across the street.)

One of them started coming through my yard pretty regularly, and I decided
I wanted to domesticate him. I didn't think it would be too difficult to
tame him and then find a nice home for him. Then I could start working on
the rest of the strays. I had it all figured out.

So I put out food for him, I started coaxing him by tossing kibbles in
front of him and making a trail of kibble for him to follow closer and
closer to me. Eventually I got him to come close enough to touch him. So
far so good. I started putting his food in a cat carrier, and then one day
I closed the door on him when he went in.

He went ****ing berserk.

He howled, the box was bounced around as he charged the door. He knocked
over the water bowl and the food bowl and then ****ed, his fur became
saturated with the mixture. He bit at the door wire and I think he may
have broken a tooth. I brought him into the house, let him set for a
while, then released him into my office where I had a litter box, food and
water for him. He went into the closet and stayed there.

I made an appointment with the vet to have him neutered, but I had to keep
him for a week. He didn't eat for four days. He had diarrhea (fortunately
he used the litter box), and he stayed in the closet. Finally he started
eating, and the night before I took him to the vet, he pinched off his
first real turd. Outside the litterbox, of course. I brought the turd
along to the vet to check for worms.

At the vet, they needed a name for him, so I said "Forty-two". They
spelled it wrong: "42".

Didn't have really good post-op instructions from the vet. I brought him
home and turned him loose in the office. He staggered around in a very
comical manner and I thought: "Hmm, in his drugged state, he might be more
docile. I may be able to clear some of the mats out of his fur". I put on
my welding gloves. He bit my thumb, right through the glove, really really
hard.

The vet's bill was forty-two dollars. When my thumb became infected, and I
got a fever of 106°F, the doctor's bill was forty-two dollars. The
antibiotic prescription was forty-two dollars. Douglas Adams died the
following week.

Three years later, last Sunday night, I picked up Forty-two and held him on
my lap for a few seconds and he didn't castrate me. He just purred,
squirmed away. Sat right in front of me on the porch. Now I look for him
in his spot on the porch, or in his other favorite spots, or I wait for him
to come walking down the sidewalk for his dinner. His ping pong ball is
underneath a table by the door. His buddy, "Shadow", my second feral cat
project is looking for him too.

I try not to care too much about these stray cats, but you can't help but
start to love them.

http://home.teleport.com/~guynoir/we.../forty-two.JPG
http://home.teleport.com/~guynoir/we...ock/shadow.JPG


John Kimmel

  #2  
Old September 24th 03, 05:31 PM
Hopitus2
external usenet poster
 
Posts: n/a
Default

I was sympathetic, but ok until I saw your pics on the Net......now a few
tears come for old Forty-Two. He's purring at the RB with all his new
friends there and won't get mats in his fur anymore. You gave him love here
on earth. Some cats never know love.


