Goodbye Matilda

Matilda left this morning to her new home. As I carried her out to the car in her new owner's carrier she frantically scratched at the front. The guilt set in.

Seems like a great home, retired couple, lots of room, indoor only, probably a pampered cat she'll be. I always worry and feel guilty.

She occupied my spare bedroom for the last couple of days in preparation, much to the chagrine of the other cats here who were ousted, creating some havoc.

I trimmed the long hair beneath her tail. I cleaned her ears and wormed her and fussed over her.

She's a middle aged girl now, so it was spectacular to find her a home, but it is more traumatic on older cats to leave. She has stayed to herself, spending most of her time in the cat yard and garage room to avoid my drama kings and queens, and attention whores and hissy spitties in the house.

Zach immediately latched onto new blood entering our abode, like the attention seeker he is. "Look at me. I am the best," he seemed to say as he pushed in front of Matilda's new woman imapatiently. He barged through her legs into the spare bedroom and there flopped aside Matilda. "I'm the one. I'm beautiful," he tried to say, with his obvious aggressive charm.

She said, "Is Zach up for adoption?"

"Why yes," I said perhaps too eagerly, "he is. But, he wouldn't be happy as an only cat. He likes the kittens, especially those two girls," and I flung my hand out to point out The Quirkies, who darted into view right on cue.

She was set on Matilda, the quiet fluffy girl from Lebanon, left behind, like so many are, by the flit brains who live there by the score.

Matilda has gone through too much and for her to have a chance at attention, being made over, and loved, that is awesome. I took the chance because the woman seems like a spectacular candidate, a lovely soul, a perfect match.

I met Matilda after an old woman, very eccentric, wrote a letter to the Corvallis paper, pleading for help with strays she fed. The Corvallis paper editor forwarded me the letter and asked if I could possibly help. I went over intending to only get them fixed. The woman's house was a slum, and also crammed wall to wall and ceiling to floor with junk and possessions. The manager/owner routinely changes her name, unofficially, to avoid, well I don't know what and don't want to know.

A Christian neighbor who plays in a church band had offered to kill the cats with a shovel. Another young man wandered in wanting to kill them also, for sport. The old woman was beside herself in worry and rightfully so, but she was kind of hard to deal with herself. I finally stuffed all 12 into my car. Good thing, too. The old woman died a year later.

There's not much most people care about, and a little stray huddled on a porch isn't high pri for most of the "Me" people, bent on feeding their sorrows and addictions, defending their helplessness, and who cannot see their salvation might lie in just the opposite, looking outside of themselves and their needs.

I found homes for most of the 12 after they were fixed but stalled out on Matilda, Tugs and Mums. Tugs and Mums are still here. Matilda just left for her next stage in life. I hope it works out for her and her new people. It can take some adjustment time and I do love finding more mature people who understand that.

If it doesn't work, she'll be back and that's just fine. I hope it does work out though. She wanted the love, you see, and the attention whores here, make it harder on the quieter cats to get what they want.