Thumper's story

The Story of the Doodle Cat

When I was a kid, my favorite book was "The Velveteen Rabbit." The idea that if you loved something enough, it would become real was well within my capacity for love, as far as I was concerned. (If you're not familiar with this story, you need to go look it up or buy the book!)

I guess it was when I was in about 4th grade, I had a spiral notebook that I used to sketch in; I'd had it for years. I showed it to a teacher at school who wasn't very enthusiastic about my drawings, and I remember feeling crushed by the lack of interest. (Note: I was *never* in trouble in school, so it's not like I was neglecting my studies to draw in this notebook.) Not long after that, I had left my notebook on the kitchen table, and my dad accidentally spilled coffee on it, ruining it. And that was the end of my drawing career.

There was a picture I had drawn of a fuzzy cat, and I really liked it…I don't have the original sketch anymore, but here is a fairly accurate recreation, as I remember it:
Eventually, my doodle cat became real…

Thumper was a stray cat who was living in my parents' garage for a while. My mom had told me about this shabby-looking long-haired tabby cat who she had been feeding, because he appeared so skinny. My dad had been calling him "Thump" because he would rummage around in the back of the garage, making a lot of noise. This soon turned into "Thumper." Having lived alone in my house in Highland for a while, and being unable to successfully transfer my original kitties—Garfield and Samantha—to the new house, I thought perhaps this new little guy could keep me company.
At first sight, he wasn't the beautiful cat you've seen on today. Way too skinny, full of fleas, and shy around people unless you were sitting down, it broke my heart just to look at him. I sat down on the driveway, and he walked right up to me and said, "meooow." As I put out my hand to pet his head, he reared up on his hind legs a little to rub his face on my palm. Then he flopped down on his side—thump!—and stretched out, purring. Like he'd been waiting for me.
I couldn't leave him. I knew I had to keep him. That day I called and made an appointment to take him to the vet for a checkup, shots, and to be fixed. I brought him home on Saturday, August 27th.

At first, I thought maybe I should keep him in the basement for a period of adjustment, because he had been an unaltered male, and I wasn't sure if he would still be inclined to "mark" his new territory. I let him out of the cat carrier, gave him food & water, and showed him where the litter box would be. He immediately ran and hid under an old end table, by a stack of cardboard boxes. Thinking he'd be less frightened if he had some time alone, I went outside to do yardwork.

Checking on him later, I found him still hidden under the table. I had to crawl on my belly to get back to the corner where he was huddled up. As I began to pet him, he seemed to snap out of it, and came out from his hiding place. Repeating his name, I offered him some food on the tip of my finger, and he began to eat. I told him I had more weeds to pull, but that I'd be back in later to check on him again. Also, I left open the basement door, so that he could explore the house while I was outside.

A short while later, I came back in and went downstairs to see if he had eaten any more food. The plate was empty, and he was nowhere to be found. I searched the whole basement, but didn't see him anywhere. Slowly, so as not to startle him, I went up the stairs to the kitchen. No kitty. I walked down the hall as quietly as possible on the squeaky floor, and there he was…..curled up in the middle of my bed, sleeping.

Thumper was home.

For 13 years, I have kept my promise: that I'd always take care of him. As you can see from the photos, his left eye is cloudy-looking—the vet says the lens in that eye is detached, and he probably can see out of it, but blurry. His top right canine tooth had been chipped as well, and the vet suggested it was from a fall, a blow to the head, or possibly even being clipped and sent tumbling by a car in the road. I'm not sure, and Thumper never wants to talk about it. I've stopped asking.

Imagine treating a cat you don't know very well with ear drops. Thumper had ear mites when he first came home, and he never gave me any problems when I needed to put the drops in. He didn't like it, but he never got mad, or said anything. Most of the time, I caught him while he was napping on the couch, and he didn't even jump down to run away after the drops were in.

Another issue have both dealt with over the years is his sensitive stomach. Thumper has what the vet refers to as "cat colitis." Which means he has bad poo problems with foods that are too rich, or don't contain enough fiber. But we've never had any litter box issues, in spite of what must be uncomfortable for him at times. So, he has been on different types of prescription canned cat food over the years, and they had just discontinued his Hill's brand w/d food. All this time, we thought it was his stomach, but now that he has had his teeth out, I'm wondering if it was chronic gum disease and dental infections which caused his digestive troubles. He is on another form of the Hill's w/d, and, apparently, he loves it, cause we feed him all hours of the day, and he cleans his plate. No poo problems, so far. *crosses fingers*

NOM-NOM-NOM!

One other thing I want to mention… I found Thumper about 3 weeks before my grandfather passed away. I was devastated by that loss. Those of you who know me, you know how much my grandparents shaped my life. Grandma left us in January of 1996, and Grandpa made it to September without her, but it was too much for his heart to take. He died on September 18th, 1996. As I had said, I lived alone at the time, and Thumper was my main source of comfort. I cried on that cat for a week straight. And although we were new friends, he would just sit there and let me hold him while I cried into his fuzzy fur. I'm not much of a crier, but this was one of the worst times of my life.
People who don't own pets cannot understand the power of the unconditional love they provide. Nor the meaning of the history you share with them. And the promises you make to them.

Maybe now you can sort of see what Thumper means to me.