"Gizela" u wrote in message
...
: Oh. That was lovely
:
: Purrs for forty-two being vibrated your way
:
: Angela and Gizmo
:
: "John Kimmel" wrote in message
: .204...
: I spent this evening waiting for Forty-two to come and get his dinner.
I
: didn't expect him to show up, which is why I was waiting, I guess.
: Yesterday morning at 4 am I awoke to a cat screaming as my neighbor's
dog
: killed it. I think it was Forty-two since the other strays are all
: accounted for.
:
: I became a cat owner for the first time four years ago when a friend's
cat
: had kittens. I took two, Flinx and Pip. That changed me, I started
: noticing other cats in the neighborhood, and then realized to my
surprise
: that most of them were strays. (Most of them are from a cat colony
behind
: the crazy old lady's house across the street.)
:
: One of them started coming through my yard pretty regularly, and I
decided
: I wanted to domesticate him. I didn't think it would be too difficult
to
: tame him and then find a nice home for him. Then I could start working
on
: the rest of the strays. I had it all figured out.
:
: So I put out food for him, I started coaxing him by tossing kibbles in
: front of him and making a trail of kibble for him to follow closer and
: closer to me. Eventually I got him to come close enough to touch him.
So
: far so good. I started putting his food in a cat carrier, and then one
: day
: I closed the door on him when he went in.
:
: He went ****ing berserk.
:
: He howled, the box was bounced around as he charged the door. He
knocked
: over the water bowl and the food bowl and then ****ed, his fur became
: saturated with the mixture. He bit at the door wire and I think he may
: have broken a tooth. I brought him into the house, let him set for a
: while, then released him into my office where I had a litter box, food
and
: water for him. He went into the closet and stayed there.
:
: I made an appointment with the vet to have him neutered, but I had to
keep
: him for a week. He didn't eat for four days. He had diarrhea
: (fortunately
: he used the litter box), and he stayed in the closet. Finally he
started
: eating, and the night before I took him to the vet, he pinched off his
: first real turd. Outside the litterbox, of course. I brought the turd
: along to the vet to check for worms.
:
: At the vet, they needed a name for him, so I said "Forty-two". They
: spelled it wrong: "42".
:
: Didn't have really good post-op instructions from the vet. I brought
him
: home and turned him loose in the office. He staggered around in a very
: comical manner and I thought: "Hmm, in his drugged state, he might be
: more
: docile. I may be able to clear some of the mats out of his fur". I put
: on
: my welding gloves. He bit my thumb, right through the glove, really
: really
: hard.
:
: The vet's bill was forty-two dollars. When my thumb became infected,
and
: I
: got a fever of 106°F, the doctor's bill was forty-two dollars. The
: antibiotic prescription was forty-two dollars. Douglas Adams died the
: following week.
:
: Three years later, last Sunday night, I picked up Forty-two and held him
: on
: my lap for a few seconds and he didn't castrate me. He just purred,
: squirmed away. Sat right in front of me on the porch. Now I look for
him
: in his spot on the porch, or in his other favorite spots, or I wait for
: him
: to come walking down the sidewalk for his dinner. His ping pong ball is
: underneath a table by the door. His buddy, "Shadow", my second feral
cat
: project is looking for him too.
:
: I try not to care too much about these stray cats, but you can't help
but
: start to love them.
:
: http://home.teleport.com/~guynoir/we.../forty-two.JPG
: http://home.teleport.com/~guynoir/we...ock/shadow.JPG
:
:
: John Kimmel
:
:
:


  #3  
Old September 24th 03, 06:19 PM
Christine Burel
external usenet poster
 
Posts: n/a
Default

I am so very sorry for your loss. Forty-two was indeed lucky to have had you
in his life. Purrs to accompany him to the Bridge.
Christine
"John Kimmel" wrote in message
.204...
I spent this evening waiting for Forty-two to come and get his dinner. I
didn't expect him to show up, which is why I was waiting, I guess.
Yesterday morning at 4 am I awoke to a cat screaming as my neighbor's dog
killed it. I think it was Forty-two since the other strays are all
accounted for.

I became a cat owner for the first time four years ago when a friend's cat
had kittens. I took two, Flinx and Pip. That changed me, I started
noticing other cats in the neighborhood, and then realized to my surprise
that most of them were strays. (Most of them are from a cat colony behind
the crazy old lady's house across the street.)

One of them started coming through my yard pretty regularly, and I decided
I wanted to domesticate him. I didn't think it would be too difficult to
tame him and then find a nice home for him. Then I could start working on
the rest of the strays. I had it all figured out.

So I put out food for him, I started coaxing him by tossing kibbles in
front of him and making a trail of kibble for him to follow closer and
closer to me. Eventually I got him to come close enough to touch him. So
far so good. I started putting his food in a cat carrier, and then one

day
I closed the door on him when he went in.

He went ****ing berserk.

He howled, the box was bounced around as he charged the door. He knocked
over the water bowl and the food bowl and then ****ed, his fur became
saturated with the mixture. He bit at the door wire and I think he may
have broken a tooth. I brought him into the house, let him set for a
while, then released him into my office where I had a litter box, food and
water for him. He went into the closet and stayed there.

I made an appointment with the vet to have him neutered, but I had to keep
him for a week. He didn't eat for four days. He had diarrhea

(fortunately
he used the litter box), and he stayed in the closet. Finally he started
eating, and the night before I took him to the vet, he pinched off his
first real turd. Outside the litterbox, of course. I brought the turd
along to the vet to check for worms.

At the vet, they needed a name for him, so I said "Forty-two". They
spelled it wrong: "42".

Didn't have really good post-op instructions from the vet. I brought him
home and turned him loose in the office. He staggered around in a very
comical manner and I thought: "Hmm, in his drugged state, he might be

more
docile. I may be able to clear some of the mats out of his fur". I put

on
my welding gloves. He bit my thumb, right through the glove, really

really
hard.

The vet's bill was forty-two dollars. When my thumb became infected, and

I
got a fever of 106°F, the doctor's bill was forty-two dollars. The
antibiotic prescription was forty-two dollars. Douglas Adams died the
following week.

