Boomerang Kitty

In the year 2003, the big, gold-and-white tomcat came sneaking into our yard at feeding time. He successfully drove all the other cats away from the feral feeders, leaving him to eat his fill undisturbed. Afterwards, he slipped off into the night; the shadows effectively swallowing him. A few days later, as I filled up the last plastic bag with autumn leaves, the tomcat re-appeared. Cautiously, I made my way to the back steps. Sitting down on the bottom stoop, I waited. Backing up to the plastic bags, the tom looking directly at me while raising his tail and quivering, with the expertise of a seasoned fireman, he “hosed” the bags down.  I grinned as I watched knowing full-well that in a matter of days, his spraying prowess would be long behind him.

Thank God for TNR- Trap Neuter Re-home. With the assistance of KFC’s “finger lickin good” chicken, within days the tom took the bait. Launching himself repeatedly against the trap’s wire in a valiant attempt for freedom left him spent.  I quickly covered the trap with a dark cloth, hustling him to the vet.

No one told this cat that after a neuter, he need to stay quiet and not jump or climb. The minute the trap opened, he exploded into the room. Bouncing off tables, knocking over chairs and racing up the wall, he started running repeated laps over my head! Scared that he might have a stroke,I backed out of the room. In that few minutes his name was decided:  “Cyclone.”

Cyclone lived up to his name. Any time I entered the room, he became a whirling dervish; captivity not to his liking.  Eventually, he pried off the trellis we had protecting the window screen escaping over the rooftops. He reappeared three weeks later severely injured. He crawled on his belly under our gate and laid there; he’d been in a serious confrontation.  I picked him up, carrying him inside without incident.

A few weeks later, a calmer, healed Cyclone joined the house kitties. My vet had estimated Cyclone was three-years old. He certainly was a formidable alpha.  Distinctive streaks of orange and white displayed on his face made him into a striking kitty. One look from him would send most of the other cats scattering to the wind. I found a family interested in making him a barn kitty. We drove him to the new place, put him inside a crate in the barn and left him there. Three weeks later, he was back in our yard! He had traveled over 50 miles to come back to us.

In October of the same year, he found his way outside. He simply vanished.  I posted flyers, rang doorbells, flashed photos, yet no one claimed to have seen him.  He was gone…

Fast-forward to October 2012. Late at night during feeding time, I noticed a vaguely familiar, thin, emaciated gold-and-white cat visiting the feeder.  Could it be? My heart in my throat, I took a hard look scarcely believing my eyes. The cat was Cyclone! The distinct markings on his face and the patterned coat gave him away visible even under his gaunt and dirty appearance.

Walking over to him, I spoke to him softly. Raising his head slowly, he gave one silent meow then collapsed. I gathered him into my arms, his loose skin hung off the sides of his body. Alarmed, I quickly ushered him upstairs.

In the same room where he was first released so many years before, I examined him. Every bone on his back bulged against his almost transparent skin. His tailbone protruded awkwardly. No visible fat or muscle appeared anywhere on his body.

His sunken eyes bleakly followed me around the room as I gathered heating pad, blankets, food and litter and set him up inside my large cage. Taking care not to administer too much at one time, I started sub-cu’s on him immediately. I turned him quickly into a sprinkler every time.

Every piece of food I offered to him he gobbled up eagerly, so I added water with every morsel. My vet would test him (negative thank the Lord) then diagnose him the next day with anemia, dehydration and a severe URI.  He expressed amazement when I told him the cat was Cyclone. He remembered him all to well. Cyclone trashed the surgical room on the day of his neuter. They thought he was under (they thought wrong).

In jubilation of his homecoming, I presented Cyclone with daily, small feasts. He ate like a king; canned cat food, dry food, and safe human food several times a day. In a matter of weeks he had shot up from four pounds to nine pounds.

My Boomerang Kitty has returned. Instead of whirling around my ceiling at a break-neck speed, he now spends his days sleeping, eating and hanging out on the porch. His body is slowly transforming to the cat I know him to be. He shows little interest in going outside. His favorite pastime is snuggling next to me on the sacrificial sofa on the porch (also known as the main scratching post) one he now shares willingly with all the other cats.