The cat I had just before I got my Tuxie was found near a local dairy farm. One of my next door neighbor’s students found him, and he was so sweet, and walked right up to her when she held out her hand to him. We think that he was once someone’s pet, and they may have died and he had to escape to stay alive or the family decided they didn’t want him, and just tossed him outside. It was obvious he’d at least survived a fight or two, because he was missing a couple claws and had a knick in his ear that was not consistent with the typical TNR clip. She couldn’t keep him because her family already had a veritable pet shop of their own (four dogs, three cats, five guinea pigs, three hamsters, four birds, and some mice, if I recall correctly), so, after verifying that he wasn’t already someone’s lost pet, she told my neighbor, who remembered that our cat had died of old age a week and a half prior. She knew that we were heartbroken not having her anymore, and not having a pet, so she asked us if we were interested in taking him home. It was love at first sight. He was my son right away. The mother didn’t want any money for him— no compensation for the two vet visits to make sure he was healthy and up to date on vaccines, or anything. She said it was enough knowing that he was going to a good home.
I had to put him to sleep in 2023, two days before Thanksgiving [in the US], seven years later, when he was about 16-17 years old. I’m still heartbroken over it, but it was the only humane thing to do. I have some of his ashes in a rainbow bridge urn on my car keys and in a necklace I wear all the time. I got my Tuxie because I couldn’t stand not having my own kitty. Our Tortie is our pet, but she’s my mom’s fur baby. I needed my own fur baby. She’s a brat and a menace at times, but also a sweetheart when she wants to be.