Three years later, last Sunday night, I picked up Forty-two and held him

on
my lap for a few seconds and he didn't castrate me. He just purred,
squirmed away. Sat right in front of me on the porch. Now I look for him
in his spot on the porch, or in his other favorite spots, or I wait for

him
to come walking down the sidewalk for his dinner. His ping pong ball is
underneath a table by the door. His buddy, "Shadow", my second feral cat
project is looking for him too.

I try not to care too much about these stray cats, but you can't help but
start to love them.

http://home.teleport.com/~guynoir/we.../forty-two.JPG
http://home.teleport.com/~guynoir/we...ock/shadow.JPG


John Kimmel



  #4  
Old September 24th 03, 06:47 PM
Ginger-lyn Summer
external usenet poster
 
Posts: n/a
Default

I am so sorry. Poor little Forty-two. At least he knew a bit of love
in his life. Purrs that his journey to the Bridge be gentle and
swift.

Blessings,

Ginger-lyn

On Wed, 24 Sep 2003 04:58:08 GMT, John Kimmel
wrote:

I spent this evening waiting for Forty-two to come and get his dinner. I
didn't expect him to show up, which is why I was waiting, I guess.
Yesterday morning at 4 am I awoke to a cat screaming as my neighbor's dog
killed it. I think it was Forty-two since the other strays are all
accounted for.

I became a cat owner for the first time four years ago when a friend's cat
had kittens. I took two, Flinx and Pip. That changed me, I started
noticing other cats in the neighborhood, and then realized to my surprise
that most of them were strays. (Most of them are from a cat colony behind
the crazy old lady's house across the street.)

One of them started coming through my yard pretty regularly, and I decided
I wanted to domesticate him. I didn't think it would be too difficult to
tame him and then find a nice home for him. Then I could start working on
the rest of the strays. I had it all figured out.

So I put out food for him, I started coaxing him by tossing kibbles in
front of him and making a trail of kibble for him to follow closer and
closer to me. Eventually I got him to come close enough to touch him. So
far so good. I started putting his food in a cat carrier, and then one day
I closed the door on him when he went in.

He went ****ing berserk.

He howled, the box was bounced around as he charged the door. He knocked
over the water bowl and the food bowl and then ****ed, his fur became
saturated with the mixture. He bit at the door wire and I think he may
have broken a tooth. I brought him into the house, let him set for a
while, then released him into my office where I had a litter box, food and
water for him. He went into the closet and stayed there.

I made an appointment with the vet to have him neutered, but I had to keep
him for a week. He didn't eat for four days. He had diarrhea (fortunately
he used the litter box), and he stayed in the closet. Finally he started
eating, and the night before I took him to the vet, he pinched off his
first real turd. Outside the litterbox, of course. I brought the turd
along to the vet to check for worms.

At the vet, they needed a name for him, so I said "Forty-two". They
spelled it wrong: "42".

Didn't have really good post-op instructions from the vet. I brought him
home and turned him loose in the office. He staggered around in a very
comical manner and I thought: "Hmm, in his drugged state, he might be more
docile. I may be able to clear some of the mats out of his fur". I put on
my welding gloves. He bit my thumb, right through the glove, really really
hard.

The vet's bill was forty-two dollars. When my thumb became infected, and I
got a fever of 106°F, the doctor's bill was forty-two dollars. The
antibiotic prescription was forty-two dollars. Douglas Adams died the
following week.

Three years later, last Sunday night, I picked up Forty-two and held him on
my lap for a few seconds and he didn't castrate me. He just purred,
squirmed away. Sat right in front of me on the porch. Now I look for him
in his spot on the porch, or in his other favorite spots, or I wait for him
to come walking down the sidewalk for his dinner. His ping pong ball is
underneath a table by the door. His buddy, "Shadow", my second feral cat
project is looking for him too.

I try not to care too much about these stray cats, but you can't help but
start to love them.

http://home.teleport.com/~guynoir/we.../forty-two.JPG
http://home.teleport.com/~guynoir/we...ock/shadow.JPG


John Kimmel


  #5  
Old September 24th 03, 07:01 PM
Steve Touchstone
external usenet poster
 
Posts: n/a
Default

On Wed, 24 Sep 2003 04:58:08 GMT, John Kimmel
wrote:

I spent this evening waiting for Forty-two to come and get his dinner. I
didn't expect him to show up, which is why I was waiting, I guess.
Yesterday morning at 4 am I awoke to a cat screaming as my neighbor's dog
killed it. I think it was Forty-two since the other strays are all
accounted for.

snip

So sorry to hear about your loss. Lighting a candle to guide
Fourty-two to the RB, and soothing purrs of comfort coming to you.
  #6  
Old September 24th 03, 07:11 PM
Brenda
external usenet poster
 
Posts: n/a
Default


"John Kimmel" wrote in message
.204...
I spent this evening waiting for Forty-two to come and get his dinner. I
didn't expect him to show up, which is why I was waiting, I guess.
Yesterday morning at 4 am I awoke to a cat screaming as my neighbor's dog
killed it. I think it was Forty-two since the other strays are all
accounted for.

