Over the past ten years, we've rescued 6 cats; 4 are still with us. Summer people go back to town in September and leave their cats behind. Why? I have no idea.
Buster was born in the bush and was extremely wild when we rescued him in '99. He was our lone pet for about 6 months. He brought home Tigger when she was 5 weeks old. We lost Tigger in August.
Bandit, the dog came to us in 2001, just before we got Tigger. He adopted all the cats. Garagee joined us in in 2005. She and Buster fought regularly the first few weeks. Not sure who won, but they're both still here. These days, they ignore each other.
Fluffy is our latest member. We rescued him this spring and have been feeding him regularly. We named him Fluffy for obvious reasons. About three weeks ago, during an extreme cold spell of -30 to -40, he finally came inside to stay.
At night we locked Fluffy in the rec room so Buster wouldn't be tempted to clean his clock.
My BIL and his wife are sleeping in our rec-room for the holidays. At night we leave the basement door down to the rec room open so they can make their nightly visits to the washroom. The joys of being a senior.
Two o'clock Christmas Eve morning, Fluffy started crying and scratching at the patio doors. Our bedroom is in the loft with no doors, and his scratching and crying grew louder and louder. We stuck our heads under the covers, but that only worked for about an hour.
Around 3 AM, Buster went down to the living room to investigate. Next thing we heard was hissing and growling. I yelled for Buster to get back to bed. Thump, thump, thump, up the stairs he came. Fifteen minutes later, they were back at it.
My husband took the first shift and slept on the sofa with Fluffy, while I kept Buster in bed with me. Fluffy slept with DH during twenty minutes increments, whereupon he was back at the patio, scratching. Every twenty minutes, I'd heard scratch-scratch, MEOW, then "Fluffy, it's okay. Come here buddy."
At 5:30 DH and I switched places. I stayed awake and soothed Fluffy's fears until 7 o'clock. Fluffy then went downstairs and slept.
Christmas Day, whenever DH or I wanted to succumb to our exhaustion, we reminded each other that we rescued the cat and probably saved his life. A little sleep depredation was the least we could do.
Sometime between Christmas Day night and Boxing Day, one of my family members went outside to have a cigarette. DH woke Boxing Day morning to the front door ajar by one foot. Whoever went out, didn't shut the door properly and Fluffy must have clawed it open. The water dish at the top of the stairs to the basement was rock-solid frozen. DH immediately began stoking the fires. Within an hour, the temperature inside the house rose to (7C) 45F.
We roasted Grandma in front of the fire until she was thawed out.
Yes, Fluffy was gone.
After the fires were burning strong, DH and I followed Fluffy's tracks for an hour. We didn't find him and finally gave up. Fluffy returned on his own around noon.
Hope you all had as wonderful a Christmas and were enshrouded with much love and happiness. Or was your Christmas even more adventurous than ours? Any tales to tell? We can't possibly be the only crazy people out there?