I became a cat owner for the first time four years ago when a friend's cat
had kittens. I took two, Flinx and Pip. That changed me, I started
noticing other cats in the neighborhood, and then realized to my surprise
that most of them were strays. (Most of them are from a cat colony behind
the crazy old lady's house across the street.)

One of them started coming through my yard pretty regularly, and I decided
I wanted to domesticate him. I didn't think it would be too difficult to
tame him and then find a nice home for him. Then I could start working on
the rest of the strays. I had it all figured out.

So I put out food for him, I started coaxing him by tossing kibbles in
front of him and making a trail of kibble for him to follow closer and
closer to me. Eventually I got him to come close enough to touch him. So
far so good. I started putting his food in a cat carrier, and then one

day
I closed the door on him when he went in.

He went ****ing berserk.

He howled, the box was bounced around as he charged the door. He knocked
over the water bowl and the food bowl and then ****ed, his fur became
saturated with the mixture. He bit at the door wire and I think he may
have broken a tooth. I brought him into the house, let him set for a
while, then released him into my office where I had a litter box, food and
water for him. He went into the closet and stayed there.

I made an appointment with the vet to have him neutered, but I had to keep
him for a week. He didn't eat for four days. He had diarrhea

(fortunately
he used the litter box), and he stayed in the closet. Finally he started
eating, and the night before I took him to the vet, he pinched off his
first real turd. Outside the litterbox, of course. I brought the turd
along to the vet to check for worms.

At the vet, they needed a name for him, so I said "Forty-two". They
spelled it wrong: "42".

Didn't have really good post-op instructions from the vet. I brought him
home and turned him loose in the office. He staggered around in a very
comical manner and I thought: "Hmm, in his drugged state, he might be

more
docile. I may be able to clear some of the mats out of his fur". I put

on
my welding gloves. He bit my thumb, right through the glove, really

really
hard.

The vet's bill was forty-two dollars. When my thumb became infected, and

I
got a fever of 106°F, the doctor's bill was forty-two dollars. The
antibiotic prescription was forty-two dollars. Douglas Adams died the
following week.

Three years later, last Sunday night, I picked up Forty-two and held him

on
my lap for a few seconds and he didn't castrate me. He just purred,
squirmed away. Sat right in front of me on the porch. Now I look for him
in his spot on the porch, or in his other favorite spots, or I wait for

him
to come walking down the sidewalk for his dinner. His ping pong ball is
underneath a table by the door. His buddy, "Shadow", my second feral cat
project is looking for him too.

I try not to care too much about these stray cats, but you can't help but
start to love them.

http://home.teleport.com/~guynoir/we.../forty-two.JPG
http://home.teleport.com/~guynoir/we...ock/shadow.JPG


John Kimmel


bless you for caring.
Brenda


  #7  
Old September 24th 03, 09:58 PM
polonca12000
external usenet poster
 
Posts: n/a
Default

That is so very sad!
Purrs,
--
Polonca & Soncek

"John Kimmel" wrote in message
.204...
I spent this evening waiting for Forty-two to come and get his dinner. I
didn't expect him to show up, which is why I was waiting, I guess.
Yesterday morning at 4 am I awoke to a cat screaming as my neighbor's dog
killed it. I think it was Forty-two since the other strays are all
accounted for.

snip


  #8  
Old September 24th 03, 10:08 PM
JHBennett
external usenet poster
 
Posts: n/a
Default


"John Kimmel" wrote in message
.204...
I spent this evening waiting for Forty-two to come and get his dinner. I
didn't expect him to show up, which is why I was waiting, I guess.
Yesterday morning at 4 am I awoke to a cat screaming as my neighbor's dog
killed it. I think it was Forty-two since the other strays are all
accounted for.

I hope you're wrong, John.
I've also become involved with feral cats and about the best I can offer
is: you do what you can for them.
Cheers,
Jack


  #9  
Old September 25th 03, 12:33 AM
m. L. Briggs
external usenet poster
 
Posts: n/a
Default

On Wed, 24 Sep 2003 04:58:08 GMT, John Kimmel
wrote:

I spent this evening waiting for Forty-two to come and get his dinner. I
didn't expect him to show up, which is why I was waiting, I guess.
Yesterday morning at 4 am I awoke to a cat screaming as my neighbor's dog
killed it. I think it was Forty-two since the other strays are all
accounted for.

I became a cat owner for the first time four years ago when a friend's cat
had kittens. I took two, Flinx and Pip. That changed me, I started
noticing other cats in the neighborhood, and then realized to my surprise
that most of them were strays. (Most of them are from a cat colony behind
the crazy old lady's house across the street.)

One of them started coming through my yard pretty regularly, and I decided
I wanted to domesticate him. I didn't think it would be too difficult to
tame him and then find a nice home for him. Then I could start working on
the rest of the strays. I had it all figured out.

So I put out food for him, I started coaxing him by tossing kibbles in
front of him and making a trail of kibble for him to follow closer and
closer to me. Eventually I got him to come close enough to touch him. So
far so good. I started putting his food in a cat carrier, and then one day
I closed the door on him when he went in.

He went ****ing berserk.

He howled, the box was bounced around as he charged the door. He knocked
over the water bowl and the food bowl and then ****ed, his fur became
saturated with the mixture. He bit at the door wire and I think he may
have broken a tooth. I brought him into the house, let him set for a
while, then released him into my office where I had a litter box, food and
water for him. He went into the closet and stayed there.

I made an appointment with the vet to have him neutered, but I had to keep
him for a week. He didn't eat for four days. He had diarrhea (fortunately
he used the litter box), and he stayed in the closet. Finally he started
eating, and the night before I took him to the vet, he pinched off his
first real turd. Outside the litterbox, of course. I brought the turd
along to the vet to check for worms.

At the vet, they needed a name for him, so I said "Forty-two". They
spelled it wrong: "42".

Didn't have really good post-op instructions from the vet. I brought him
home and turned him loose in the office. He staggered around in a very
comical manner and I thought: "Hmm, in his drugged state, he might be more
docile. I may be able to clear some of the mats out of his fur". I put on
my welding gloves. He bit my thumb, right through the glove, really really
hard.

The vet's bill was forty-two dollars. When my thumb became infected, and I
got a fever of 106°F, the doctor's bill was forty-two dollars. The
antibiotic prescription was forty-two dollars. Douglas Adams died the
following week.

Three years later, last Sunday night, I picked up Forty-two and held him on
my lap for a few seconds and he didn't castrate me. He just purred,
squirmed away. Sat right in front of me on the porch. Now I look for him
in his spot on the porch, or in his other favorite spots, or I wait for him
to come walking down the sidewalk for his dinner. His ping pong ball is
underneath a table by the door. His buddy, "Shadow", my second feral cat
project is looking for him too.

I try not to care too much about these stray cats, but you can't help but
start to love them.

http://home.teleport.com/~guynoir/we.../forty-two.JPG
http://home.teleport.com/~guynoir/we...ock/shadow.JPG


John Kimmel


Did you find his remains? if not, he may be hiding somewhere injured.
I hate dogs that kill cats. MLB
  #10  
Old September 25th 03, 02:07 AM
JHBennett
external usenet poster
 
Posts: n/a
Default


"m. L. Briggs" wrote in message
...
On Wed, 24 Sep 2003 04:58:08 GMT, John Kimmel
wrote:

[[[[[[[[[snip]]]]]]]]]]

Did you find his remains? if not, he may be hiding somewhere injured.


Good point. --JB

I hate dogs that kill cats. MLB


Not so fast. You know darn well it is the nature of animals to defend
their turf against all intruders, whether they are cats or an endangered
species. It's one thing, if an owner sics his animal on another, but, when
a neighbor's cat feels it can push a German Shepard away from his food dish,
what do you advocate as the approved response? Relax, my dog didn't kill
the cat, although he could have quite easily. What he did do was pick the
cat up and heave it against the fence, a distance of about 15 feet. The cat
never repeated the mistake, or came in the yard again.
There's the dog's viewpoint too, and you don't know what the situation
was.
Regards,
Jack
PS--Incidentally, my dog weighed 140 pounds, stood 30 inches at the withers,
and could carry a football (or imprudent cat) in his mouth.


 




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